15 Summers: 2016. Germany, Arriving in Munich

15 Summers: 2016. Germany, Arriving in Munich

Off the plane and straight to Starbucks

      I suppose as any well seasoned traveler will tell you, "...any adventure worthy of mention must start out with some measure of a mandatory cluster-fuck."  One might even think that the extra $150 I had to pay the airline for their "special handling" of my slightly overweight bag would at least guarantee a spot somewhere in the cargo hole of the plane. WTF, I mean seriously, charging $150 for a bag only seven pounds overweight should at least, in my mind, qualify the bag for its own seat in economy class. Regardless, I did expect my bag filled with all of my clothes, personnel items, camping gear, and motorcycle riding equipment to be waiting for me in Munich at the baggage carousel just shortly after touching down. NOT!

       At first, after waiting 3 forevers and a day in line behind a man who only spoke Chinese to the German attendant managing the missing luggage department of Lufthansa who only spoke German and English, I was told that there was no record of my bag to begin with. Whew, good thing I didn't leave my claim ticket on the plane like I usually do. With the number off of the ticket, the agent eventually found my baggage record but could not find any indication of its location. "Could be anywhere between Los Angeles and Munich but certainly not in Morocco," the agent said with a smile in her heavy German accent. Good thing she was pleasant because my inner child was getting pissed off although my better sense was telling me to be polite and just keep smiling. That's a tall order and a tough one for me. 

     On a good day, my fluency in German is about equal to that of a 3 year old German child's, so after filling out the one page missing luggage form, all printed in German, with my cross outs and my home address on the wrong line, Fraulein Luggage-Lady told me they would contact me just as soon as they found my luggage. 

       After thanking her for her help, I made it about 50 feet down the baggage corridor before I could hear Fraulein Luggage-Lady calling out my name. "Mr. Lambdin, they found your bag. A new employee did not put it on the carousel. If you wait over there at the oversize baggage claim area, your bag will be there shortly." 

Let our adventure begin

     After waiting another hour, I went back to the missing luggage department and asked if there was some mistake. A new face, a gentleman, punched some keys on his computer and said the bag was still in Los Angeles. "Mr. Lambdin, I'll have your bags delivered to your hotel tomorrow when it arrives."........I can only hope.

     Allllll righty then. Off to the Thrifty car rental counter. And by the way, did I mention I have my 80 year old mother with me? No worries. She is one that never complains or makes excuses. Oma, as I call her, (that's' German for "grandma") was a trooper the whole time, patiently waiting. However, after an eleven hour overnight flight and waiting a few hours for a bag that didn't arrive, I could tell that Oma was tired. 

    As we approached the Thrifty counter, all we saw was an empty chair and a sign that informed us that we needed to use the Hertz rental counter. The counter with only two agents and about 30 customers waiting in line, one of which, the one directly in front of me, was a spoiled whiny ass three year old Italian child whose father was pathetically trying to tend to her because, as it appeared, momma was the one with the balls in the family. Damn Guido, I thought you Italian men were supposed to be macho Mafia mobster types, not the candy ass kind that keeps his balls and his spine in his wife's purse. At least it was a Gucci purse I suppose. 

     Another hour of waiting, we finally made our way to the agent. Before even asking for my reservation, the agent smiling at Oma and I said, "That's not normal. That child is just not normal." "I know, huh? Just makes you want to squeeze out a few yourself, right?"  I replied, just like any crude self-respecting American traveling abroad is expected to do.

      With keys in hand, Oma and I made our way to the airport's parking garage, found the car, and loaded our luggage, less one piece. "Wait a minute. WTF? This key thing doesn't have a key," I said somewhat confused. Classic example of new auto technology and an old dog driving. After figuring out the non-key but not how to turn off the rear windshield wiper that kept a steady rhythm and constant squeak on the dry rear window, we were finally on our way south into the German countryside towards the Bavarian mountains. 

Zugspitze in the background. Germany's highest peak