I didn't expect anyone to actually finish Part I of Killing Time. At the time of it's creation, I thought it a boorish list of events. Like one of those, we did this, then we did that, then we did another this, then we did another that kind of blog posts.
If you found that one interesting, there's more! More murdering of minutes.
Mumbai to Amsterdam
The flight from Mumbai to Amsterdam is over 9 hours. I don't recall exactly how many minutes over 9 hours. Being as the junket home was so NOT scrapbook worthy, I burned the itinerary and cannot use it as a reference. I do know, however, that it was over 9 hours. We were on the very very back row. Seats 42a and 42b.
As was reveled in Killing Time, Part I, I cried for an hour. Cried myself to sleep in fact. A few hours later, I woke up because Spouse had a severe case of the shivers. His violent shaking woke me up. He had a coat and two blankets but couldn't keep warm. I took one look at him and said, "You're getting sick. You're growing a bug." He didn't believe me. Wanted to stay in denial.
I jammed in the earplugs and went to sleep. A few hours later, I woke to the cackling of flight attendants in the back. There were two chatty Cathies and two chatty Charlies. They were noisy. I began to have flashbacks of child birth.
Huh, you say!? Stay with me.
When you have a child in a hospital, you stay for a few nights. This is almost the worst part of birthing. You have just calfed a small creature. You are tired. You want to sleep. But you cannot because the nurses out at the nurse station are rehashing the latest People magazine. Or sampling Betty's Blueberry Buckle. Or looking through the latest Sensty catalog. Noisy.
Those flight attendants were just as noisy, I tell you. Sounded like a bunch of nurses huddled around at the Mother-Baby. Even with the earplugs I couldn't sleep because of the noise. Decided to turn on a movie. I watched Land of the Lost with Will Ferrell and laughed loudly on several occasions.
Nine some-odd hours after take-off, we land in Amsterdam. At this point, Spouse is sick. Not just kind of sick, but sick. We go for hot chocolate. And that doesn't help. I take pictures of a sign and post the progress of our journey on the blog. I purchase little clog key chains for the Yahoos (they collect key chains) and some stroopwaffles. I note the geniusness of the Netherlands' recycling program and take a picture of that. I also use the restroom several times because they have toilet paper. And real toilets. And toilet seat cleaner right there in the stall.
Basically, we sit and wait for a total of five hours. Then we get in line and go through a complete security screening with x-ray and mental (not metal, mental) detectors.
The Dutch are so nice at security! So nice! I wanted to bring them home with me. Wooden shoes and all. Which leads me to the confusion of that country. Is it Holland or the Netherlands? And how do you get Dutch from a country called Holland or a country called the Netherlands? And why do they always wear orange at the Olympics when there isn't any orange on their flag? Many questions.
Amsterdam to Detroit
For me, this flight was an uneventful 8 hours 5 minutes. This was a short one. I popped an Ambien and slept for four hours, woke up to eat then watched Inglorious Basterds. This movie is not a light one. I thought it was supposed to be funny but it's not. It's a flick staged during the Nazi occupation of France. Nothing funny about that. It was just an okay movie and not necessarily recommended. I found it mild for a Quentin Tarintino.
Spouse on the other hand? He had an eventful 8 hours 5 minutes. He was sick as a dog and grappling for aisle space with the attendants and their drink carts. Boeing should engineer a plane who's aisles allow room for both a drink cart and a medium sized man. Just a thought. Might save an accident or eight.
Once we had arrived in Detroit, it was time to go through immigration and customs. We were so happy to be in the Home Land. Spouse ran up to "U.S. Citizens, That Way" sign and hugged it. I thought it was funny and decided to restage it for a Happy Snap. So we restage the sign hugging and take a snap. Out of nowhere a giant linebacker shows up and yells, "Who took a picture? WHO took that picture?" I fessed up. He said, "Delete it, NOW. This is a sterile area."
He was scary. I deleted the picture and decided that maybe Detroit and Mumbai were related.
That same scary guy proceeded to lash out at everyone talking on their phones. Evidently "sterile area" also means you cannot talk on the phone.
All travelers coming into the United States are required to go through customs and immigration at their first stop. This means that you are required to claim your baggage, have it scanned through security and recheck it.
See?! Detroit and Mumbai are related. Except Detroit is the older brother because they have a dog to sniff out stuff. Drugs and whatnot. If you remember your drug doing days, you'll know that drugs in Amsterdam are legal. I suppose many with low IQ scores think they can pack a gram of coke in their suitcase, sneak it into the U.S. and get away with it. Not with the drug sniffing dog! I was hoping the dog would find something. I was ready for excitement. Excitement that didn't involve me anyway. The dog never found anything. Disappointing.
After two hours, the Sick Spouse and I pass customs and find our gate. Spouse passes out on the floor while I find him some Gatorade. He sleeps for three hours. I sit for three hours. I find chicken soup in a coffee cup and sip delicately while catching up on the e-mail. The mePhone works now!
Detroit to Salt Lake
Spouse and I didn't have seats next to each other. This was unfortunate but good all in the same. We needed a break for we aren't used to spending this much time together.
I chat with the gentleman next to me. He lives in Detroit and does some fancy financial analysis stuff for Ford Motor Company. Interestingly enough he never referred to it as "Ford." He always said "Ford Motor Company." He has four daughters in Provo, but seeing the daughters was not the primary purpose of his expedition. He was traveling to The BYU to recruit interns for the summer. Ford Motor Company guy had been to India three times to set up factories. We had lots to talk about.
Nice guy. Once he figured out that Spouse and I had been separated, he offered to switch. That much needed break for Spouse and me was split in half.
Two hours later we land in Salt Lake. I buy lego airplanes for the Yahoos while Spouse takes care of his business. We walk to baggage claim, see the bright smiling face of the brother-in-law, pick up the bags and find the car.
41 hours down, only the drive home to go!