How to Honeymoon, Part II

Fabulous image by Brooke Schwab.


Chapter 2: Lufthansa

After a good night's sleep and brunch with my parents and closest friends, we set off for JFK. The drive was nearly traffic-free, a rarity on a warm Thursday afternoon, and Mr Wonderful and I were deposited on the curb with two and a half hours to manage the international departures terminal.

15 minutes later, we had boarding passes, empty bladders and security clearance. It all seemed so easy, and we had plenty of time to peruse the duty free shops. Shortly after, Mr Wonderful and I settled into our plush seats, delighted to find ourselves in such comfortable accommodations. Dinner, paired with wine, followed by dessert, accompanied by liquor, put us in a sleepy state, and we landed in Munich relaxed and happy.

We only had an hour to make our connecting flight to Madrid, but I'd studied maps of the Munich airport and Lufthansa terminals online in the weeks before our voyage, and felt confident that we would have just enough time. A fifteen minute bus ride shook my confidence, and the 35 minutes waiting at an understaffed security check point destroyed it. With seven minutes before our flight was scheduled to depart, we stood in front of a German customs agent, who genially waved us by.

I bolted up the stairs to our terminal to find myself facing Gate 28; our flight was boarding from Gate 2. I sprinted down the recently waxed floor, Mr Wonderful following behind in his cowboy boots and hat, messenger back strapped across his chest and guitar thumping against his thigh. We hustled down the jetway still panting, and as we collapsed into our seats, Mr Wonderful darkly said, "I could have walked our luggage to the plane faster."

I can't say that he cursed our luggage, because by then it was already in the belly of our aircraft or it wasn't. But as the carousel doors slammed shut in Madrid with no sign of our brand new Samsonite set, I couldn't help but think it.

The girl at "Luggage Problems" reassured me that Lufthansa never lost luggage, simply misplaced it. She told me that if it arrived on Friday, we could expect in Granada on Saturday, but that shipping was (not surprisingly) suspended on Sunday. We kept our fingers crossed that we wouldn't have to meet our new colleagues in 5 day-old t-shirts on Monday morning.


Tomorrow, join me for "¿Dónde está la estación de autobús?"