Day 1: The Arrival

After leaving the house 20 minutes late cause I couldn't find my passport (typical start for me) I ventured off into Deutschland. Alone. Like John Wayne. But going the opposite way. On a silvery metal falcon instead of horseback.

I had the pleasure of sitting next to a disgruntled Indian man on my way to Brussels. We danced the night away in silent anger. Him refusing to get up so I could go to the bathroom, while I left the light on reading the whole time as he tried to fall asleep. Each finding a way to torture the other while calmly crammed into our seats. This man was ancient. I'm talking like Dahlsim from Street Fighter ancient. In retrospect, I shouldn't have messed with him. He probably could have teleported all over the plane kicking my ass. Or used his stretch armstrong-like arms to punch me. Though I guess he wouldn't need them, being that we were so close we were actually touching each other the whole ride over in a never-ending jostling for position of elbow on the arm rest. Neither of us backing down, like a game of chicken... but with elbows instead of sweet 1950s Fords and Chevys where you meet at Dead Mans Curve or whatever.

Sure enough, after a night-long battle, a silent war with the old Indian man who couldn't control his flatulance and burping, the dawn arrived. Never before had the words of Harvey Dent rang so true, "the night is darkest just before the dawn" and sure enough, the dawn arrived, and so did Brussels. My connecting flight to Berlin was fine. I arrived at my hostel, and slept a much deserved rest. My battle was over. I had cross the Atlantic. I've arrived.