LH Franz The airport is where a trip starts to feel real. As you approach security checkpoints, you hear the lilting voices of TSA agents filling the air, repeatedly reminding people to place metal objects in separate security bins, also to remove shoes and put them in bins, and to remove outerwear and put them in those bins, to remove electronic devices and put them in separate bins (that includes CPAP machines), and, as if you didn’t have enough to keep track of, to place clear plastic bags on top of your luggage for inspection. Besides juggling whatever carry-on luggage you brought, you are now also juggling shoes, coats, phones, watches, CPAPs, and little clear plastic bags. And security bins.
There were three lanes cordoned off leading to my departure gate: Economy, Priority, First Class. A gatekeeper stood in front of these lanes checking boarding passes and passports. I am a TSA Pre-Check traveler. A little “TSA Pre-Check” logo displays on the boarding pass which theoretically gets you through the security line more quickly. When I first entered the security area, the gatekeeper looked at my boarding pass and pointed me to the regular Economy Class line. “No TSA Pre-Check?” I asked. “No, no Pre-Check at this gate.” Then, looking at my sixty-nine year old gray hairs and my immaculate dress, he moved aside and indicated I could go to the lane marked “Priority.” (Note to self: Milk the old lady thing every chance you get!)
Not that Pre-Check did much good.
TSA Pre-Check usually allows you to bypass some annoying security check inconveniences. You do not have to to remove shoes, for example. You do not need worry about little plastic bags. Today, however, I was only relieved of the need to remove my shoes. Everything else was still required. Security levels are subject to change so that sometimes extra measures are necessary. I didn’t ask why.
While carry-on items are being inspected, passengers minus their metal accessories walk through a metal detector. I have an artificial hip. It inevitably sets off metal detectors, so I alert the agents before I walk through, showing them a card my surgeon gave me documenting the fact that I have this prosthetic. In Newark, when they see it, agents always send me through a full body scanner. (I’m told I don’t actually need to show them the card, that I just need to tell them I have an artificial hip. I pull out the card anyway because it feels more official.)
Once through security, there’s a long corridor of restaurants, bars, souvenir and electronics stores, all leading to the departure gates. After a filling meal of oily pizza and drinkable pinot noir, I proceeded to the gate to sit and wait and work on my laptop.
To avoid paying a fee for checking a bag, travelers try to pack as much as they can into carry-on luggage. Airlines usually allow one carry-on suitcase of an acceptable size and weight, plus one personal item. While I sat, a gate attendant wandering around the waiting area noticed my suitcase, which I admit looked a little overstuffed. The bag was the correct size, but the scale at the gate showed it was indeed over the weight limit. I was allowed to check it at the gate before boarding for no fee. (Some folks suggest making that part of your game plan: Bring to the gate something you know might need to be checked. If they let it on, you’re good. If they insist you check it, you won’t be charged. At this point, though, you should probably find out before leaving to see if you can do that. I get the feeling airlines will figure out ways to prevent losing checked baggage fees to this scheme.)
Nothing in that suitcase was needed during the flight, and if the airline managed to lose the bag, well then, I could look forward to a shopping spree in Paris! Due to my little-old-lady look – I may have grunted just a little bit for effect when picking up my suitcase – the attendant was extremely considerate, carried my bag for me to the gate desk, and led me to the front of the boarding line.
In 2019, premium economy got you a seat wide enough for an adult person, a bottle of water, drinkable wine, roomier aisles, edible meals, and decent snacks. During the flight, I got up and walked around the plane a couple of times, at first limiting myself to the premium economy area. The crew suggested I could walk the length of the plane. Going all the way back through regular economy, I saw someone do that maneuver which reminded me of my London flight: Guy in the middle of 3 seats wants to get up, guy on the aisle has to contort himself pretzel style to get out of his seat, then guy from middle seat contorts himself pretzel style to get out, then guy on the aisle contorts himself pretzel style to get back into his seat, then they get to do it all over again in reverse when middle-seat guy returns. Painful to watch.
It was a surprisingly smooth flight. I watched Galaxy Quest on my laptop. Great fun, and it never gets old. The guy next to me was perfect company, friendly but not intrusively so and scent-free. He spent most of the flight watching his own movies.
Of all the options available when making reservations, this route had the shortest overall duration with a one hour stopover in Frankfurt between flights. I learned first-hand what seasoned travelers already know: One hour between flights is not enough time. Especially in Frankfurt. I had not counted on the fact that I was debarking at one end of the airport and would have to go through customs and get my flight to Paris at the other end. I had not realized that the Frankfurt airport is incredibly big. My “leisurely” hour between flights was a sprint, all the while getting messages on my mobile phone from the airline app, telling me that my flight to Paris would be boarding in so many minutes. It was lucky I had checked my bag in Newark. I arrived breathless but in time at the departure gate.
The flight to France was short, smooth, and uneventful. Looking out the window as we flew over Germany, I was struck by the sight of windmill farms scattered around the countryside, a strange sight for New Jersey eyes. There was a lot of forest, from above looking like fluffy green carpeting covering the ground. Very beautiful. Very soothing.
Somewhere over Germany, my rechargeable hearing aids played a sad little tune in my ears telling me they’d died. I’d have to manage with my “mild to moderate” hearing deficiency until they could be recharged.
As we approached Paris, the landscape looked increasingly like the kind of suburb I’d see at home: Houses with back yards, separated by streets and, when we got low enough to see them, family sized cars.
France and Germany are both in the Schengen area. Going through customs in Germany allowed me entry into that area without the need to go through customs again in France. From the plane, I went straight to baggage claim and got my suitcase.
