Departure from Chicago, Arrival in Frankfurt

The day has finally arrived, my belongings are either in storage, on a plane or waiting in a warehouse to be shipped to Germany on a boat. Even though I've said all of my goodbyes at a wonderful farewell party (thank you, Anne) if snowy and miserable Chicago winter night (damn you weather for keeping so many people away, I swear I've never seen snowflakes as big as I did that night), I have already locked up my apartment for the last time and turned my car keys over to my dad for safekeeping it doesn't quite feel possible that I'm about to get on a plane with a one way ticket to Germany. But that's the fact of the matter.

After being a pretty spectacular trooper (putting up with my last minute errands and inability to actually fit all of my belongings into the three bags I'm hand carrying to Frankfurt), my dad turned himself into Quasimodo, slung my enormous duffel bag over his shoulder (it was nearly as large as he is I might add), and helped haul the aforementioned bag to check-in. After a quick goodbye with promises to call when I landed (as long as it wasn't some obscene hour in Chicago), we said goodbye, and he stood waving at the security line entrance until we couldn't see each other anymore. Somehow it still doesn't quite seem possible that I'm about to move to Germany. But there it is, the sign over the entrance to the plane telling me just the opposite.

A series of frantic phone calls to all the friends and family I somehow didn't manage to connect with and the plane has taken off, I am asleep (thank you Ambien), and a quick 9 hours later I'm already arriving in Frankfurt. Gotta love the miracle of modern jet travel, and the comforts of business class (thank you, Uncle Leo).


The adventure has officially begun. . . .