Getting to Stuttgart

March 25, 2009 - So I make my way off Air India in a bewildered state kind of like those Dawn of the Dead movies. Kind of stumbling, eyes can't focus on anything and pretty sure I am drooling or did druel at some point in the last few hours. I know I have to go through customs. This was a really exciting and nervous time. This was my first try at using my Irish Passport. I was able to attain dual citizenship because my grandparents were from Ireland. My wife keeps telling me I am like Jason Bourne from the Bourne Identity series because I have two passports, European bank accounts... She is the Bourne version of a treky!

I wanted to choose the line that had the most people in it thinking the customs agent would want to get through the line quickly, but not much happening. No one going through. I approach on high alert. "Guten Tag" and hand him my passport. It's green and says a whole bunch of shit in Gaelic. God, I hope he doesn't ask me who the President or Prime Minister of Ireland is. He grabs it from me, scans it and hands it back. That's it!!!! No "How long will you be in Germany" or "What is your business here"? What the fuck! I was ready for my whole "I'm here to play baseball" story. Oh yeah. They don't really care about baseball here. I'm a second class athlete. Also, I forgot that having the Irish passport means I don't have to leave Germany. Can stay as long as I want! Sweet!

First things first. Just like in the Bourne Ultimatum, I need to get a prepaid "Handy" (mobile phone). No luck. Can't find anywhere that has them and I was scared they were going to speak to me in German. Change my dollars into Euros and was on my way to baggage.

Standing around waiting for my bags for 20 minutes. Hmmm. I guess that is why the Swiss invented the clocks. Figured they would be more on it here.

Here comes on bag. Wow, it's in one piece. Very happy. Where's the second one? Shit. No sign and another 15 minutes goes by. There is an Indian man standing next to me and I asked him if he was missing bags too. "They are quicker in Mumbia than this" said in and Indian accent.

A baggage agent came up to me and started speaking to me in German. Crap, what the hell is he saying. I managed to squeak out "Ich spreche English". He transitioned into English and told me to come with him to the lost baggage area. Son of a bitch!

Luckily, I was on my game when packing, so I put exactly half of each type of clothing in one bag, and half in the other just in case an instance like this might happen. My sister-in-law Amy would be very proud of me.

I get to the counter, and again, the German comes flying at me. I'm bobbing and weaving like I'm in the Matrix dodging bullets. "Ich spreche English". They start having me fill out a form. I guess I look German or something. Can't they tell I'm Irish!

Success! My bag shows up and I can finally go through the doors to my ride waiting for me on the other side. Hopefully he is still there because I am now an hour late!

I walk through the doors and meet a Vincent Van Goeh looking guy with a Stuttgart Reds had and jacket. Pointy chin, pointy nose, goatee. "Bret, I'm Ralf Buecheler" he said. "Good to finally meet you Ralf".

We make our way to his car. "Have you ever been on the Autobahn" he asked. "Nope" I responded. "It is very fast" he said excitedly.

I was a bit excited because all I could imagine was cruising to Stuttgart in a Porsche or Mercedes (Stuttgart is home to those companies after all). We get to his car and it's a Ford Focus. I was shocked. I thought it was forbidden to drive an American car in Germany. Guess not.

We get on the Autobahn and I can't tell how fast we are going, but doesn't seem like it is very fast. The speedometer is in Km/hr so at 120, I'm confused. I did see a few Porsche's and Ferrari's pass us like we were going backwards and thought that was very cool. Other than that, it was a non event.

Two hours later, we pull into Stuttgart. We are going to my new apartment. I'm so curious. Will I have my own toilette? How about a kitchen? We'll see!