Planes, Trains, & Automobiles -- only without the Trains...

So, you know those days that just never seem to end?  Well, a little word to the wise for the geniuses in charge of Delta and KLM's flight schedules: that's what you're creating for people when you have US > Europe flight routes that leave in the middle of the day.  No bueno, guys...

When I lived in London, my flights always left Atlanta somewhere around 10 pm and arrived at, say 8 am.  Sure you were sleepy when you got there, but at least you were kind of ready to go to sleep decently soon after you took off.  My flight to Amsterdam this past week left Atlanta at 5:30 pm (clearly nowhere near bedtime), so regardless of the fact that the flight was about 9 hrs long, I didn't sleep a wink.  I did, however, enjoy my 3 movies far more than I usually dig plane movies.  Rio was super cute, The Lincoln Lawyer was far better than I'd have ever expected out of Matthew McConaughey these days, and Country Strong was pretty good...although Gwyneth was a total mess, Tim was the opposite of someone I ever hope to be married to, and someone could've warned me about the end!

Anyway, we landed at Schipol around 8 am Netherlands time, so roughly 2 am, according to my brain.  AKA, the middle of the night.  3 hrs of attempted layover naptime-in-an-airport-chair later and we were off to Nairobi.  

FYI, if you must, I highly recommend this method of attempting to sleep in the airport!  Snag the seat on the
end, with the little table -- no arm rests between chairs to keep you from stretching out, somewhere to
stash your roller-board, and if you're a munchkin like me, you can almost actually curl up on your side and
sleep quasi-normally...if, of course, you're able to ignore the elephant herds of loud people who don't care
that you're so obviously trying to sleep.  Even if you strategically place yourself in a deserted corner, have
your eye mask on and ear plugs in, and continue to shoot them evil looks as they let their 6 children run
around like wild donkeys at what amounts to 4:00 in the morning.  So rude.
 (Shout out to you, Julie :)

Our plane was late arriving to Amsterdam and delayed in taking off, so despite making up a decent amount of time en route, we got in about 45 minutes late, and by the time we got out into the bustling airport, the immigration line was moving at a snail's pace.  I mean watching-paint-dry slow.  I could see the desk with the guys at it from where I was standing at the back of the line (could NOT have been 50 feet away), but for whatever reason, it took over an hour and a half to get up to where it was your turn...which, for the record, took less than 2 minutes.  If everyone's turn was that fast, I have no idea what the holdup was.  Not all was lost, though.  I had ample time to make a line friend: a French PhD student who's been living here for a couple of years studying "art geography" (??) and seems like a perfectly fun/normal person who knows the city & surrounding areas well enough to show us newbies around.  We switched emails, and I figure I probably need to start collecting new friends for when Aaron and Kaarli's baby is born and they're too busy to play anymore.  (sad face)   

So after escaping from the uber slow immigration line and going through customs, I snagged my bags and went outside to say a prayer of thanks to the heavens above.  If you know anything about my last trip to Africa via Amsterdam, you'll understand why.**  I found the sign with my name on it amidst the sea of poster-wiedling drivers, and John and I made our way out into the surprisingly chilly Nairobi night.  He parked me and my bags at one end of the sidewalk and told me to wait there, that he was going to go get the car.  10, 15, 20 minutes went by, and he still wasn't back yet.  My French line friend came by while I was waiting and wanted to know if I was ok, did I want him to stand with me while I waited.  I told him I was ok, and right about that time was when John came back with the news that his car had been towed.  Naturally, right?  Apparently they're doing all sorts of construction around the Nairobi airport which essentially forces everyone to park illegally.  I'm sure the fact that my flight was an hour late, plus the absurdly long immigration line didn't help matters either.  I hope he wasn't waiting there all that time!  He called another driver to come get me and headed off to the police station to go fetch his car.  How badly did I feel right about then??  I was too tired to really comprehend what was happening at that point, but...not good, I can tell you that.  And he was so apologetic that it made it even worse...

So I finally arrived at my new apartment building around midnight on Friday night, right at 24 hrs after my flight left Atlanta.  I was running on fumes but made it in one piece...and with all of my stuff, which is more than can be said for some trips!  I got my keys, came upstairs, went to get my toothbrush and facewash...and proceeded to spend the better part of the next 2 hrs unpacking.  I think I have serious issues when it comes to organization and having, as they say, "a place for everything and everything in its place."  Don't ask me why I couldn't just crash and deal with it the next day.  I'm sure Dr. Freud would have a diagnosis for you...

Will carry on tomorrow with pictures of the new digs, etc., but for now, since I'm getting yelled at, let me go ahead and pass on my new local contact info, for those who have asked:

Email: flberrier@gmail.com

Skype name: flberrier

Kenyan cell #: +254 710 822 495

Google Voice #: 404. 919.2644  (You dial this like any other phone number, and it rings to my computer; if I'm not there, you can leave a voicemail, and it transcribes it and emails it to me.  It's pretty rockin, although my internet can be pretty suspect at times, so calls can get spotty, as can my Skype.  Apologies in advance.  I blame Africa...although somehow I'm sure this is all the University of Florida's fault.

I also have a mailing address, an apartment phone # and an office phone #, but I know none of these things at present. I can find out if you'd like, but...I don't expect that anyone is going to be dropping in to see me or calling me during my working hours, which end around noon for you guys :)

**Backstory to The South African Luggage Fiasco of 2009: Despite my pleas to just take the direct flight and get it over with, I was outnumbered by my 2 nonsensical co-workers who decided they'd "want to stretch their legs" on a layover, so we flew from Atlanta to Johannesburg, South Africa via Amsterdam.  I think this is a stupid plan for several reasons, primarily because, given a choice, the last thing you want to do once you get off of a 9 hr flight is sit in an airport for a few hrs and then get on another flight that's just as long, if not longer.  SO DUMB.  But I digress...  Anyway, after a full 24 + hrs of flying, we get to South Africa and wait by the carousel for our baggage.  And wait.  And wait.  And wait.  And whose bag never shows?  MINE.  The one who didn't want to take the stupid connecting flight to begin with.  Turns out it made it to Amsterdam but didn't get put on the plane to Jo'burg.  Awesome.  So they tell me they'll call me when they have it.  I spend the next TWO WEEKS waiting for my bag, calling them and harassing them every day, and all they would say to appease me was, "Sorry, this is Africa."  Are you kidding me?  What does that even mean?  Mind you, this entire time, all I have to wear (to work!) is what's in my carry-on.  AKA, the lightest stuff I packed:  yoga clothes, running clothes, PJs, one pathetic black skirt (which I washed in the sink multiple times), and a ridiculously big pile of underwear, thank God.  I always knew there was a reason I'm such a compulsive underwear overpacker.  We'd try to scramble to the mall at the end of every work day that my bag didn't show, but things close so early there that we'd rarely make it in time (basically, nothing there stays open past dark due to crime).  As you can tell, it's been 2 years, and I'm still holding onto a wee bit of hostility regarding this incident.  Whatever.  I told them we should've taken the direct flight.  And I hate KLM.  Royal Dutch Airline, my ass  :P