Ryanair sucks (but its true that I did not die)

My last day in Germany, Thursday March 5th, began at 3:30 in the morning. I was at the Schafer’s house in Siegen. With my eyes half-closed, feeling slightly ill after having gotten up at such an ungodly hour, I pulled on my clothes and stuffed my toiletries into my backpack. I could here Moritz in the next room getting dressed, and his parents upstairs moving around and talking quietly. We were embarking on a journey – the mission was to find Frankfurt-Hahn Airport.

Upstairs, Sigrid packed us a million typical German breakfast sandwiches of thinly sliced dark bread, butter, and smoked ham. She prepared a thermos of coffee and cough drops and water. We took shots of espresso and said our goodbyes. This was a serious mission.

Peter (Moritz's father), GPS in hand, headed to the car. Moritz and I followed with our bags of clothes and food. I popped a few gummy bears into my mouth for good measure. It was cold and dark and misty outside, and we were like a Grimms Brother’s fairy tale band of characters scurrying into a dark forest.

You might think all of this sounds a bit melodramatic considering we were setting off for the airport, and at this point in the trip I would have agreed with you. Just you wait… The lady’s voice on the GPS system was mechanic and ominous, and something about her speaking in German made it worse.

Ryanair is one of those strange European super-discount airlines. Of course, it doesn't fly in and out of normal airports, but obscure and small and distant ones. Although the airport has the name “Frankfurt” in it, the location of this place is as far from Frankfurt as Siegen. We are talking hours away. I think the airport is named as such to give poor foreign saps the impression that the airport is easy to access from Frankfurt the city. This is absolutely false. Wrong. A lie. If you can make it to Frankfurt (which is a 2 hour train ride from Siegen), there are shuttle buses from the train station (another 2 hour ride). In order to arrive at the airport by 6:30 for an 8:00 am flight, that would mean catching a train from Siegen at 2:30 am, and then a shuttle at 4:30 am. Not surprisingly, the trains don’t start running until after 5:00 am, nor does the shuttle bus. Therefore, there is no way to access the airport without a car in time for an 8 am flight. Clever ploy?

Thanks to the generosity of the Schafer’s, I made it to old Hahn in time. Let me tell you, the drive was an ominous adventure. We traversed Siegen, in accordance with the scary GPS voice’s direction, and got on the autobahn. The autobahn never ceases to scare me, but it was particularly frightening at 4 in the morning, when there was nothing but fog and semi-trucks to contend with. Luckily, I don't really understand kilometers because I've never done any driving in Europe, so I'm not actually sure how fast we were going. We got off the autobahn pretty quickly, and took small roads the rest of the way. We changed route at least five times. The villages were all dark. The fog was thick. The radio played classical music. Moritz started to eat the German sandwiches, and the delicious sour smell of fresh German bread filled the car. I kept eating my gummy bears and fantasizing about France.

We turned onto a curvyish road about an hour into the trip, and I beheld a sight right out of a horror film. An invisible mountain loomed ahead of us, marked only by a couple dozen frozen red lights at the top. It looked like a nuclear disaster sight, or an alien graveyard – a giant red eye instead of a headstone for each of the dead. It was truly surreal. I stared at it for a long time as we climbed closer. Mortiz spoke to me for the first time in an hour to acknowledge the scariness of the field of giant red eyes ahead of us. When we finally got close enough, we discovered that each light stood atop one of those modern-type metallic windmills. This made it more scary, for now the lights appeared as communication devices with an outer world. I know, I know, I may just have been tired and half dreaming, but I tell you this was an intense sight.

When we finally reached Hahn at about 6:30, I was relieved. No unplanned trip to Mars. No death by autobahn. Seriously though, this airport is in the middle of nowhere. Not a thing in sight. No town, no industry.

There was a group of young travelers who were asleep on the gray floor of the small airport. These were the sad souls who had had to arrive the night before at the airport to make their morning flight. Screw Frankfurt-Hahn Airport. And Ryanair. They abuse poor people. Not to mention that the plane smelled majorly like BO and the recorded flight attendant voice offered us two for one mixed-drink specials the whole flight through. I mean, come on, it was 8 am!

This is the third time I’ve flown ryanair, and each time it has been a disaster. So, I guess I finally learned my lesson? Third time is a charm? Last time (in 2005), I was sick for days. You’d think that would have done it. Oh, and as we were boarding the plane, standing out on the tarmac, it started to freaking snow. When I finally grabbed a seat, I was soaked in cold snow water. Imagine how much I would be bitching if I had had to sleep on the gray floor with the rest of the poor traveling hipsters.

This whole rant is a word to the wise – do not be dissuaded from traveling to Germany – its awesome, But forget Ryanair unless you have a car or someone very kind and generous and self-less who is willing to drive across Europe in the middle of the night.

By the way, I have a serious addiction to gummy bears, and this isn’t anything new. It got really bad when I lived in Germany four years ago. Luckily, the French aren’t really into the regular old bears, so they don’t sell them in most stores. I don’t much care for the rest of the Haribo candies, so I’m safe. Until I restock in Germany. Then I’m not safe.

I know this isn't much of an update on my trip to Germany, but that blog entry is on its way. For now, suffice it to say that it was a wonderful trip and I do love Germany. Although, the weather sucks. Especially after Provence. Oh, and spring has begun here, and the trees are budding and everything. Its makes my heart swell...