January 5, 2010  Frankfurt to Brevard

We needed to get to the airport by 10:00 so I went down at 8:00 for an excellent, filling breakfast, even though the effects of yesterday’s pancakes had not worn off. Chelsea joined me. As we were talking, Dean came in with a worried look on his face. He could barely talk; his uvala had swollen up making breathing difficult. He was having an allergic reaction.

I took him to the front desk to get a doctor. They said the quickest solution would be to take the about-to-depart 9:00 shuttle to the airport and go to the clinic. I probably should have gone with him but we would have missed the shuttle if I went upstairs to get my jacket. We agreed to meet at the clinic.

I got everyone else ready and assembled and we took the 9:30 shuttle. Brian and I left the others, agreeing to meet at the gate. We walked for about 10 minutes to the Klinik where we found Dean on a bed with an IV, looking much better. Those purveyors of that evil, Communist-inspired, social medicine had taken him right in and treated him instead of spending an hour or two with insurance paperwork. A doctor came in and released him, giving him a bill and a prescription. We paid at the desk and went upstairs to the pharmacy to get the prescription filled. I also bought some Immodium. Dean said he had only had this type of reaction once before, when he tried on a t-shirt in Florida. My guess is that it was something in the detergent used by the hotel laundry. He spent a total of about $250 in Germany but when he had the trouble in Florida it cost him $1100, then--but at least he was treated by "the best medical system in the world".

We met the group at the gate. They were offering the same deal as yesterday. Curtis and Dean both gave up their seats again, for another € 600. That’s when the well ran dry. The rest of us would have stayed but they didn’t need any more seats. Curt arranged for his brother to pick them up in Atlanta the next day. We boarded and took off about half an hour late. I had a center bulkhead seat with Clint and Brian. All three of us were still feeling the effects of yesterday’s pancakes. I watched two movies, “Band Slam” and “Fame”, and a bunch of documentaries. The 10-hour flight seemed to take forever.

In Atlanta, Elena, Clint, Brian, and I whisked through customs and got our bags. Lufthansa didn’t have enough cash on hand to redeem our vouchers but they gave us the address of their New York office. It took Chelsea, Ryan, and Hunter forever to get to baggage claim. They got stuck in a line behind two veiled Muslim women who were deemed security risks and had to wait in line for 45 minutes for them to clear.

Once we were all together, we got our van, loaded up, and headed out, paying $148 for parking. Clint drove through the city. We stopped at a Wendy’s on I-85 east of I-285. After eating, we continued to the SC state line where we picked up SC 11. I dozed part of the way. At the junction of SC 11 and SC 130, we met Ryan’s parents and handed him back over. He’s a great guy, I hope he can travel with us again.

I took over the driving and we made it to Brevard about an hour later. The parking lot in front of the cafeteria was populated by cars of parents and girlfriends eager to welcome their travelers home. Once they were gone, Elena and I drove to my apartment and unloaded. She fell asleep almost immediately. I took a shower and followed suit: the end to a fantastic trip.