The Flight to Split

"We have art so as not to perish from the truth"

I scheduled an afternoon flight so I could sleep in and have a morning, but I was needed at the office on a mission of vital importance! So I went in for an early meeting. That gave my coworkers a a chance to see my bags! Completed the mission and hopped on the LINK. 

When you go to Eastern Europe, you stop in Germany first, and if you stop in Germany, you're probably taking Lufthansa. The Seattle airport is dominated by Alaska Airlines, so everyone else gets shoved into a sad little corner of the terminal. It's a long walk.

A pleasant one this time, though, since the whole place was tricked out for folks headed to Arizona for the Super Bowl. Seahawks decorations were everywhere, some made by children. The ticketing counters all had blue and green balloons and big mylar footballs floating around.

It is supremely charming and making me a little homesick before I've left home.

I'm trying a new travel jacket, and it's cool, I reckon, but it doesn't match any of my clothes. I spent a lot of time imagining myself looking nicer in the other one. I had plenty of time to think on the long walk to the counter.

At the self-service ticket machine a pictorial warning came up warning me not to bring flammables or poisons or other forbidden materials. Next to the skull and cross bones and the sinister canister was a drawing of a giant horseshoe-shaped cartoon magnet, and that cracked me up. 

Are those even real?

Security was no problem. On the escalator to my gate, the mesh pocket of a man's backpack was full of broken chunks of candy cane. I was strangely fascinated by it and stared at the jagged chunks the whole ride up.

Got some Euros at the Ripoff Counter. Got some sushi, since there was no line. Got on the plane. I needed the Euros for the taxi scheduled to pick me up in Split. My host wrote: 

"Hello, so the taxi will wait for you on airport with a paper on which will be writed your name so you will recognize him." 

He wants Euros and not Croatian currency, which is called the Kuna. The abbreviation is HRK, and I don't know why. I've been saying "HRK Kuna Matata" and getting angry with myself. 

Flight was fine. They sure feed you. Everyone watched Planet of the Apes movies with German subtitles. The safety film was a weird 3D animation thing with an everyman wearing a giant wedding ring. He was traveling with a cartoon daughter who looked nothing like him. When shit went down, he put the mask on himself first and then helped her. 

When the hot food arrived it was wrapped in sizzling foil, and you could hear everyone hissing in their native tongue when they touched it. The Germans whispered "Autsch!"

Whoopie once, Whoopie twice, the meal was chicken, bread, and rice. 

I finished The Goldfinch. 900 pages that thing was. I ended up half liking it. The last thirty pages is a nihilistic yawp about how we're only on this Earth to suffer. It salvaged the whole book for me. You know what, lady. I was gonna give you two stars, but that rant bumped you up to three. 

Then I read a bunch about Split.

The Roman Emperor Diocletian was from the area, so he had a big palace built there to retire in. He was the first Roman emperor to retire. The others all died in office. He spent his old age gardening instead of sniffing figs to see if he was going to be poisoned by an heir. 

He was also the most savage persecutor of Christians. They say he's responsible for the most Saints. Which I thought was pretty badass. He was forever strapping folks to wheels and tying folks to posts and feeding folks to lions. 

That would be a good nickname, The Saintmaker! 

Then I read some essays by George Bernard Shaw, a major literary figure of whom I am largely ignorant. He sure was awesome. The gist of this one was, "Hey, critics, if you don't like my lyrics, y'all can press fast forward!"

Then I dozed, and then the pilot woke us up to tell us it was the oldest flight attendant's last flight. She had worked for Lufthansa for forty years. I figured if she'd been there that long, she could have let us sleep for another ten minutes.

 Then I was in Frankfort for the connecting flight. This place is all twisted pretzels and precise timepieces. 

In a few hours I'll see my name writed on a card and be whisked to Diocletian's Palace of Persecution.