Sunday morning at 9:30, we checked out of Pension Seibel and headed for the flughafen, although this time we took a tram to the S-Bahn, rather than once again disrupt Bavarians' day by traipsing across cobblestone with rolling suitcases.
Not everyone was going back to the States. Chandler went to Amsterdam (maybe) for business (maybe). 19 1/2 years after first seeing Bloodsport, Jer left for Brussels, finally completing his long-awaited pilgrimage to Jean-Claude Van Damme's birthplace. As it is the underworld, you gotta keep your balls protected. I can only hope he threw some dust in some Belgian's eyes. Inspired by Jer's often deafening praise for Van Damme, Liz also went to Brussels, choosing to stay several miles from Jer on the off chance that associating with him would result in her once again being sucked into the world of the Kumite, or forced to fight some dude with a shaved head and an ass-length braided ponytail with fists covered in broken glass, or, worse yet, turned into a cyborg. No word on whether Jer was discovered in his hotel room doing the splits sideways, feet resting on two chairs, while he calmly read a book on Flemish history.
For the US Airways group (and all others traveling internationally at the airport), the trip through the flughafen was long and arduous. There must have been 43 different security checkpoints. Fucking Nazis.
The flight back was nearly ruined by technical problems with the in-flight entertainment system. They had to reset it several times, much to the dismay of every single passenger. Mutiny was avoided, luckily. I watched Blades of Glory again, as well as the Spartan propaganda film, 300. I was pleasantly surprised at the carnage and bare breasts 300 offered. Nice work, US Airways.
In addition, I actually arose from my seat on at least one occasion on the flight back. Over the course of the week, the DVT lobby had sufficiently indoctrinated me. And good thing I listened, too, because it's been nearly two months and I STILL have no blood clots in my legs.
We arrived in Philly right before 4pm local time, which was key, since the late NFL games were all about to start. Of course, my trusty Blackberry, which finally worked for the first time in a week, informed me that the Bears managed to let the Lions score not 1, not 2, but 34 points in the fourth quarter. No, not actual lions, either. I'm talking about the Detroit Lions. Nice work.
Not knowing what else to do, most of us went to a sports bar and ordered some beers. Bohmann even had the balls to order Sam Adams Octoberfest.
The layover was several hours long, which wasn't so bad given the aforementioned football. We arrived in Chicago around 9:30, and Gregerson, TG, and I took a cab back to my pad. I cried myself to sleep that night, but I once I was out, I slept like a fetus, dreaming of dirndls, wurst, and stillvasser. What a week.