Zurich

I got a good price on my plane tickets going through expedia, though for my plane ride to Berlin I had to fly through Zurich. Look it up on a map if you don't understand how bizarre this is. However, I was flying Swiss Air International (a really nice carrier) and both flights were only about an hour long. (After regularly flying 9+ hours to Seattle and back, one hour flights are an absolute joke, especially since we were fed, essentially, lunch: a turkey curry baguette, drink, and Swiss chocolate in the short time between taking off and landing) That said, while both flights themselves were fine... the layover... 

I had an hour and five minutes between landing in Zurich and taking off for Berlin. Although I would have to change planes, I wasn't changing carriers (so I'd be in the same terminal); I should have PLENTY of time. I planned to stop by a shop and get some good chocolate for Katy and Julia as thank you gifts. Well, that "same terminal" bit? That rather went out the window when I realized that we were getting off the plane to get on a bus to be shuttled to the airport. No biggie, though - I grabbed a handhold and listened in amusement as an American behind me asked the English guy next to him how to get service for his iPhone here in Europe. I learned more than I ever needed to know, before the bus pulled up and deposited us at the main terminal. I had my notebook with all my flight information in my purse, but took a quick look at the screens to see that the flight to Berlin, leaving at about the time I remembered it should, was at a gate in the B terminals. The signs next to the screens advertised it as a 5-10 minute walk and, while there were plenty of shops right there, I somehow decided to head for my gate now, planning to shop closer to the gate once I found where it was. Thank goodness.

Following the endless signs towards my gate, I suddenly found myself in line for Passport Control. What? No, I'm going to the same carrier, I shouldn't... hmm... nope, this is the way to my gate. Confused, but realizing that this was, in fact, the way, I made my way through the queue, where I had my passport stamped for Zurich and was sent on my way. Umm... thanks? A few minutes later, approaching my gate, I realized the further implications of going through Passport Control - I had to go through security again, and the line was endless. Checking my watch - well, I still had five minutes before they'd start boarding and about half an hour before the plane took off. Surprise, surprise - Murphy's Law kicked in and, after placing my carry-on through the X-ray machine, I watched as it was pulled out the other end and trundled off to a table on the other side of the room. I followed the bag dutifully, wondering what I had done wrong this time, heart sinking as I checked my watch. "Dieses ist lhr?" Blank stare. "Is this your bag?" Ah, yes, yes it is. "Can I open this pocket?" Sure, why not. Ah... the big plastic bottle of cloudy lemonade that I hadn't finished at lunch, and had tucked into my luggage - because surely I wouldn't be going through security again. (grumble) He threw the bottle out, then ran my bag through a second time, this time coming out completely kosher. I flashed him a big smile, apologized for the mistake, then hot-footed it down the stairs to my gate. Okay, no problem - there's still a queue, the plane is still boarding, no problem.

Well, until I reached the front of the queue. The woman taking tickets at the door looked at my boarding pass, gave me an odd look, then said the most horrific thing I could've thought of at that particular moment, "This is the wrong flight to Berlin. You want flight 333 - gate A62." She helpfully wrote it on my ticket, then went on to the next person. Yep, two separate flights to Berlin, taking off within five minutes of each other, but taking off from opposite sides of the airport. Ten minutes before *my* plane would take off. 

"There are certain queer times and occasions in this strange mixed affair we call life when a man takes this whole universe for a vast practical joke, though the wit thereof he but dimly discerns, and more than suspects that the joke is at nobody's expense but his own." - Chapter 49, Moby Dick

I hustled back up the stairs, only to find myself trapped. I followed the exit signs back towards the security screening area, only to find myself in a weird hallway with a door that didn't open. I went back towards the staircase, only to see that the doorway there was a fire exit only and would set off an alarm. I went *back* to the hallway by the screening area, finally seeing a small green button. I pushed it. Nothing happened. I pushed it again. The doors still didn't open. I was about to scream, when I noticed a small woman shuffling at an intolerably slow speed towards the door with a key. After turning it, the door finally opened, allowing me back out into the main terminals. If you didn't find this sufficiently slapstick, you should realize that *all* of the walls in question were glass - thus, I could not only *see* exactly where I needed to go at all times, but the people waiting in the security line got to watch me race back and forth like a laboratory rat. 

I raced off down the main terminal hallways - well, "raced" meaning a quick walk, as my bag kept bumping into my knees no matter where I placed it, and I seemed to be continuously stuck behind zig-zag walkers (you know the kind - the ones who walk quite slowly, but don't walk in a straight line, so it is nearly impossible to pass them). I finally found gate A62, and fortunately the security checkpoint at the A gates was completely deserted (and hey! I'd already had a trail run to remove all contraband from my bag) - and I fell in line with the last stragglers on *this* flight to Berlin. Sweaty, out of breath, and on an adrenaline high, I took my seat on the plane, settled in... and spent 15 minutes sitting on the runway, waiting for our turn to take off.