Arriving in Wiesbaden

On the way here, some kid on the plane from Portland to Chicago spilled peanut butter sauce on my pants. I tried to scrub it off in the teeny bathroom, but it only made it look MORE like I peed in my pants.

On the long flight from Chicago to Frankfurt, I was in Business Class, the place without awkward teenagers and peanut butter. There was an anomaly there, though. All three of the flight attendants were men. It wasn’t a bad thing, just something worth noticing. One of the men looked exactly like one of my Bible professors at Multnomah Bible College, Rex Koivisto. I kept thinking that he would ask me who Habakkuk was or what happened to Joshua’s missing day in order to get a refill on my coffee.

After a quick entry in the European Union [sidenote: why is it so much more difficult to enter Korea than the EU? Those Korea immigration guards looked at me and my papers up and down as though I was trying to live a lifelong dream of sneaking into the country unnoticed. Those EU guards flipped through my passport as if it was one of those cartoons of a dog running, and handed it back with a smile.], I checked into my hotel, and had my first meal in the downtown plaza in Wiesbaden. First meal: Hefeweizen and chicken pho at a Vietnamese place. Perhaps I can’t run from Asia as quickly as I thought. Or hoped.