The intro

Made it. It's almost 7am and the sun is slowly rising. You can hear the traffic below pick up. The speed tram has been running for a while. It's partially responsible for my awakeness. Part jet lagged part just used to early rising, I'm contemplating how quietly I can make myself that cut of coffee, without waking anyone up. The flight over was mainly uneventful. Seems like hours of sitting and waiting, to take off, to board, to land. Although... At the airport, trouble started at the check-in kiosk. Since when international check in is automated? I was amazed at the lack of actual human counters: just a few isolated security workers running around in frantic attempts to check everyone's passport. My passport wouldn't scan, after it finally did and my boarding pass was printed, there was a commotion. The pleasant security officer "helping" us (but really checkin us in as he is supposed to be doing on internstionsl flights), takes my boarding pass and goes "umm...we don't usually see this, but your boarding pass came out with quadruple S, which is a high security alert." QUADRUPLE!?!? what does that mean?! Well it appears I'll have to answer a few extra questions...wtf? We get to security line and the security sees the boarding pass and starts loudly yelling at someone over: quadruple S, security alert, I'll need some extra assistance! People. Are now. Staring. We are whisked to the front of the conveyor line, dismemeber, I mean, take off shoes and watches and liquid bags out of bags, and pass through the X-ray (which by the way is not made for short people, cause the two feet painted on the floor, where you're supposed to step are way too far apart for me to straddle) and are again pulled aside: "we need a female pat-down over here" can you yell that louder?!? Our bags are thoroughly searching for drug or explosive residue, we are thoroughly patted down (she did go down my cleavage line and I'm pretty sure cupped both butt cheeks) we are let go. So why did this happen? Not sure, the security guy explains, but if I want, I can go onto their website and start an investigation to let them know they have tagged me wrong because I'm not the person they're looking for. Is it because I don't have an IRB? Did the IRB alert the authorities? Crap. I sleep on the plane: constricted, cramped, noisy, sleeping pill-aided abridged sleep. I make friends with a guy coming back from US- Canada tour with this touring large band thing. Munich makes me happy. Not sure what it is that makes me into a creepy germophile that I am, but even the airport proximity to being here just fills me with joy. I speak German and this makes me realize I miss the language, in my overly filled Spanish-speaking-patient incompetent life, it's good to actually communicate. I get complemented on my perfect German by the convenience store guy ("you live here?" "no, not right now") and we board the last leg of the flight. My mother makes a drunk friend. This guy, who reeks of booze (it's ten am) and has questionable stains on his pants, brown but sort of not in the location where one can soil themselves or aim to directly vomit...I don't know maybe it's ketchup, proceeds to start a conversation with my mother while we're waiting to board. He tells her his life story about ex-wives and step children, all while strangers are staring at ths charade. My mother is actively ignoring him (and I'm just laughing). After he treatens to help her with her bag, she tells him to go away. Then he asks if he can sit with us... I had no idea my mom has this weird attraction of the drunk. We land and the customs line is a mess. There is an actual line, like the bell demarcation of the line, but it's hard to tell it's actual shape. There does not appear to be beginning or end, therefore, the whole place is a one big shapeless herd aiming towards several small cubicle like border patrol peopled holes. People are pushing me, some lady decides that if she stands so close behind she is actually holding my ass, it'll get her to the front of the line faster. After several minutes of aimless herd-like movement, we jump under some useless rope following a fellow lost American and get ahead. The border guy is nice, and I, for the first time recite the address of where I'm staying (thanks shannon for making me fill out paperwork and yes you're supposed to provide an address of stay) we're free. Welcome to Kiev!