Lufthansa Flight or Melting Pot?

It never ceases to amaze me how different people can be from one country to the next. I’ve never been one to generalize or stereotype buuuuut, in general, every country I have visited over the last few months has a pretty distinct personality. On my flight home from the States (I went home for 2 ½ weeks at Thanksgiving) this week, I looked around and realized we had a small cross section of the Western Hemisphere on my plane…

Exhibit A, in the seat next to me – Germany

A polite but quiet young man sits down in the middle seat of a 3-seat row and immediately buckles up. The plane isn’t full, and there is an empty seat on the other end of our row. As the plane taxies and takes off, I figure he will move to the vacant seat, leaving the middle seat empty and giving us both some breathing room. Nope. He isn’t budging. So, I ask him if he would perhaps consider moving over one seat. Naturally, I explain, we can then both stretch out and be comfortable for the 9-hour flight looming ahead of us. Do you think he moves? Remember, he’s German… His response, complete with a thoroughly confused facial expression, “But, this is my assigned seat.” Of course it is! Had he not then proceeded to dump his oily, Italian salad dressing down my leg during dinner, I might have just written the whole thing off. However, now reeking of anchovies, I’m actually wishing him bodily harm. Or, at least a few good Charlie horses and awful muscle cramps as a result of sitting bunched up next to me for so long.

Exhibit B, in the aisles, loitering by the bathroom, pulling things out of the overhead bins onto other passengers’ heads … In general, everywhere but in their seats! – Italy

Ah, the Italians! God love them, just never stick me on a plane full of them. As we board the plane, I notice an older couple seated in front of me. Their daughter is standing in the aisle (blocking the passage for everyone trying to elbow their way to seats behind her) “translating” for her parents. Her words, not mine. What she is translating, I’ll never know, since there are no PA announcements at the time and not a single flight attendant in sight. The plane takes off (the German is still glued to my side, however has not yet dumped anything down my leg) and up pops the daughter again, making her way from the back row of the plane to her parents. She starts “translating” loudly again – at least this time, we’re in the middle of the safety announcement, so there is actually something to “translate.” I bury my nose in a book and practice deep breathing in an attempt to block it all out.

Exhibit C, smoking in the lavatory - France

Smoking in the lavatory. It's a federal offense in the United States, the country of origin for our flight. Not to mention, it carries heavy fines in Europe and causes cancer (FYI). When I think of the tiny, cramped, 2 foot by 2 foot box airlines call a lavatory, the last thing I have the urge to do is smoke. I can barely stand to be in there long enough to take care of business, much less enjoy an entire cigarette. But, the French woman risking being labeled a felon the rest of her life and the 800-euro fine? Apparently, she can't pass up the chance to light up.

Exhibit D, Screaming at her children in an outside voice despite being on an airplane, and yanking them around hard enough to dislocate an elbow – America

Since I am equal opportunity with my stereotypes, I can’t leave out the ugly American. I hear her coming minutes before I see her round the corner. With 3 children in tow, each struggling to roll Hannah Montana and Handy Manny miniature suitcases behind them, she is loud and proud. I do a double take and realize she’s actually wearing a T-shirt that reads, “Made in America.” I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried, folks.

For the entire flight, the children squeal, the American woman yells at them to ‘cut it out’ and the Italians chatter louder to make sure they’re heard over the din. There are, however, no more smoking-in-the-lavatory incidents. But, don't forget the German, in my lap from one side of the Atlantic to the other.