Back from Düsseldorf

I have to say, that wasn't too bad. The airport is bit of a labyrinth mind you, but why should it be any different than any other international airport?
The Sheridan was pretty spiffy. I see why Gabe likes to haunt these places when she travels. Located right at the airport, so it's a no brainer.
Five minute walk to departures.
And I noticed there's a train station there as well.

Hm. Do you think they're on to something with that whole, "why don't we put a train station at the airport?" program?

Maybe these boneheads should take a little trip to Yurp.

The big seasonal dish most anywhere in Europe at this time is asparagus, so that's what Gabe had for dinner. I went with a hamburger. It was passable. When you're hungry enough, many things are.
By the time we ate it was after ten, so that doesn't help.

I was on the Autobahn this morning at 6:20 and made it back to Nederland in an hour flat. There was no construction, no issues (a lot of traffic going the other way mind you) so hopefully I won't need to watch the mailbox for any little surprises from the speeding ticket gods. (hey, I was just keeping up with everybody, c'mon!)

Perhaps my biggest challenge at most any place like one of these huge airports is being able to find my way back to the car.

I'm not kidding.

I have to say that at Schiphol, someone very clever came up with the idea of naming the parking lots. Now, since most of us can remember a name better than some number (unless you happen to be some finance person, but we won't name names) it's heaps easier to remember that you're parked in "Klompen" say, as opposed to something like P3 31B #12.

I didn't just make that up either.

In spite of that, I did find the car, after having only briefly walked towards the wrong corner of the sea of cars, before realising how the pattern of numbers was working.

Now, since I tend to be the only member of the party that happens to carry around the cash (it's the shopping, OK?) I need to make sure once in a while that Gabe actually has some dough on her. I only had a few fifties and a twenty, and she was only willing to take the twenty.
At that moment, I knew there was something nagging at me telling me I should have kept the twenty, but it wasn't until I went to pay for parking that it became clear what that nagging thing was all about.


Um...ya, that would be the amount of change you get when you pay your parking with a fifty.

At least the machine didn't light up like some one armed bandit.

And then I wonder why my pants pockets are forever wearing out?