Mr Rara-rara Man: Getting there

The trail of luggage carts proceeded along the tarmac like a chain of camels marching through the desert. Except this desert floor was not comprised of sand but rather an expanse of concrete carpeting and offered a memorable, though unpleasant, smell of jet fuel. Gates like spaces - all pre-assigned, reserved parking for the aircraft, guided through the lot by the coolest blue lights.

"Mr Rara-rara Man, please see a flight attendant" was an announcement on the public address system. Without hesitation I made my way to the galley in the rear of the bubbled business class section of the B747-400: "I am Mr Rara-rara Man," I proclaimed. The two flight attendants for our section, Nathan, a very sweaty gay Deutschsprecker, and Stella, a lively, spunky veteran, smiled welcomingly. I then asked for a refill of my Malbec and we enjoyed a few laughs before I returned to my seat.

Take-off is a go! Vacation, full throttle ahead. Nevermind - abort, abort!
"Remain seated! Remain seated! Remain seated!" was the call from the cockpit. Shit - what happened? Are we ok? Attempt two went along without a hitch. Basically an aircraft's version of 'PC2 Load Letter' error with the auto-pilot system as the pilot explained. My words, not his.

Once airborne, my excitement began the crescendo I am still experiencing. The adventure to India was just beginning. Though after a very smooth flight and a rocky landing, we arrived in Frankfurt's Main airport, which reiterated how much that airport sucks. The following is part five of a brief outline of how much, exactly, it sucks:

See sign pointing to Red Carpet Club
Approach security checkpoint to get into said club
Ask security if it is necessary to take out our liquids from our bags
Response - no
Items passed through the x-ray machine
Security attendant: Do you have any liquids?
Me: Yes
Security: Take them out
Toiletries removed
Security: Do you also have a bottle of water?
Me: Yes - here it is
Security: There are three bottles (cannot ever have too many bottles of Dasani)
Me: Oh yeah...here they are
Security: Throw them away
My soliloquy: Whaaa? So I went through security in the US and purchased ridic expensive water in an approved price-gouging airport store (see: Flying Friendly)(usually a WH Smith outlet) so I can finally hold something that's mine to drink only to have it confiscated when I arrive!? Is my water not safe enough for Europe? Fucked up.
I drank a full bottle of the world's finest water, bottled by Dasani (considered a sweet fruit luxury by many) and enter the supposed Red Carpet Club area...
Dead end! We arrived to a gate with no exit area! At least there could have been a sign that said 'no outlet' or something.
Return to security
Me: Can I have my water back?
Butch security woman: "Your water is gone forever." (That is a direct quote - and she wasn't being poetic, just naturally brutal.)
Soliloquy, part 2: Don't you think if you're going through a security checkpoint after which is a single gate for a single flight bound for Russia someone might ask if that's your intended destination - much less check your papers to make sure that you belong there!? Again, paranoia over terrorist water over-shadows all else and remains in the forefront of thirsty security apparatuses worldwide.

When we finally arrived at the real Red Carpet lounge I found a croissant and looked in a bowl of spreads for some jelly. Not exactly realizing what Leberwurst was since I, well I just wasn't thinking, I peeled back the container and started gagging right away. That stuff should be considered contraband and subject to heavy fines. There is no good part of the liver and certainly no sense in packaging the worst part of it. So nasty.

The flight to Mumbai wasn't as comfortable as it was on United. Six rows from the back of the plane (row 49 to be exact), we were squeezed into seats more appropriate for a diarama. An over-energetic boy sat behind me and was shouting and making noises the duration of the 7hour flight. We also had a neighbor a few rows away have a health problem that was evidently serious enough for calls for a doctor. I was thinking that we might have an emergency landing and then I could finally get to see Tehran. I'm not sure what the other passenger's problem was, but I have a hunch that it had to do with sitting so far back in the plane.

Alas, after 15+ hours of flying and airport nonsense we arrived and began our early morning journey to our hotel, situated along the coast of the Arabian Sea.