When Showcase pulled up to LAX to drop me off for my flight to Copenhagen, the traffic was backed up all the way out of the airport. "What the fuck?" we muttered aloud. It's President's Day Weekend. Isn't tomorrow supposed to be the freaky-hectic travel day?
As we passed Terminal 1 we saw rows and rows of cop cars forming some sort of a barricade around the part of the sidewalk where people are usually dropped off. A luggage-toting crowd several hundred strong was bundled together over to the side behind a rope. A TSA guy held a bomb-sniffing dog on a leash.
Terminal 1 had been evacuated. And Terminal 2, which I was flying out of, looked nearly deserted.
"Seriously, if you see anyone in a turban, RUN" said Showcase as I pulled my backpack out of the trunk. I immediately dialed Pauly.
"So... is there anything on the internet about LAX being evacuated for a bomb scare?"
"There are cop cars and dogs that sniff bombs all over the place."
"In your terminal?"
"No, the one next to me."
"I don't see anything on Drudge. I think you're fine."
It's always something with me and airports. Either I'm stuck in a middle seat, saddled with a screeching infant for 10 hours, or like now, confronted with potential terrorism.
(Turns out it was just some nutjob on a Southwest flight who made a "suspicious comment," forcing the evacuation).
The Northwest/KLM counter was a mess as usual. I did the self check-in, then had to wait nearly 30 minutes before the confused old man behind the counter (the SAME idiot who tried to bump me off my flight to Amsterdam last August after I was told to wait in the wrong line and I had to resort to tears to get attention from his superiors and make my plane) could give me my baggage tags. I farted around in the various book and electronics stores in the terminal while I waited to board and picked up one of those universal power adapters. I loaned my Euro-plug to Mandy for her trip to Italy and haven't seen it since.
The flight itself was painless. I read about 100 pages of Beautiful Children, a novel I just started, ate the lousy airplane food dinner, popped two Xanax, and managed to sleep for about 6 hours. I woke up somewhere over Scotland to the sound of a baby shrieking. I couldn't fall back asleep so I watched a couple of episodes of The Office on my iPod.
I changed planes in Amsterdam and played a SNG on Full Tilt while I waited out the layover. I bubbled, of course courtesy of several sick beats by some Aussie donkey who thinks it's perfectly reasonable to call a re-raise out of position with 6-8 offsuit.
Noah Boeken was on my flight from Amsterdam to Copenhagen, as was a friendly American guy who had won his seat on Poker Stars. It was also the first plane I've ever been on where NONE of the seats go back. Thankfully I was only on it for an hour.
I took the train into town (way cheaper than a cab and far more convenient) and walked the few blocks to my hotel. It's very modern with chic decor (cow-print couches in the lobby?) and the rooms as typically tiny as any European hotel I've stayed at. The elevators, though are the weirdest things I've ever seen. I must have been standing there for 5 minutes hitting the button and wondering why the doors wouldn't open. That's because you have to open them yourself! There's a wooden door in front of the actual elevator doors, that opens out toward you, quite normally, like the front door to your house would. Then, once inside the elevator, the typical metal "elevator doors" slide closed before you go up. Once on your floor, it's the same story. The metal doors slide open, but there's another wooden one behind it you have to shove open. Very bizarre.
I wish I could say something more insightful about my first trip to a Scandinavian capital, but I simply haven't seen much of Copenhagen yet. It was already dark when I got here (though my body clock is at about 11 AM). I'm about to go downstairs and grab dinner with Mike, my Poker News cohort for this tournament. Maybe I'll get to see a little more as we wander the streets, searching for sustenance.
Oh, yeah. It's also really cold here. Like, 30 degrees. I brought a parka. I look like the Stay-Puff marshmallow man. Stop it, I can hear you all laughing...