About Switzerland…
By
KCLaurila

Preface

In the fresh glow of youth, we seldom realize how precious each moment of our life is, after all we have so many of them yet to spend. But later, in our maturity, as we look back on those early reckless days, we can begin to understand how important it was to be unaware. Otherwise, how would we ever have found the courage to waste those precious moments so wisely?

 

Chapter 1- Leaving Ft. Lauderdale

It was 1974 and things just didn’tget any more ordinary or boring than my life, or so I thought at the time. Always trying to pinch pennies and still do it all, on the ‘cheap’, I had booked fare on Air Bahama, cheapest flight to Europe in an effort to cure the boring situation. Not relying on my parents for their financial input [and consequently, their approval] was central to my idea of freedom and independence in search of a new life, or at the very least an adventure.

I worked odd jobs constantly, saving pennies living at home. That was me, constantly trying to save a buck and in the process getting my curlers in a jam and pulling out my hair by the roots. Not a pretty sight on a natural blonde just turning twenty. Many of the problems that followed my progress through life could be attributed to my lack of funds or my unwillingness to spend them. But what college student ever has plenty of money? I should not have been in such a dither when my trip was continually beset with problems, but then hindsight is always 20/20.

I perceived myself as a typical college female, average height and weight, straight, thick, long blonde hair [despite the curler pulling] usually made blonder by the Florida sunshine. I was ordinary in every other way, except for one thing… my embarrassingly larger than normal breasts. OK - waaaay larger than normal. It's a genetic trait inherited from the females on both sides of my family and an exceptionally cruel trick fate played on a young, naïve girl. Large breasts had been the hallmark of my torture & shame in school from fourth grade on. In my youth, I did not understand [and still don’t really] the fascination of the male species with huge boobs. But, child that I was, I didn’t know they [men] weren’t fascinated with me. It was sad and laughable, now that I look back on it, just another life lesson I would have to learn the hard way.

It’s not a fact I’m proud of, but if you’re to understand any of this at all, you need to know, the 'mams' are my only truly outstanding physical feature. The oversized chest luggage singles me out from the crowd, produces instantaneous preconceived notions in the head of every male [and female] on the planet and I hated them [the boobs, not the people]. In 1974, however, I was just beginning to learn they gave me a certain amount of power…

I boarded a twin engine prop plane that looked like a throw back from an Indiana Jones movie to get to the Bahamas where I was scheduled to board the Air Bahama flight for Luxembourg. The farewells to my mother and family were unexpectedly tearful and tentative. I think my parents were more aware of my intent to move to Europe on a more permanent basis than I gave them credit for. I had been in touch with a friend from college who assured me I would be accepted to the Universtät at Tübingen as an English teacher, if I wanted to apply.

I wasn’t doing so well at the University of Florida that year, and going to Europe was my idea of a partial solution. This trip had the potential to provide a career opportunity and/or the total life style change I was looking for. At the very least, it was a chance to procrastinate until a decision would have to be made. This plan had the advantage of partly hiding from my student responsibilities while still capitalizing on my student status to see Europe on the cheap. It was an excellent buy for time. The flight to the Bahamian Airport was short, more than a little bumpy, but amazingly uneventful for trespassing so boldly through the Devil’s Triangle in such an ancient aircraft.

The Airport was little more than an abandoned World War II air strip on the end of the island with a small, one room, air-conditioned terminal on the side of it in grand sixty’s style. The March weather was pleasant for a young Floridian like me. But I could see plainly how the warm, humid air was visibly slapping the faces of the majority of passengers disembarking on the staircase that led directly down onto the hot, open tarmac. There were easily 40 or so of us waiting to board the incoming jet, and seats in the tiny terminal were at a premium. Still, we’re all excited travelers enthralled by the ocean view afforded by this exotic little airport on the end of an island. So the three hours we waited seemed to pass rather quickly, at least in my memory.

It was the following six hours of sitting on the tarmac that seemed to go on forever.  


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