layover land

I am in Frankfurt at a sort-of-French-themed cafe. It is maybe the cutest cafe ever. There are tiny boxes of tea and chocolates, tiny Victorian furniture, a harp, a painting of cakes and tarts, and embroidered blue fabric wallpaper. I would take pictures but my camera is in my checked luggage and I doubt my Razr would really capture it. Also, I still haven't overcome my guilty American tourist awkwardness that I never shook off in a year in Europe. I ordered a slice of quiche and forgot that small pieces of ham go without saying, and ordered a water and forgot that glass bottled goes without saying (ahhh...Europe), so now I am drinking Perrier from a wine glass next to a plate of uneaten pieces of ham. It is Monday, so all of the museums are closed. I still have five hours to kill before my flight, so now I'm debating where and when to drink beer and eat dinner.
Though I have the itinerary from hell with 3 stopovers, it's still been mostly pleasant, besides being hit on by a TSA employee at SFO (it's hard to say no to a lunch date when the guy inviting you is holding you up at baggage inspection). Air Canada runs a tight ship, and on my flight from Toronto to London I was placed in seat 3A, which is a window seat in what would usually be first or business class - they were assigning coach passengers to extra seats in the front, which was kind of like winning a lottery I didn't know I entered. Heathrow was a zoo because of the thwarted bombings two days ago, extra fun with my Benadryl and jetlag hangover.
This middle-aged German man just asked me in German if (I presume) this was an iBook or a Powerbook, and I said Macbook. I think he told me he has a Powerbook at home, but I'm not certain.
It's so strange to be in Europe again, seeing yet another 14th century cathedral, wandering with a heavy backpack trying to decide which cafe to sit at, and tiptoeing around languages I don't understand. I never quite acclimated to being a tourist.