I’m writing this from the first row of a Lufthansa 747-400. There’s nothing between me and the nose cone, except for a few suit jackets and a pocket of German magazines. Above me is the cockpit and first class. Behind me are several dozen sleeping Germans businessmen and women (including one elderly man who clears his throat every 4-7 seconds) and several hundred huddles masses.
As I type, I take breaks to enjoy some spoonfuls of my personal container of Häagen-Dazs Dulce de Leche ice cream. Gone is my shrimp cocktail and glazed salmon. Such are the travails of an international traveler.