The missing H

The first time I traversed the pond I was 12. Back then, going to the USA was a big deal. You could hear whispers in the school yard of kids that had gone and the trembling jealousy of the voices of the ones who hadn´t. Some that came back experienced something called "jet lag" and it apparently went on for months - like a curse of the entitled (not unlike Syphillis in the 18th century which indicated that you had the means to lay with prostitutes. True story) that explained bad performance on the football pitch or crying at the communal disco ("Must be the jet lag. You know I never cry. Right?").

Florida was the destination of choice and as proof that you had actually gone, you needed to bring home a baseball cap that had "Made in USA" printed on the label in the back. It just didn´t count otherwise. No hat, no glory. It was as simple as that. 

The news that I was going spread quickly. The Moells were going to Florida. Big time. I had long before departure cashed the social chips that the news of the trip endowed me and I believe I even felt some jet lag, or so I said. So when our father sat us down at the dinner table one night to tell me and my brother that there had been a change of plans I was horrified. The trip cancelled? If it were so I would gladly choose death over dishonor and end my life right there and then. Could our parents really do this to us?

The suspense was killing us. We were not going to Florida but to two places that both started with an H, daddy Christian said.

 Hungary? Helsinki? Surely, you couldn´t switch holiday destination to Finland and get away with it? I could picture myself with my friends casually explaining that Helsinki was in fact the place to travel to these days. But then my brother hopefully introduced another destination in the mix and guessed "Hollywood". Father nodded and smiled. "Yepp, boys we are going to Los Angeles." We were ecstatic. 

L.A.  I had to feel the letters on my lips and let them linger. 

It turned out that a danish travel agency Larsen Reiser (now an exclusive mattress company called Jysk Bäddlager) had a special on a two week charter trip; one week in Los Angeles followed by a week in Hawaii. Immortality loomed.

Me, shortly after my triumphant return to Hubertusgården Elementary School