Title: First Christmas Solo: Farewell Schnitzel, Hello Paranoia
My flight had a boarding time of 8:30 AM, and with the looming threat of Christmas chaos at the airport, I made sure to arrive two hours early. My parents, ever supportive, graciously offered to drive me.
As we pulled up to the drop-off, they gave me a proper send-off. Mom wrapped me in an extra-big hug, the kind that felt like she was holding on to Christmas itself, while Dad handed me a handwritten list of names and numbers of friends and family in Czech I could contact “just in case.” It was equal parts touching and practical—classic Dad.
This will be my first solo Christmas away from the fam. No Dad in the kitchen, carefully breading and frying schnitzel to perfection—his signature dish that’s become a holiday legend. And no famous family potato salad, the kind only Mom and Dad can make, a masterpiece of pickles, herbs, and nostalgia. Together, they create the Christmas Eve meal I’ve always known, and this year, I’ll be missing it.
As I sit at the gate waiting for boarding I distract myself by watching Carry-On, a movie about—of all things—a TSA agent being blackmailed into allowing a package containing Novichok—a nerve agent so deadly that a single exposure causes violent seizures, uncontrollable muscle contractions, and suffocation as the victim’s lungs and heart shut down. The movie emphasizes its horrifying lethality, describing it as capable of killing within seconds to minutes, leaving no chance for survival.
As the movie plays on my iPad, I notice something unsettling: the plot is eerily mirroring reality.
As I sip an overpriced latte, side-eyeing every suspicious character, the PA system crackles to life:
“Passenger Mattaeo, please report to the gate.”
I freeze. Mattaeo. The name of one of the terrorists in the movie. The exact name. And the exact thing that happened in the movie. Because why wouldn’t this happen?
I scan the crowd, suddenly hyper-aware of everyone around me. There’s a guy sweating through his denim jacket, a woman clutching a mysterious-looking carry-on, and a toddler who’s far too quiet for my liking, staring at me over their parent’s shoulder with unnerving intensity. Any one of them could be Mattaeo.
And then, as if on cue, there’s a shot in the movie of the terrorist’s feet. I glance down at my own and feel my stomach drop. The new shoes I bought for this trip? The exact same model and color as the lead terrorist’s in the movie. If airport security pulls me aside, I’ll have no defense other than: “ I needed something for good traction on snowy cobblestone, I swear!”
Eventually, a man with a backpack stands up and heads to the gate agent. My heart races. Is it him? Is it Mattaeo? Nope. Just some poor guy named Matt who left his passport at security.
I let out a relieved sigh and try to calm my nerves, but I can’t help thinking about what I’m leaving behind. The rhythmic thwack, thwack, thwack of Dad tenderizing schnitzel in the kitchen. The comforting smell of potatoes, pickles, and herbs as Mom works her magic on the potato salad.
This Christmas may not have schnitzel or potato salad, but it’s already shaping up to be one I’ll never forget.
After a smooth first leg with Air Canada from YVR to YUL, I found myself with a short layover in Montreal before boarding my next flight with Austrian Airlines to Vienna. The gate area already hinted at what was to come: a sea of red, Austrian Airlines’ signature color.
Once aboard, the theme became unmistakable. The seats were gray with red trim, and red was everywhere—seat belts, stewardess uniforms with red jackets, skirts, socks, shoes, and scarves. The entire cabin seemed to echo a commitment to their brand’s signature.
Connecting through Vienna was its own adventure. My next gate was on the exact opposite side of the terminal, and to get there, I had to navigate multiple escalators, a customs line, a bus ride, and the ever-changing departure screens. The line at customs felt like it was only getting longer as more and more frantic passengers cut in front, waving boarding passes and shouting, “My flight is boarding now!”. I had 45 minutes to make my connection, but with an unknown distance ahead of me, it felt like the journey was stretching longer and longer with every passing second.
At one point, we were funneled through a stairwell that opened up into an area that looked suspiciously like the loading bay for all the airport stores. Delivery people zipped around with pallet jacks, maintenance workers pushed carts, and a sea of frantic travelers ran in every direction. It was surreal—like we’d all accidentally wandered backstage in a production where no one knew their lines.
When I finally reached the gate, boarding was already underway. The familiar red uniforms of Austrian Airlines greeted me as I stepped onto the plane, a small but comforting reminder that I was, at last, in the right place. I collapsed into my seat, sweaty and frazzled, feeling like I’d just completed an airport obstacle course
The plane itself was cozy, with two rows of two seats and the plane only half full. Business class was separated from economy by a comically small curtain with red trim. The curtain covered the area above the headrests, leaving the aisle completely visible. It felt less like a divider and more like a symbolic gesture.
I was seated in the first row of economy, directly behind business class. Once we were in the air, the stewardess brought out water and chocolates, closing the tiny curtain right in front of my face as she passed by. Despite her effort to create separation, the carefully cut hole in the curtain for the no-smoking and seatbelt signs provided a clear view into the front section. I could also see straight down the aisle, making the attempt at exclusivity almost endearing in its futility.
There was no meal service on this flight—just the chocolates and water. Yet, the simple act of receiving a chocolate nugget felt unexpectedly luxurious. Perhaps it was the charming absurdity of the situation: the red-drenched cabin, the peek-a-boo curtain, and the realization that, regardless of where we sat, we were all nibbling on the same chocolates and heading to the same destination.
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