Arrival: Friedrichshafen

I am in Friedrichshafen, Germany, or, to be precise, above Friedrichshafen and Lake Bodensee, floating in one of the Zeppelin company’s fantastic new airships (seats 12, maximum speed 77 mph). I relax in my seat as the airship climbs to an altitude of about a mile. The puffs of smoke from my cigarette are miniatures of the puffy clouds outside my window. The time when smoking is outlawed everywhere (what I call ‘The New Dark Age’) is nearly upon us, but I imagine myself in a Zeppelin, hovering over cities in defiance of their punitive and barbaric smoking bans, forcing the stupid, non-smoking ground wretches to see a giant flying phallus every time they look up. The stewardess brings me a drink. She’s a Teutonic vixen. I contemplate challenging her to a wrestling match, but that can wait until after we land or after I’ve had a few more drinks, whichever comes first. When I last flew on an airplane my stewardess was a homosexualist man. What a contrast. A delightful feature of the Zeppelin airship is that its windows open. This allows fresh air in; even better it allows throwing objects out. Every few minutes I drop a tropical fish, sure to baffle anyone it falls on. The Germans have named this sport, which has a lengthy history, Affebombardierung, after a particularly hilarious incident from 1956 in California.

Our pilot announces landing is in 40 minutes (when asked, the Zeppelin airship can stay aloft for 24 hours). The great Hugo Eckener once said, "In a Zeppelin you do not just fly but travel in every sense of the word in most wonderful way you could possibly imagine." Why must the modern world always prefer the efficient to the wonderful? Where are men the likes of Hugo Eckener? I ponder these sad mysteries as I drop an iguana out the window, and am unable to come up with any answers.