So, I have a plan. My bag is checked in and tagged all the way to San Francisco, I'm repositioning myself using an evening flight from London and look forward to a night at the Hilton Squaire and a nice, subsequent breakfast at the Lufthansa First Class Terminal. All in Frankfurt. Should be great. And the walk from arrivals to the hotel will be an absolute breeze with my mental map of FRA good to go, refined over the course of a bazillion transfers.
It's thirty minutes after touchdown and I'm lost in an underground maze of walkways and stairs and a car park so big the moon would easily fit inside and I have no clue where I am or where the hotel is. I try random doors, elevators, up, down, floors and bump into equally random Germans. And a giant bus station. Google gives me nothing. I'm about to give up. Then, finally, in the distance, a sign that says »Hotels«. Another ten minutes of walking and I finally find myself at the Hilton.
Not a bad one at all, I might add.
I wake up the next morning, make my way down to the front desk and ask for directions to the First Class Terminal, not quite trusting that flawed mental map of mine. A young staff member is summoned, explaining that I can't walk to the FCT and I tell him that I'm pretty sure you can because I've done it before, we agree to disagree and I set off on my own, deciding to trust my mental map anyway. I venture back down into the underground walkways, try to navigate my way to where I think the FCT would be and eventually find myself at the end of an insanely long tunnel, there's a door leading to an underground garage, but hey, there's light, I walk out into the open and boom – the FCT is right there. Win!
Next up – a flight in first class on Lufthansa's A380.