Frankfurt
The security in Germany, though not as irrational as the US, still required standing in line to check visa's, picking up my bag, carrying it back through security, and checking in again.
When I booked my flight, I used the suggested itinerary and didn't look at the flight times closely. This extra security check apparently isn't recognized by the booking software and it only gave me 1 hour to do their little security jig, pick up the tickets for the rest of my flights, and board the next plane. Returning to the US was the same. I had to run to the gate in Frankfurt (another excellent reason not to be carrying luggage) and was the last person on the plane.
While standing in line to go back through security, we were ordered to stand in different security lines by a severe German woman wearing an airport pants suit whose buttons strained to contain her inflated bosom. She was barely able to contain her disgust with us filthy foreigners. When one guy opened the strap trapping us in a meaninglessly serpentine single file line, she fell upon him in a fury. "You opened that strap!" The guy just smiled at her and I wasn't sure if he spoke English.
Waiting for people overburdened with handbags, laptops, and luggage to unpack their carry on for security was painful when I just needed to empty my pockets into the tray.
While waiting for the German officials to check our visas, a stereotypical American cut in line. He was a good old boy from the south wearing jean shorts and an unfunny t-shirt stretched over his swollen belly and a gray camouflage hat. The rest of his family (a fat nervous wife and three overweight kids) clustered around him in silence and eyed everyone suspiciously. The man's southern drawl rang out over the crowd and he stopped every airport worker who hurried by to ask if this was the right line. We got to hear all about how he was going to Milan and how his flight was due in 30min.
Before taxiing on the plane to Oslo, the stewardess gave her safety lecture in German, English, and Norwegian. There were two Russians in the seat in front of mine with shaved heads wearing camouflage. While we waited to taxi from the gate, they cracked jokes in Russian, mimed some minor gaff the stewardess had made earlier, and punched each other. There was a lot of horseplay and furtive giggling. When one failed to turn off his cell phone as we taxied, the man directly across the aisle motioned the stewardess over and complained for nearly a minute in Norwegian about the two men sitting a few feet away and she turned to tell them to turn off their cell phones.
I assumed they were Russian soldiers on holiday to Oslo until about halfway through the flight when they ceased punching each other and started to cuddle. Apparently they were just a gay couple with a penchant for camouflage.
We landed at a medium sized airport 35km outside of Oslo and after waiting in quiet dread for my luggage to emerge from the bowels of the airport, I carried it towards customs. I was a little nervous about customs; they follow arbitrary and irrational rules and have the authority to make your life very unpleasant. When I travel, I'm much much more worried about dealing with obstructive customs officers and security theater than terrorists or tainted food. In my bag, I carried several expensive digital cameras, digital media, two bottles of beer, several folding knives, and an unreasonable amount of beef jerky. (Beef Jerky, it turns out, is unknown to most Europeans and when ja tried to explain it to a friend, he was told, "I like my meat cooked".)
Two doorways exited the baggage claim area; the left door went to customs and through this I saw some desks and a single bored official wearing a hat. The right door led directly into the airport and through it I could see a large sunlit space thronged with people. Between the doors a sign explained the things you were supposed to declare and I decided the stuff I was carrying didn't technically match what they were looking for and exited via the right doorway.
There were no officials or lines and I walked through with a curious mixture of relief and apprehension, wondering if it was an elaborate ruse to catch me red handed.