MICHAEL WINTERS

FOSDEM 2026

I’ve never been to a FOSS conference. I’ve never been to Europe. I’ve never contributed to a Linux distro (only apps). I’ve never heard of the Beefy Miracle, and I have no idea what the mustard signifies…

I guess this is the year I do all the things!

Wednesday #

Delta #

Like all classic epics, our story starts with a hero sitting in an airport terminal, staring at a screen that simply says, “Delayed”. It turns out that you need pilots for airplanes, and if you don’t have one then nobody gets to go. Somebody should tell Delta!

After a few hours, the handlers managed to net a live one by rigging the tap-to-pay on the crew lounge vending machine to only respond with, “Card not recognized”. The poor starving thing never saw it coming.

I wasn’t sure what to expect from a wide-body plane or my odds of sleeping on one, since I’d only seen them in the movies. Fortunately mine was only at about 60% capacity, so I had a wide selection of seats in which to writhe painfully. It was only near the end of the flight that a wizard demonstrated for me the proper technique of folding up the arm chairs and laying across an entire row while smelling vaguely of marijuana and Doritos.

Meanwhile, since sleep wasn’t an option, I had plenty of time to use the in-flight Wi-Fi to try to figure out what the delay meant for my connecting flight and the rest of my adventure / lifespan, as this particular tuna can would take us no further than Amsterdam. (Wildlife regulations prohibit catch-and-release of flight crew into countries without an international airport.)

Unfortunately, the Delta app was working about as well as the crew scheduling software.

Thankfully, Delta had already anticipated this exact situation! They had even staffed an entire department of people who were willing to text you but have absolutely no ability to help.

(Translation for non-Americans: “Your inconvenience is our profit margin.”)

KLM #

Of course, I wasn’t the only one in this predicament. Thankfully the Amsterdam airport is full of helpful staff shouting instructions at the masses at all hours of the day, so I was able to quickly find the desk for “KLM”, which I’m pretty sure is some different letters than DELTA, but they looked friendly. Which is a good thing too, because while I was somehow near the front of the line, the line behind me quickly grew enormous, and not everyone looked entirely understanding of the situation.

After the agents helped a few other people, I was up next! I waited patiently for one of the desk agents to call the next number, my number, as they were all still typing furiously at their computers, documenting the results of their previous exchange.

One of them wrapped up their data entry and then quietly gathered their water bottle and assorted effects and walked through the door at the back of the room while carefully avoiding anything approaching eye contact. (Nevermind eye contact, there wasn’t even shoe contact.) Then another did the same. And another. Oh, I get it – shift change! Then another left. And another. Somehow I could tell that the huddled masses behind me (roughly 50 people) were clearly thinking approximately the same thing I was, even though many of them likely didn’t speak English. Multiculturalism is fascinating!

Pretty soon it was just one agent left and myself. She did not seem happy. Neither did the insurgents, who seemed at least as likely to remove the lead contender (i.e., me) as to storm the desk.

Typing.

Typing.

Typing.

Yes, more typing.

Thankfully, the EU has determined that airport Wi-Fi is a human right, so I decided to reach out to one of my Fedora contacts who I knew lived in Amsterdam. “Halp?” But, since this was a weekday, they were at work and not monitoring their hobby chat channels, so I didn’t get an immediate response. Rude.

I looked around a bit, and the fellow behind me gave me a friendly “whaddya gonna do?” shrug. I considered a friendly wager as to whether we would all soon find ourselves behind an empty service desk, but thankfully the agent called out before I could commit any international financial crimes.

“There are no more flights today. They have all been canceled due to weather.” She looked me matter-of-factly in the eyes, as though she had just told me where the bathrooms are.

“Ok …”

“…”

“…”

Now, I know that Americans are known for their over-expressiveness, but this was starting to feel like a psych test for joining the intelligence service. I double-checked that I was, in fact, at an airport service desk.

“So … how do I get there?”

“Let me check.”

AI is getting so good these days! Not to brag, but I’m apparently a pretty good prompt engineer.

More typing. I glanced back at the crowd. I now know what a mouse feels like when they find themselves in a lion’s cage.

“We can get you on a train.”

Cool! I’ve always wanted to ride the EU trains.

“Take this ticket, and the train station is that way.” Thank you!

I proceeded in the direction she had pointed, and although there were signs everywhere and in a dozen languages which I could vaguely recognize, there were none that said anything like “train station” or even “exit”. In fact, I stopped to look closely and there were in fact no signs at all anywhere near this door or the hallway leading to it. Just a tiny stairway leading to an unmarked door, which almost seemed to be trying not to be noticed.

While I was glancing around and trying to do the unwise “wisdom of the crowd” thing to see whether I would have any company in the torture chamber which surely lay on the other side of this door, my phone buzzed helpfully:

… hey, Delta? Give me a call, ok? I can help. You’re not ok right now and I’m worried about you.

Trains #

The other side of the door was a winding maze full of flourescent lights sans humans, straight out of Severence. Somehow, my David Lynch-ian instincts led me to a hallway which ended with a single-person security gate. The guard eyed me for approximately 3 centuries while my BMI + luggage rattled up the hallway as he laser etched into my skull a message of suspicion and rage – presumably for interrupting his contactless 8-hour shift.

“Hi! I’ve never been to the EU before, is this the way to the train?” I held out my passport and twirled my pigtails as hard as I could.

After a montage of cataclysmic rage and horror which ended with a zoom out from the furious guard’s eyeball, he reluctantly stamped my passport like a dog told to “leave it” and thumbed towards the door behind him without breaking eye contact.

“To the right.”

“Thanks! 🤠💕”

After several wrong turns, I found my way to the train station where I faced one of those fun “Monkey Island” style puzzles:

After literally 20 minutes of scouring every text element on the ticket and googling it, I determined that there was a 0% correlation of all available information (unless my train was actually a model number for a dot matrix printer from the 90s.) It would have been reassuring in that moment to know that some of my EU associates would later look at my ticket and mutter, “Huh. Weird.”

I looked around for some bubble gum I could stick into a keyhole to extract a note from a pirate telling me which train to ride after holding the note up to a mirror and distracting a cat, but the gas tank on the motorcycle was empty.

With absolutely no indication of how to find the nearest desperately-needed pillow, I decided to ask Google Maps. It told me that I could take a train to Brussels by being at platform 6 at the right time. Of course, that train’s name was not listed. But I went to underground platform #6 anyway to try to gather more clues.

And there I stood for the next 45 minutes, as various waves of seemingly-locals joined me, looking approximately as panicked and confused as I was, glancing furtively between their phones and the boards on the platform. I know that it’s illegal to talk to strangers in the EU, but I did try twice out of desperation to ask someone if they could help me find the train to Brussels. But apparently I must have accidentally said the Dutch word for “vacuum cleaner salesman”, judging by the responses.

I noticed that one of the upcoming trains had a name which vaguely sounded like the next town over in the direction I wanted to go, and that it was arriving at the time listed on my ticket. None of the other info matched, but surely the time was a clue! Right? …

Arriving in 7 minutes. Five. Three.

Now, dear reader, I must inquire: do you board the train?

Miraculously, the Greek gods are still alive, and just as the train came screeching into the station like an Ace Ventura maneuver, Hermes himself materialized out of thin air, wearing an orange vest and a kickass 70s mustache from the Scruffy lineage while dragging a janitorial cart. I ran over to him and shoved my ticket in his face, quickly explaining without any introduction or attempt to convey sanity or even shared understanding of spoken language that I was trying to get to Brussels, and is this my train?

He furrowed his brow at my ticket, then the train. Then the ticket again. Then the train which was definitely fully stopped now. We took a few steps down the platform to look at the board. Then the ticket again. Then the train again, which was almost fully boarded. Then the ticket again.

Hermes isn’t as spry as he used to be, apparently. Maybe it’s the aerodynamics of the mustache.

On the one hand, his confusion was reasurring to my general competence. I hadn’t missed anything obvious! On the other hand, general competence is no guarantee against sleeping in a gutter. (Of which I’m continuously reminded, lately.)

As the doors started to close, I considered snatching the ticket out of his hands and bolting.

“Nope! Not your train. I think yours will be here in about … 20 minutes?”

He handed the ticket back to me.

“Ok, thank you so much!”

I watched Hermes drag his janitorial cart away and disappear behind a heavy door requiring a heavy key. It seemed strange to me that a janitorial cart should need to be dragged the entire length of the platform and stowed here, but who am I to question Zeus?

More worried locals arrived, got on trains, and left. Then more. Then more. I watched the departure board like I was trying to read birdsign for war auspices, and I tried not to think about how many minutes it had been since my ticket’s stated departure time. Five. Ten. Twenty. Twenty-five. Thirty.

I’ve never been to a FOSS conference. I’ve never been to Europe. I’ve never contributed to a Linux distro (only apps).

I’ve never spent the night on European concrete in February.

I’ve never wondered where the closest embassy is.

Just then, something strange showed up on the board: one of the trains had a random number in front of it. I recognized that number as one of the random blobs of text I had read from the ticket several dozen times during the past two hours. Could this be it? Oh, heaven above! And it was coming in on platform number 6!!!!

When the train stopped, I handed the conductor my ticket like I was asking her to conduct a seance for my dearly beloved. She looked at me a little sideways like a confused dog, and then noticed that I was clearly a clueless American. Her smile was the same one that you give a toddler who wants you to kiss their teddy bear’s boo-boo, and then she waved me aboard. Sweet lord, how my heart sings for thee.

FOSDEM #

Happened :)

In all seriousness, it was incredible to meet so many “birds of a feather”, and I continue to be overwhelmed with gratitude for the opportunity. In some weird ways it felt like coming home to “my people”.

I still haven’t found my place in the world, but at least it’s not a European gutter. (Though one must aspire!)

#travel #fedora