I love airports. All the people hustling about, each one starting their own adventure. The atmosphere is thick with the perfect ratio of excitement, nervousness, and anticipation.
I love airplanes. That exhilarating moment when the wheels leave the ground. All kinds of people sit calmly around me. A PhD student is opening his notebook. A middle age woman is flipping through the on-flight movie selection. A businessman is already snoring deeply. I sit still with hands folded neatly in my lap. I am straining my neck as inconspicuously as possible to get a better view out the window. On the inside I’m doing cartwheels and wondering how all these people can be so calm. Here we are, casually breaking the laws of gravity together. We are going up up up. The houses have become ants and now we are shooting through a layer of clouds. I want to scream, but I plug my headphones on instead and turn on some opera music to calm myself.
I don’t love airline food. But I do love the sweet flight attendants gossiping in the back of the plane. One of them has blonde hair that lies a full two full inches away from her head. I wonder if anyone has ever mentioned to her that there is such a thing as too much volume.
I do love plane flights but after 11 hours on the penultimate row of a jumbo jet on a very turbulent route, I wonder why planes were invented in the first place. I rarely get motion sick, but my head is spinning and I feel like I’m going to throw up. I focus my mind: I am about to see my family. We are going to eat good food. Family. Food. Worth it.
And now I am here. I’d really like to sleep for 10 days, but there is a wedding to plan and a thousand stories to tell. Obviously, there ain’t no time for jet lag. Excuse me while I put my mind back together (or rather, make myself another cup of tea). When I’m a bit more coherent I’ll write a more sensical blogpost. Tune in next time to hear about the British food I brought back for my family and how they liked it.
How is your winter break coming along?