This morning when got out
of bed at 4:30 AM, I was convinced that I'm not anything close to
being a real writer because try as I did, I could not muster up much
of a coherent journal entry. But now I believe that might have
something of a writer in me after all. Or at any rate, I have this
compulsion, an irresistible urge to record on paper with words the
events of my life as they transpire. And starting at 7:26 AM this
morning when the taxi arrived, I just could not not write down
everything. The result? A lengthy and detailed account of my day for
anyone interested to read.
This morning I woke up
very early indeed, first at 2:30, then slept for a bit, then again at
3:30 and could not go back to sleep, due to large amounts of
excitement in regards to going home. My taxi driver came a wee bit
before 7:30 this morning, and he was an excellent chap. 43 going on
44 with a birthday in just 29 more days, has been living in Edinburgh
all of his life, thick and quintessential Scottish accent, completely
bald, somewhat rotund, chatty and affable. He took the back roads to
the airport to avoid rush hour, which was just lovely. The sun was
casting a fresh, early-morning golden glow over the fields and behind
the city and beyond the bridges and the ocean. We drove past the
headquarters of the Royal Bank of Scotland – a massive building
that used to be a mental institution. Once at the airport, I gave him
all the rest of my pounds, and bid him farewell, and pushed my bags
through the doors towards my check-in desk.
I was thoroughly impressed
with all the security measures taken by the Edinburgh Airport.
Definitely far more than any other airport I've been through –
including the immigration official when I first came through and
tried to get in the country without an address of residence for my
stay. Right from the start, I was interrogated before checking-in by
a gentlemen whose accent I unfortunately had a very difficult time
comprehending. In particular, the question, “Do you own and did you
pack yourself these bags?” gave me a good deal of difficulty, but
the fourth time, he repeated it very clearly and slowly, and I
understood. He even went so far as to put a security sticker on the
back of my passport. Fascinating.
Security lines were long,
but they went fast enough. They were rigid about the rules –
pulling out more bags and hand-checking them than I've ever seen at
an airport ever before! They pulled out my hunk of a black carry-on,
which was, I noted, larger (and most likely heavier) than any of the
other carry-ons. The security guard who pulled it out seemed to
notice this fact as well, remarking that I must have a dead body in
there. No wonder they pulled it out if that's what they thought.
Apparently, the problem with my carry-on was the large ziplock of oil
pastels and colored chalks that I had with me... So it went through
security all by itself, and after that they were satisfied.
In the airport – first
thing to see out of security is a huge sushi bar... with chefs making
sushi nonetheless. Who eats sushi at 8:15 in the morning??
Strolling through the
Edinburgh airport, my gate is gate 3A. Arrive at gate 3A just as
disabled persons are starting to board. Impeccable timing. I have
this horrible feeling that I'm about to return to the US of A. More
people are holding blue, United States passports in their hands than
are holding the red European Union passports. Phrases being loudly
annunciated punctuated by the sound of chewing gum being chomped
solidify the American vibes, “It just SUCKS, man, like seriously.”
“When my phone rings, it barks! It's great in elevators!” Girls
are wearing clothes that are decidedly not the color pink with the
word PINK branded prominently across the fabric. Everyone speaks with
an American accent with classic up-talk intonation. And tragedy! The
airport announcements are given in English, then in Spanish, then in
Chinese, then in...no French! I could cry. But still, I catch a word
of French here and there, sometimes a UK accent speaks out over the
crowd of Americans. But it's mostly Americans. Undeniably so.
Finally time for Zone 5 to
board. Before beeping my boarding pass, I'm questioned again by
security, “Have you bought anything since going through security?
Has your luggage been unattended at any point since you arrived at
the airport?” My boarding pass is beeped in and then two security
personnel approach me, “Scuse me, ma'am, you've been randomly
chosen for a security pat-down, body and suitcase.” More
security measures? But I'm more
impressed by the rigor than miffed at the inconvenience. Into
a back room. Someone starts to check my body while the other goes
through my luggage. It tickled like crazy. I tried my best to
keep from laughing and squirming, but in a thick Scottish accent,
“You're a bit ticklish, aren't ya miss?” Yes...more than a bit.
So now they are searching through my suitcase full of books and
McCropder kid art. “You don't travel light, do ya miss?” “Well,
I have been gone for four months...” “Have ya now?? Four months,
is that so? 'Ere in Edinburgh?” “No, France...”
Next destination: Seat 29F
on United flight 7643 with hopes that a strong and kindly gentlemen
will be willing and able to heave my 20 kilo carry-on into the
overhead bin. There it is – seat 29F, and lo and behold I don't
even need to go through my usual Struggle Dance using body language
and grunts to indicate to the surrounding crowd that I could use a
hand or two, for the gentleman in seat 29D offers as soon as I
arrive. I warn him, “Thank you ever so much, be careful, it's
terribly heavy.” and watch
hopefully, a bit dubiously perhaps as this older and rotund fellow
reaches down for my brick of a carry-on. But voilà. He hoists it up,
pas de probleme. Super.
Being
in the boarding zone 5 does have it's benefits, for once you get on
the plane, it's time to go. This giant plane starts to wake up. I
love the feeling of a completely stationary hunk of metal beginning
to rev up for the journey across the ocean. It reminds me exactly of
Smog, awakening from centuries of a deep sleep, power coming up from
his belly and spreading to every particle until … TAKE OFF! The
wheels come off the ground and we go up while the world drops down
and the dragon is in flight.
Above Ireland... The
beauty is breathtaking. The problem with traveling, at least in my
case, is that the more you do it, the more you realize what you
simply must see... the more you want to continue
discovering the beautiful places of our planet. I gaze longingly down
at rocky, wind-swept beaches, the magnificent blue of the ocean,
miles of coast with waves visibly and powerfully washing up on the
rocky crags. Oh it is glorious to behold and if I had a parachute,
I'd jump out of this plane right now unhesitatingly and go sailing
down through the clouds and onto the coast of Ireland.
The clouds – oh I love
them! They are bathed in the glory of the new sunshine of the
morning, light coming from the East. They are poofy, pristine, like a
fairy-tale, like castles in the sky. The kind of scenery that makes
you feel like you've jumped right into an episode of Planet Earth. I
find John Rutter in the selection of music on the little airplane
screen, gadget contraption, and listen as I look. The sky at the
horizon is white blending into a strip of an almost unbearably
radiantly bright blue that introduces the vast enormity of the sky.
And now we fly West, always West. West and West and West, chasing the morning. Trying to catch up with the sunrise. I'm listening to
10,000 Reasons, Rend Collective Experiment... The sun comes up,
it's a new day dawning, it's time to sing your song again, whatever
may pass and whatever lies before me, let me singing when the evening
comes.
Looking through the movies
– there are so many of them – OH HAPPY DAY! THEY HAVE MARY
POPPINS! And the dragon is being loud enough that if I sing just
a wee bit under my breath, no one should notice. Plus, there isn't
anyone in the seat directly next to me. At first I was disappointed
by this arrangement – I had been so hoping for either a native
French speaker or else a mom with a cute baby who wanted a break
(that is the mom wanting a break, not the baby). But now I am happy,
because perhaps I can sing along to Mary Poppins without disturbing
my neighbors while we continue to chase the morning.
Chicken with spinach and
rice, a salad, a bit of bread and a dessert (which originally
appeared to be deliciously chocolate and sadly turned out to be some
dense, moist apple-resembling grossness) was just served to me. 9:45
Scotland time, which means 10:45 France time and 5:45 AM Eastern
Standard Time – my final destination! Not sure if I've ever eaten
such a meal at 5:45 AM before.
I love Mary Poppins. I
started watching it when the clouds covered the ocean thick and far
and wide. After going to a museum filled with a great many convincing
statues of sea creatures, I love to think about all the life teeming
under me at this very moment in time... gigantic squids, fish of all
shapes and sizes, sharks, whales, eels, sea cucumbers (ew), star
fish, sea horses, sting rays... I wonder the total number of sea
creatures I will have flown exactly over will be by the end of this
flight. I stopped Mary Poppins to figure out on the flight tracker
which body of land we were flying over only to now discover that the
fast forward button goes about as quickly as playing the actual
movie. Oh well, I suppose that means I can watch all the songs again.
I hope the dragon has been loud enough to muffle my singing.
Thankfully, the gent on my left has been watching movies the whole
time, so I'm banking on this distraction to mean that he can't hear
me. I'm skipping the part when they're at the bank. I detest that
part!
Made it across the
Atlantic. We're still chasing the morning, although the sun must be
going faster than 524 mph, because that's how fast we're going, but
we haven't gotten to the sunrise yet. In fact, the Sun in the East is
catching up to us. We're hurdling West and West still, and it's still
morning, but the air outside now looks more like late-morning than it
does early morning. When we started, it was noon in Dubai, now the
flight tracker tells me it's almost noon in the Caribbean. I see on
the map that the sun is now rising over the Pacific Ocean. But still
we chase the morning. We're above Maine right now now. It's
impossible to see any land through the clouds. I imagine the dreary,
cloudy, sunless, rainy day that it must be down there, and try to
irreversibly solidify the image of sun and sun and SUN that does
shine, always, above the cloud cover. It really does become quite a
grand metaphor for life the more I think about it.
Well, I be in 'Merica now,
waiting for my connecting flight at the Newark Airport. Feels like it
too, my goodness. So much English sans Scottish accents coming from
every direction, Annie's pretzels with greasy pepperoni dough blobs
instead of boulangeries with baguettes and tarts and macaroons. As we
flew down, I saw suburban houses with that ugly, plastic-looking siding, all lined up in rows upon
rows and rows. Customs was a breeze – there was an airport
personnel directing the passengers into the multiple lines. As I
waited, he chatted with me – “This your final destination?”
“Nope, Detroit, Michigan is!” “Awwww, I'm a Spartans fan...”
“Umm, oh! Cool! I am indeed from Ann Arbor where the University of
Michigan resides!” If you were trying to give me reason to
despise you, it really didn't work....I don't think I even
consciously realized until this moment in time that Spartans are
Wolverine adversaries.
Baggage claim – the
thrill of realizing that I've been to every single International city
in this baggage claim at the moment! Frankfurt, Brussels, Paris,
Edinburgh... Granted, I may have only been in the airports of the
former two, but to be fair, I did walk outside the airport in
Brussels to get to my plane.
Upon landing, I was
absolutely parched, and after an unsuccessful quest for a drinking
fountain, I bought myself a lemonade...just a bit more money for that
than for a bottle of water. Absurd. I paid using a few euro pennies,
but I had forgotten that here the sales tax is not included, so the
lady gave me a very odd look when I gave her about 20 cents less than
the total price she had stated. Remembering that they sometimes gip
you with these sorts of things by putting in far too much ice and far
too little liquid, I asked for no ice. I got a cup halfway filled
with the frozen little cubes! Absurdities continued. All the signs
are in English and Spanish making my quest for bilinguality a bit
rough. As for the wifi, there isn't any except the kind you have to
pay a whopping $7.95/day to use, henceforth I cannot post this blog
post even though it is ready to be posted. Absurdities to the max.
But never you fear, my
friends, I complain not! In actuality, I am vastly contented to be
here, well, to be here in transit
anyways, I would not be happy to be permanently here, that's for
sure. There's a flight going out to Detroit at 1:20, in fifteen
minutes. Sitting here for three hours will give the sun quite the
advantage as I continue to try to chase the morning. Totally coulda
made that flight too. But I can wait, and will wait, until my flight
at 3:15 PM and I will somehow find entertainment in this drab little
place. My impressions of Newark thus far have not been the best –
rainy rainy rain, no color, nowhere near
as interesting as the Amsterdam Airport, or any other airport,
really. Very boring as far as airports go, actually. My clothes smell
utterly disgusting, and I think I'll go change into my pajamas. Hope
no one minds! My excitement has been evidenced thus far in song,
dance, and lots of talking to myself and the world at large in
French. Hope nobody minds that either.
Well
this past week seems positively prone to travel problems. I'm
currently stuck at the Newark Airport. For a very long time. My
flight from Edinburgh got in half an hour early at 11:45, and my
flight to Detroit is delayed by 2+ hours because the flight crew
apparently isn't here. I'm so close to home and I want to go now! I'm
afraid this will mean that not everyone can come to the airport –
including Josiah who has to be at his orchestra rehearsal at 6:30!
Very upsetting indeed. It is quite aggravating. I've been on the
lookout for an adventure, for something excited or interesting, but
have thus far been more or less unsuccessful. I did indeed change
into my pajamas, and brush my teeth too. I'm on the look-out for
anyone who needs a friend or wants to have a conversation, you never
know, but so far I'm coming up dry. I read all the stories
from Daniel to the Three Kings in my French Jesus Storybook Bible. I
read some on my kindle. I listened to French music on my computer. I got a job offer for the summer from a lady who works with kids who have autism. She was impressed with my gap year. I
think I might go listen to my favorite Reluctant Dragon story (even
though that's normally sacredly reserved for the night before
Christmas Eve only in the Wong Household...) since it's on my
computer and it is ever so entertaining and since the next dragon I'm
boarding does seem to be very reluctant indeed. Two more hours of
waiting in Newark. 9:32 PM France time, 8:32 PM Edinburgh time, 3:32
PM EST with a flight to depart (I think...) at 5:30.
Now
instead of chasing the morning, it'll feel more like chasing the evening...