Wait Seriously Where Are We?
So Interesting news- I’m still a really shitty flyer.
Anyone who has traveled with me has the early-onset arthritis in one hand from me mangling it in terror. Sometimes it is someone I know. This time it was a nice but unlucky young South African man whom I pressed into service mid-way across the Atlantic.
“Sorry,” I said as I violated all personal space and gripped his lower arm across the empty seat between us. In the dark the 787 shook violently. “I just…need to dig my fingers into another human to get through this.”
He didn’t miss a beat and just mutely patted my hand like he’d known me his whole life. I pretended not to notice that he was wearing a hunting jacket because we can’t always pick our heroes. Fifteen minutes later when the plane resumed it’s normal benign course I thanked him, but he was wearing headphones and didn’t seem to need an explanation. Intimacy is weird between strangers but we went back to pretending we weren’t sharing a ridiculous small space for hours on end. Gods bless him.
Once landed in Amsterdam I had four hours before meeting Carrie for our final eight hour leg to the east side of Africa. I considered getting a hotel at the airport, desperate as I was for just a little motionless sleep, but eventually settled for a quiet corner in one of Schipol’s famous retail areas. It was five AM…