Flying and flapping

Air travel is mind-boggling. We become accustomed to it: pile into small space, engines rev, butt gets corrugated for a while, then file out and ta-da! you're in some new land.

But this neuters the manifestation of the extraordinary distance between, say, the snowy northeast and sunny smoggy Bangkok. I have come an astonishing distance--heck I even moved through time as well as space--, into a new culture, new air, different plants. I am reeling gently and incredibly grateful.

I feel the zing of that autistic experience of every input being novel, overwhelming, exciting of curiosity, surprising, funny. This is a very alive way to be, to be a foreigner in a foreign land.

.......

The flight leaving Buffalo for Chicago was delayed by 2 hours, and I was not keen on missing my connection to Abu Dhabi. I missed a connection this past December and it was a miserable experience. That charge of need and impatience, wholly specific to airports, flooded through me once we rolled into Chicago.

I want to write to you about The Race.

The gun went off; I tailgated the men on the gang plank into the airport and then--free from behind them!--flapped off, flat out, towards Terminal 5. The International Terminal. Of course, being expansive Chicago OHare, I not only had to go through to another terminal but also exit security (because of international flight). Oh horror and bother. Exiting out the airport was like walking off a pier, "NO!", but I was single-mindedly following signs for Terminal 5. I slapped and panted, flying past ladies tamely rolling along their suit-cases.

I felt very alive. Pounding escalators, crashing through automatic doors: finally to the security for Terminal 5. Only to be turned back to the ticket counter, "you are missing the three dots on your ticket."  Whatever; I charged back and forth as needed.

The stakes were high. I had a meeting with no cell-phone in a large foreign airport with my Buddy Lissy and thoughts of missing this 13-hour leg would be a logistical nightmare.

Flapping through the terminal, this odd cocktail of enjoyment and panic was in my veins. My lungs hurt. My feet pounded. Suddenly in my path was a Gift Shop. "Through here to gates!" a smartly dressed man routed me. Through the brightly-lit perfume displays and glittering duty-free jewelry I charted. I dodged shopping ladies, zipping down a back aisle. I was laughing too--this homespun girl stampeding through all this wealth. I ran to my gate, though I didn't need to check the number. A throng of colored turbans and beautiful dark people formed a wide line. I turned my sprint into a prance and pumped the air. MADE IT. The beautiful people turned and looked at me, askance: who was this white running weird?

.....

Blessings: I had two empty seats adjacent me on that long-haul leg and slept a proper 7-hours, all comphy, lying rather than reclining, extra blankets a nest. Other blessing: Madame Checked Baggage did not charge me over-size for my bicycle box.

Now to explore Bangkok! And to eat some proper food. I've had a lot of dinners recently, as that was the appropriate meal for the appropriate timezone I was flying over, but I'm ready for something not-dinner.

(any and all comments appreciated! I love hearing from you)