Airplane thoughts
Airplane Notes for the First Ireland blog post
I haven’t been able to eat all day, nerves of a sort, I suppose. Not the pitching and rolling sort of nerves, but the kind that ball right at the base of one’s throat, so even when I was hungry, my stomach growling, I couldn’t swallow anything. And these nerves, I don’t think that they are caused by the thought of my time to spend in Ireland, but rather, the whole getting there part. The first flight went okay, and the second one is progressing nicely as well, but. Rationality doesn’t calm the nerves.
I got hung-up during check-in, which, in all honesty, I fully expected. I didn’t have to go through the extra search thing, but at Indy, they don’t have posted that you have to remove your laptop from a carry-on bag during the scan. So, I just left the computer where it was. The lady spotted it, told me she’d have to take it out and run the bag again without it. Cool. Then, some man came over and said there was an “anomaly” with my backpack, and it needed to run again as well. Also cool. Except then the woman decided that she needed to unpack my bag and rerun the stuff separately. Apparently, my 38 pack of batteries set something off, but once she realized I wasn’t carrying a bomb, and I explained to her that I was going to be out of the country for three months, and batteries are expensive in Ireland, she was content to let me repack my bag.
So, sitting in the Indy airport, an hour and a half before my plane took off, I was content to people watch and listen. There were two ladies across from me who looked to be going on some kind of group tour, who were loudly discussing the literary merits of Nora Roberts and Maeve (say it Mab) Binchy. As though there were any. Sorry, Mom. It sounded, though, that their version of Ireland was as insanely idealized as my own.
Once on the first plane, a nice old man helped me jam (yeah, it made a crunching sound) my backpack into an overhead compartment. Upon inspection, nothing appeared to be broken.
I thought I’d be sitting alone; the flight to Philly wasn’t even half full, but at the last minute a man sat down in the aisle seat of my row. I had the window. He was mid-forties, maybe, dark hair going grey, huge mustache, slightly foreign. He reminded me of Marwan from 24 when he talked. And he had these fantastic grey-and-white pinstriped pants. I was sitting right over the wings, which makes me incredibly nervous, watching the flaps move up and down.
I wonder if all pilots get huge, little boy (or girl) grins on their faces when they get to the part on the runway where they get to take the plane from 0-600. I know I would.
Being up in the clouds like this makes me wish that meteorology were more interesting. Sorry, Hans, it just isn’t. But the clouds are cool.
While in the Indy airport, I saw a small red-headed boy who reminded me of the pictures of Dave that Christy showed me, from when he was very small. (if anyone can diagram that sentence, besides an English teacher, you win a prize)Just before we boarded, his father handed him his bag and called him David. What a strange and coincidental world we live in.
I’ve always wanted to fly first class. You hear rumors about how much more fantastic it is in the front of the plane than the back. I wonder if it’s true. Maybe that can be my Christmas present, eh?
I had to use the creepy airplane bathroom, en route from Indy to Philly. I’m always afraid that I’m going to get sucked out of the plane in there.
I hate how dry my skin gets in airplane. During my first flight, the skin around my fingers was already cracked and bleeding. I wonder what kind of lotion the flight attendants use to keep themselves from scaling away?
Those were my notes from the first flight, and I’m on the second plane right now. Here’s what’s been going on since:
I got into Philly, and, apparently, the payphones there don’t allow one to make collect calls. I tried three different ways, and then talked to the operator, all to no avail. So my family is probably freaking out. Hopefully I can find a way to tell them I’m safe and alive once I get into Dublin, even if I can make a few minute long phone call.
I met a lot of interesting older women hanging out in the Philly airport. Nearly all of them were with the same tour group, will be in Ireland for the week, sight-seeing and shopping and what not. They are almost exclusively in their late forties, early fifties or so, and they travel in pairs, with their passport and cards and cash in those little bags around their necks or, worse, in fanny packs. I went with a folder, myself. It reads, “Waiting to be Discovered”.
The best, of these women, though, is by far my seatmate. She grew up in Dublin, Drumcondra, in fact, which is where St. Pat’s is located. She is the youngest of 11 children, and is flying back to Ireland to bury her sister. She lives in Maryland now, and she is traveling with one of her older sisters, who lives in Pennsylvania. We talked for a long time before take-off, about this and that, but she was very exhausted and has been sleeping for a while now.
But the woman in front of me just reclined her seat, so I’m out of room to type. More later, I promise!
I haven’t been able to eat all day, nerves of a sort, I suppose. Not the pitching and rolling sort of nerves, but the kind that ball right at the base of one’s throat, so even when I was hungry, my stomach growling, I couldn’t swallow anything. And these nerves, I don’t think that they are caused by the thought of my time to spend in Ireland, but rather, the whole getting there part. The first flight went okay, and the second one is progressing nicely as well, but. Rationality doesn’t calm the nerves.
I got hung-up during check-in, which, in all honesty, I fully expected. I didn’t have to go through the extra search thing, but at Indy, they don’t have posted that you have to remove your laptop from a carry-on bag during the scan. So, I just left the computer where it was. The lady spotted it, told me she’d have to take it out and run the bag again without it. Cool. Then, some man came over and said there was an “anomaly” with my backpack, and it needed to run again as well. Also cool. Except then the woman decided that she needed to unpack my bag and rerun the stuff separately. Apparently, my 38 pack of batteries set something off, but once she realized I wasn’t carrying a bomb, and I explained to her that I was going to be out of the country for three months, and batteries are expensive in Ireland, she was content to let me repack my bag.
So, sitting in the Indy airport, an hour and a half before my plane took off, I was content to people watch and listen. There were two ladies across from me who looked to be going on some kind of group tour, who were loudly discussing the literary merits of Nora Roberts and Maeve (say it Mab) Binchy. As though there were any. Sorry, Mom. It sounded, though, that their version of Ireland was as insanely idealized as my own.
Once on the first plane, a nice old man helped me jam (yeah, it made a crunching sound) my backpack into an overhead compartment. Upon inspection, nothing appeared to be broken.
I thought I’d be sitting alone; the flight to Philly wasn’t even half full, but at the last minute a man sat down in the aisle seat of my row. I had the window. He was mid-forties, maybe, dark hair going grey, huge mustache, slightly foreign. He reminded me of Marwan from 24 when he talked. And he had these fantastic grey-and-white pinstriped pants. I was sitting right over the wings, which makes me incredibly nervous, watching the flaps move up and down.
I wonder if all pilots get huge, little boy (or girl) grins on their faces when they get to the part on the runway where they get to take the plane from 0-600. I know I would.
Being up in the clouds like this makes me wish that meteorology were more interesting. Sorry, Hans, it just isn’t. But the clouds are cool.
While in the Indy airport, I saw a small red-headed boy who reminded me of the pictures of Dave that Christy showed me, from when he was very small. (if anyone can diagram that sentence, besides an English teacher, you win a prize)Just before we boarded, his father handed him his bag and called him David. What a strange and coincidental world we live in.
I’ve always wanted to fly first class. You hear rumors about how much more fantastic it is in the front of the plane than the back. I wonder if it’s true. Maybe that can be my Christmas present, eh?
I had to use the creepy airplane bathroom, en route from Indy to Philly. I’m always afraid that I’m going to get sucked out of the plane in there.
I hate how dry my skin gets in airplane. During my first flight, the skin around my fingers was already cracked and bleeding. I wonder what kind of lotion the flight attendants use to keep themselves from scaling away?
Those were my notes from the first flight, and I’m on the second plane right now. Here’s what’s been going on since:
I got into Philly, and, apparently, the payphones there don’t allow one to make collect calls. I tried three different ways, and then talked to the operator, all to no avail. So my family is probably freaking out. Hopefully I can find a way to tell them I’m safe and alive once I get into Dublin, even if I can make a few minute long phone call.
I met a lot of interesting older women hanging out in the Philly airport. Nearly all of them were with the same tour group, will be in Ireland for the week, sight-seeing and shopping and what not. They are almost exclusively in their late forties, early fifties or so, and they travel in pairs, with their passport and cards and cash in those little bags around their necks or, worse, in fanny packs. I went with a folder, myself. It reads, “Waiting to be Discovered”.
The best, of these women, though, is by far my seatmate. She grew up in Dublin, Drumcondra, in fact, which is where St. Pat’s is located. She is the youngest of 11 children, and is flying back to Ireland to bury her sister. She lives in Maryland now, and she is traveling with one of her older sisters, who lives in Pennsylvania. We talked for a long time before take-off, about this and that, but she was very exhausted and has been sleeping for a while now.
But the woman in front of me just reclined her seat, so I’m out of room to type. More later, I promise!
posted by Bookhead at 1:02 AM
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