Adventures Overseas 1/16

These sixteen updates will be the condensed and often more erratic version of my adventures overseas, comprised of the updates that I sent home to my family at the time.

Author's Disclaimer: The following were written when I traveled overseas with my sister. They were the short and sweet version of what was going on in my daily journal. Often, I watered things down so that our parents wouldn't know how scared we really were or how bad a hostel really was. We didn't want to scare them. Also, I wrote these updates on my iPod, and in the interest of authenticity, I haven't edited or changed the formatting much. This may be less to do with authenticity and more to do with all those darn buttons I'd have to press if I edited it all. Anyway, there are plenty of little typos to go around I'm sure. I'm sorry. They bug me, too.

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Update 1: September 9, 2018 - SUNDAY

Well, not much to report, and it’s a one sided story anyway, since Sister is off on her own adventures with the Eastern wedding and departure from that airport.

My journey began on Saturday the eighth, when I left Home airport in the afternoon. From there, I traveled in the wrong direction, to an international airport. It would have been worth my while to skip the first flight and just drive here, as I had a 17-hour wait in that airport. The problem is that when I booked it, my mind was made up to click the ‘Book Now!’ button on the very cheapest flight. And that is what I did, no matter the consequences, it would seem.

Fortunately, a lovely friend of mine was able to pick me up and take me for supper and Saturday night Mass.

I hear tell that Sister was not so fortunate in her Sunday obligations.

I hear tell that she had to walk for an hour and a half to get to church.

I hear tell it was a sweaty ordeal.

Anyway, after church, my only plan was to stay at the airport. So that is what I did.

If anyone wants to idealize staying in an airport, I would like to take this opportunity to discourage them.

Here are my words of discouragement: you’re going to have a bad time.

The crux of it is, airports aren’t very accommodating towards cheapos who squat there for extended periods, so here are some things you need to know...

1. The lights don’t go off. The lighting is quite nice if you’re of a mind to appreciate that (by nice, I just mean it’s bright; I have no eye for light aesthetics). There are probably better and worse places to sit, but because I wanted isolation, I definitely had a place that I would put under the ‘worse’ category. Floodlight grade. Directly above me. I couldn’t escape them.

1. Benches. Maybe you can sleep on benches. Maybe you can’t. But don’t pretend you can when you can’t. You need to go into this with your eyes open; so that you can get through it with your eyes shut. If your arms fall asleep at the slightest call to selfless service in offering support for slumber, you may want to reconsider using a bench for a bed. My arms act like they are going to fall off if I don’t roll over every ten minutes. They are selfish appendages, and I feel pretty resentful towards them right now.

1. It gets kind of cold. It doesn’t get VERY cold. Not like the time I was hot and turned a hotel room down to ten because I don’t understand temperature or the discipline of moderation. That was really cold. The airport was just slowly sapping the warmth from me due to a few different factors. The first was that I packed for very moderate weather. The sweateriest sweater I brought is a thin athletic long sleeve. Not only did it not prevent the light from coming through it, but it also didn’t prevent my warmth from peacing out into the bench. On top of my inadequate wardrobe, I also hadn’t had much to eat, so my blood sugar was low. At about 3am I found the shivering unbearable and I found some tolerable solutions. First, I put on some leggings underneath my pants. That was lovely. Then, I rummaged in my bag and found the airplane cookies that I’d stashed from my flight over. They were terrible. I was glad I saved them for this moment of great hunger.

1. People. This is probably my number one issue, but I’m guessing that for most of our functioning society, it is less so. It was a very not-busy time at the airport, which was spectacular. For most of my sleepless attempts at sleep, I can’t even blame the people, because there was no one around (except pesky announcements - those could startle me awake sometimes). Mostly, I was troubled by having to secure my pack to myself in such a way that a thief would have to wake me in order to get anything. I was as restless as a dog that is turning in its pre-sleep circles. Then, the poor dog is just feeling pleased about the spot it chose when a herd of East Indian people comes and tramples it. It's a perfect metaphor.

That is my segue into the uncomfortable airport moment I experienced.

So picture this. I have wandered around all of the pre-security places I could find. I finally find a nice corner, but don’t bother picturing that corner, because I found someone sleeping there already, so I had to find another place to stake a claim due to my arbitrary rule that I must not sit within 100 feet of someone if there is an empty spot 100 feet away.

So, anyway, now picture THIS: an area of benches. They were six seats wide, and were double-sided: there were about six of these benches in a row. The math in that is 6*2*6 = 72. Not gonna lie, I just nodded off as I tried to calculate that in my head. If the writing begins to get incoherent, you know why.

So anyway, I am sitting in this gloriously empty corner of 72 seats, well over my arbitrary, yet binding 100-foot rule, when a large group of very noisy people come in. Note: not a group of large people, but a large group of people.

I mentioned before that they were East Indian, not because that carries any sort of stereotype that I’m going to play on, but to contrast myself and my surroundings.

Boisterous, mile-a-minute dialogue, colourful saris, children running in circles around me.

And me. Getting blander and whiter every moment I stayed in their presence, receding back into my chair.

Scrooge as I am, I hoped they would pass. I hoped they would go past security or to another gate, or anything.

But they did not.

They settled their little village right in among the 72 benches.

That wasn’t the uncomfortable part. I mean, I wasn’t a fan of the noise, but I could appreciate the joy that teemed forth from them.

The uncomfortable part was when a mother and her screaming baby settled in on my bench.

A bench with 6 seats. I am in seat 3, lounging against my bag, which is in seat 2, and that lady sat right in number 1. Very much violating my 100-feet rule (which most normal humans wouldn’t consider), but also, I think, sitting closer to me than the average NORMAL person would think was okay.

I looked up when she sat, thinking that maybe she wanted something from me. Maybe she thought I could help with the distraught little bairn.

Nope. She did not need my help. That became abundantly clear.

It’s really and truly a non issue that she whipped out her breasts and began to calm that babe in the only way that would be acceptable to it. I’m all for breast feeding, having done quite a lot of it in my early days. I’m not even offended about boobs, being a rather magnificent, blithering one myself, at times.

The issue here is that she had so, so many seats to choose from, and she came and plunked herself way too close for this stranger’s comfort.

There was nothing for it. Having been inching uncomfortably away since her arrival, I left very shortly after her friend/relative came and sat in seat two, requiring me to move my bag altogether.

I made another loop, but I knew I’d have to go back to that spot. I creeped around by that other sleeping dude (which I thought was okay, as he was asleep and I didn’t intend to stay), until I saw the whole party move on.

I was greatly relieved to see them go.

Now I am on a plane to London. I survived my connecting flights. I survived the security checks. I survived the airports.

Now, I just need to survive the rest of this trip...