One of the problems with blogging or journaling is that at a certain point, the writer always falls behind and has to play catch-up until the writing coincides with real time. In my case, evidently, it took about ten posts for me to fall behind.
Firstly, I stayed one night in my new apartment before flying home to the Pugeot Sound area for the wedding of my dear friend Sharmarie and her (now) husband, Troy. I was so excited to fly home that I hardly slept. Also, since I had only a futon mattress on hardwood flooring for a bed, it was a rather uncomfortable and chilly night. The next morning I got up and showered, realizing that my shower leaks water all over the bathroom floor. I remained unphased, since I was so thrilled to be going to visit everyone. According to my itinerary, I was to fly to Frankfurt, then Chicago, and then Seattle. Not ideal, but it would get me there. I had booked this itinerary through a website called Vayama, and had received an email from them two weeks before I was going to leave. The email stated that there had been changes to my flights and that I needed to call Vayama. I used my phone card at a phone booth to call, and was relieved when the woman told me that my first flight had been moved to a later time. I asked this woman three times if my connecting flights still worked. It was my only concern in this conversation. Three times the agent assured me that my connections worked.
So, that morning I walked to the train station and expertly figured out which platform to stand on, then which stop to get off at, and then which bus to take to get to the airport. I arrived at the Berlin airport almost three hours early, an entirely unnecessary precaution, since it is not a huge international type of airport where a traveler might have to go through a lot more security or wait in long lines everywhere. I bought some gummi candy and was feeling pretty good. The flight to Frankfurt was uneventful and only about an hour. Then everything exploded. I got to the ticket counter where British Air told me I needed to go to American Airlines, even though my ticket said "British Air" on it. American Airlines told me I had missed my flight. They said it took off the same minute that my plane landed from Berlin. Being a normal individual, unfortunately bound by all the limits of the time/space continuum, there was no way I would ever have been able to catch that plane. American Airlines said they couldn't help me and I had to go back to British Air. By this time I was nearly in tears, but hanging on to the hope that there would be still some way to get to Seattle that night. The woman at the British Air counter was adamant that she could do nothing except book me for the same flight the next day. I cried. Not the messy, sobbing kind of crying, but just the kind where a person appears composed while little tears slid down their cheeks. While I cried I asked about taking flights anywhere in the whole US and then connecting to Seattle, and about taking trains to nearby European cities to catch flights to Seattle--ANYTHING to get me there. But the woman, although very nice, was not into my method of problem solving and booked me to fly to Chicago the next day.
Twenty-four hours is not all that long. For the first four hours, I sat in a chair watching travelers being greeted by their friends and families at the arrival gate. Four hours was all I could handle of this because it made me sad, since I was not going to be greeted at my arrival point until a day later. I played a game where I tried not to look at my watch for as long as possible. I bought a sandwich. Airport food is expensive and I had only about 20 Euros with me, so I had to use it very sparingly. For the next couple of hours I looked at every single shop in the Frankfurt airport and very carefully budgeted how much I could spend on a book. I sat in the Starbucks for three hours. I could not afford to buy anything, but I was determined to do the most American things possible. When hunger took over, I bought a Happy Meal from the McDonald's. By this time it was already nearly midnight (not quite halfway through my stay at the airport) so I tried to sleep. I tried to sleep in about eight different places in the airport. I mostly failed.
Since I am sure that reading about someone else's twenty-four hours in an airport is about as interesting as actually spending twenty-four hours at an airport, I will not retell the play-by-play any further. I was so glad to fly out the next day. The plane ride to Chicago was about nine hours, but after spending a whole day in an airport, nine hour s on a plane was no problem. I was nervous about my connection in Chicago, but only because I had just missed a connection, not because there was any real reason to worry. I basically sprinted through O'hare. Finally I was on a plane that was landing in Seattle. An entire twenty-four hours late, I landed and met Jared at baggage claim. Whew.
I had not been away from the Pugeot Sound area for long, and while I was in Germany I had not really missed anything American. But once I was surrounded by things like Starbucks and Target and familiar streets, I loved being home. I loved being able to chat with the cashier at the coffee shop without expending a huge amount of effort to understand her or to be understood. I loved being able to ask a question ("Do you have eggnog lattes yet?) without having to phrase the sentence carefully in my mind and repeat it to myself several times before speaking. Most of all, I loved seeing people I know and love.
My first day in town was spent doing a little shopping and a lot of eating and then going to the wedding rehearsal. Sharmarie was radiant, if a little stressed, and if the power had gone out we could have found our way around using Troy's glow. We all went to Sharmarie's father's house for the rehearsal dinner afterward and it was nice just to hear so many people conversing in native English! The next day was entirely wedding. Don picked me up and we first had a healthy breakfast at Sherry's before spending the afternoon doing last-minute preparations. As tends to be the case with weddings, we were running behind schedule and everything seemed on the brink of falling apart, but when 5:45 rolled around we were lined up and suddenly everything was fine. The chanter began to sing and the service proceeded beautifully. Then we partied.
I had only one more day in town, so I made the most of it by gathering (well, really the credit goes to my mom here; she organized it all) my family together for lunch. Her husband Arnold made his famous enchiladas, and even my aunt and uncle from Bellingham drove down for the occasion. Originally I thought it was a little silly to get everyone together when I had really only been out of the country for about six weeks. I mean, how much could they really have missed me in six weeks anyway? But maybe it was more for my benefit, because I certainly was glad to see everyone, and be reminded that the same people I know and love are still out there somewhere, even if I am spending my time in a foreign place where I don't know anyone.
My mom took me to the airport the next day, and I tried to hide it, but I was feeling much sadder about leaving this time than I had when I left the first time in the middle of September. The first time I was excited to see new things and do new things and I didn't know what was in store for me. This time, I knew what I was going back to, and as much as I like it here...well, it just isn't home.
So, that morning I walked to the train station and expertly figured out which platform to stand on, then which stop to get off at, and then which bus to take to get to the airport. I arrived at the Berlin airport almost three hours early, an entirely unnecessary precaution, since it is not a huge international type of airport where a traveler might have to go through a lot more security or wait in long lines everywhere. I bought some gummi candy and was feeling pretty good. The flight to Frankfurt was uneventful and only about an hour. Then everything exploded. I got to the ticket counter where British Air told me I needed to go to American Airlines, even though my ticket said "British Air" on it. American Airlines told me I had missed my flight. They said it took off the same minute that my plane landed from Berlin. Being a normal individual, unfortunately bound by all the limits of the time/space continuum, there was no way I would ever have been able to catch that plane. American Airlines said they couldn't help me and I had to go back to British Air. By this time I was nearly in tears, but hanging on to the hope that there would be still some way to get to Seattle that night. The woman at the British Air counter was adamant that she could do nothing except book me for the same flight the next day. I cried. Not the messy, sobbing kind of crying, but just the kind where a person appears composed while little tears slid down their cheeks. While I cried I asked about taking flights anywhere in the whole US and then connecting to Seattle, and about taking trains to nearby European cities to catch flights to Seattle--ANYTHING to get me there. But the woman, although very nice, was not into my method of problem solving and booked me to fly to Chicago the next day.
Twenty-four hours is not all that long. For the first four hours, I sat in a chair watching travelers being greeted by their friends and families at the arrival gate. Four hours was all I could handle of this because it made me sad, since I was not going to be greeted at my arrival point until a day later. I played a game where I tried not to look at my watch for as long as possible. I bought a sandwich. Airport food is expensive and I had only about 20 Euros with me, so I had to use it very sparingly. For the next couple of hours I looked at every single shop in the Frankfurt airport and very carefully budgeted how much I could spend on a book. I sat in the Starbucks for three hours. I could not afford to buy anything, but I was determined to do the most American things possible. When hunger took over, I bought a Happy Meal from the McDonald's. By this time it was already nearly midnight (not quite halfway through my stay at the airport) so I tried to sleep. I tried to sleep in about eight different places in the airport. I mostly failed.
Since I am sure that reading about someone else's twenty-four hours in an airport is about as interesting as actually spending twenty-four hours at an airport, I will not retell the play-by-play any further. I was so glad to fly out the next day. The plane ride to Chicago was about nine hours, but after spending a whole day in an airport, nine hour s on a plane was no problem. I was nervous about my connection in Chicago, but only because I had just missed a connection, not because there was any real reason to worry. I basically sprinted through O'hare. Finally I was on a plane that was landing in Seattle. An entire twenty-four hours late, I landed and met Jared at baggage claim. Whew.
I had not been away from the Pugeot Sound area for long, and while I was in Germany I had not really missed anything American. But once I was surrounded by things like Starbucks and Target and familiar streets, I loved being home. I loved being able to chat with the cashier at the coffee shop without expending a huge amount of effort to understand her or to be understood. I loved being able to ask a question ("Do you have eggnog lattes yet?) without having to phrase the sentence carefully in my mind and repeat it to myself several times before speaking. Most of all, I loved seeing people I know and love.
My first day in town was spent doing a little shopping and a lot of eating and then going to the wedding rehearsal. Sharmarie was radiant, if a little stressed, and if the power had gone out we could have found our way around using Troy's glow. We all went to Sharmarie's father's house for the rehearsal dinner afterward and it was nice just to hear so many people conversing in native English! The next day was entirely wedding. Don picked me up and we first had a healthy breakfast at Sherry's before spending the afternoon doing last-minute preparations. As tends to be the case with weddings, we were running behind schedule and everything seemed on the brink of falling apart, but when 5:45 rolled around we were lined up and suddenly everything was fine. The chanter began to sing and the service proceeded beautifully. Then we partied.
I had only one more day in town, so I made the most of it by gathering (well, really the credit goes to my mom here; she organized it all) my family together for lunch. Her husband Arnold made his famous enchiladas, and even my aunt and uncle from Bellingham drove down for the occasion. Originally I thought it was a little silly to get everyone together when I had really only been out of the country for about six weeks. I mean, how much could they really have missed me in six weeks anyway? But maybe it was more for my benefit, because I certainly was glad to see everyone, and be reminded that the same people I know and love are still out there somewhere, even if I am spending my time in a foreign place where I don't know anyone.
My mom took me to the airport the next day, and I tried to hide it, but I was feeling much sadder about leaving this time than I had when I left the first time in the middle of September. The first time I was excited to see new things and do new things and I didn't know what was in store for me. This time, I knew what I was going back to, and as much as I like it here...well, it just isn't home.
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