I was in a weird state of limbo on Sunday. I didn't really want to stick around, having been fired, but I also didn't want to leave without some guarantee that I had a place to stay or that I would be able to leave the country. So I waited to hear from Gemma or Suleiman. Suleiman called first. He asked me what was happening and I told him I wasn't sure. He said that I should come to Riyadh, he would give me a place to stay, and then on Monday, I could interview with the college he told me about in Riyadh. I thanked him, but told him I didn't know how I would get to Riyadh. I had all my stuff and everything. He told me he would book a flight for me, but for one thing, I wasn't finished sewing up my suitcase, let alone packing. For another, a friend of mine was going to Riyadh for work on Monday or Tuesday and had offered to give me a ride. That would obviously be ideal, for one thing, it would be cheaper, and for another, it would be easier to take all my stuff in a car.
I told Suleiman this plan, and he would have none of it. It wasn't safe for me to go in this car with a man I didn't really know. I told him that it was fine, that I did know him, but there is no use arguing with Suleiman once he has made up his mind about something. I told him I would take the train, but I would have to wait and take the early morning train, since it was the only one that allowed you to bring large luggage. He didn't like that plan either. He told me he would book a flight for me. I told him the train was better because it was cheaper and closer to where I was. He told me not to worry, that is was all nonsense, and the plane was no problem. He would buy the ticket and pick me up at the airport. I told him really, it was no problem for me to take the train, but he insisted, and before I knew it, he had sent me the details for a flight booking at 7pm. Call me if you have any problems, he told me.
By now, it was already almost 2pm, and it would take at least an hour to get to the airport, and since I had to be there an hour early, I would need to leave in about 2 and a half hours. The rest of the afternoon was a flurry of packing and calling around to different taxi's. I was so angry that the cheapest price I could get was 150 riyals. The train would have cost me 60, and maybe 20 for the cab to the train station. So this free plane ticket was actually costing me about 70 riyals more than if I had paid for the train myself.
By the time I arrived at the airport I was tired, frustrated, and sad. I hadn't had the time to say proper goodbyes to anyone, and I had no idea if I would be coming back to see them ever again or not. It didn't help that the airport was busy, crowded and confusing. I finally found the correct line to stand in and made my way to the front, but there was a problem. I still didn't have my passport. They weren't going to accept my photocopy at first, but after explaining the whole situation, they seemed sympathetic and willing to accept the color copy. Then we had our second problem, which was that my bag was about 20kg too heavy. They recommended that I go buy a second bag, because I could have two bags, only there wasn't a bag shop in the airport and there was now only 20 minutes before my flight boarded and so there really wasn't time. I took out what I could and added it to the giant sack of groceries that I had, and put more into my backpack, but it was still too heavy. Even if I paid for an extra bag, it wouldn't work because there was a weight limit that any single bag couldn't exceed. This was a nightmare. Finally, I called Suleiman. Of course, he didn't answer right away. There was a huge line behind me, so they pulled me aside and I waited for Suleiman to call me back. I called him every five minutes or so for about 15 minutes.
Finally, he called me back. As usual, there was "no problem." He told me to give him about 10 minutes and he would call some guy he knew at the airline. So I waited some more. By now, the flight was already boarding and I was thinking about what I would do if I couldn't get on this flight. I had gotten all the way up to a plan 'D' before Suleiman called me back. He said that any minute I should be given the go ahead. Sure enough, about 2 minutes later, they took my bag and handed me my boarding pass. I rushed to the gate, with a really heavy backpack, my mini-guitar and a huge shopping bag with what felt like 10 pounds of stuff from my other bag. I was sure they would never let me take three carry ons, especially because they were so large and heavy, but I figured I would deal with that problem as it happened.
I arrived just in time to get on the plane. I did have to give my backpack to them to put under the plane, which I normally would have been ok with, except, I happened to have six months worth of salary in the bag, since I still didn't have a Saudi bank account (you need an iqama for that) and so had been taking my pay in cash. There was no time for me to take the money out, and to be honest, I didn't really want to pull out a fat wad of bills in front of the airport people and other passengers anyway, so I decided to just hope for the best. The plane ride itself was only about 45 minutes long, and I was in a mild state of panic for every one of those minutes. But eventually we did land, and after taking ages for our bags to come up on the carousel, I did get all of my bags and the money was still safe and sound where I had left it.
I called Suleiman to let him know I had arrived, and sure enough he and his driver were there to pick me up. They drove me to a place called the 24karat Hotel Apartments, which happened to be owned by a friend of his and were also only a few blocks from his house. He made sure everything was ok and that I had everything I needed, and then he told me he would be by in the morning to bring me breakfast and coffee. I thanked him and said goodnight.
The place was small, but sufficient with a combined living room / kitchen and separate bedroom much like my old place in Dammam. The only difference being that the bedroom walls were pink on two sides and purple on the other two. The bedding was white, with a fancy gold embroidered slip across the foot of the bed. There was even a cute little travel case for toiletries, also gold. Not bad. Exhausted, I went to bed. I didn't even bother to try to make sense of the mess of a packing job I'd had to do at the airport. After all, who knew how long I would be in this place anyway.
Showing posts with label Airports. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Airports. Show all posts
Sunday, September 28, 2014
Thursday, April 24, 2014
Welcome to the Kingdom
The Doha airport is huge, and inside is like a giant shopping mall. You have to walk through a gauntlet of duty free perfume shops to get to the gates. I felt like they should have issued us all gas masks and taught us how to duck and roll to escape the zealous salespeople rushing to spray us with the scent of the month. It was probably 30 minutes or so before I could breath without being overwhelmed by the combination of perfumes lingering on my clothes.
Before I settled down to wait for four hours at the gate, I made my way to the bathroom. I sat down, did my business, and then, looked around for the TP. I realize that I did this in the wrong order, and that you should always look for toilet paper before you sit down, but sometimes you just don't think. In this case, it wouldn't have helped anyway because there is no TP anywhere here. All bathrooms come equipped with a tiny shower head you can use to clean yourself right over the toilet. Having used bidets before, I was excited. I think they get you cleaner than TP and as a bonus, they are better for the environment. So I grabbed the shower head, positioned it, and gave it a good squeeze. It was a good thing I was sitting down, because I was not prepared for the sheer force of the water pressure coming out of this tiny little shower head. Gradually, I figured out you can adjust the water pressure, by adjusting how hard you squeeze, but I still think they should come with a warning. I wasn't exactly prepared for a self enema.
I also wasn't prepared for what happened next. Noticing a dark bump on my knee, and thinking it was a scab from hasty shaving, I went to pick it. I know you should never pick at your scabs, but it's a compulsion. This time, I'm glad I did. It wasn't a scab. It was a tick. A tick I must have picked up 2 days before at my farewell bonfire, and carried with me 6,609 miles. Luckily, I had tweezers in the toiletry kit of my carry-on, although, a good blast from the bidet might have just as easily done the trick. Tick removed and flushed, I returned somewhat unsettled to wait for my final flight.
The best thing about the Doha airport is free Internet. A PlayStation 4 free gaming room might be a close second for some, but I was content with Internet and more people watching. The ratios were suddenly reversed. Boarding the plane in Chicago I had seen a few people wearing thobes (men's robes) and abayas (women's robes) but mostly people had on western dress. Here, I saw a few westerners, and some Arabs wearing western clothes, but for the most part everyone was covered. Two or three flights left from my gate before my own flight and I watched families line up for Dubai, or Bahrain, and disappear down a staircase to the shuttle buses that take you on a half hour ride to your plane parked on the runway. Aside from the clothing, it all seemed fairly normal.
Finally, they called the flight to Riyadh, Saudi Arabia. I began gathering up my things, and stood to get in line. When I looked up, I was shocked. There was not a single woman in the whole line. It was all men. A long, long, line, of men. To buy time, and because I suddenly felt I needed to, I went to the bathroom. I'm not sure what I thought would happen when I came out, but I guess I hoped the line would be shorter, or that the women were just slower to stand up and get in line. But nope, nothing had changed, though the line was slightly shorter. I stood at the back of the line, and tried to avoid the stares of the men in front of me. I wish I had decided to put my make-shift abaya on in the bathroom, but I figured I would wait and put it on on the plane before we landed. (I read in a book once that Saudi women often changed in the bathrooms just before landing when flying home from abroad, and figured that was the way it was done). I shouldn't have worried though, a man stepped in front of me to join the line as if I wasn't there, so I guess he didn't notice my clothing, or me, anyway. I finally got aggressive after the second guy cut in. The thing is, you can't leave any personal space, or they think you aren't actually in line. I was awkwardly close to the man in front of me, counting the hairs on his neck, which were about eye level to me, when one of the flight attendants pulled me from the line. He asked to see my ticket and looked surprised that it was the right flight number. He sent me to the front of the line, and downstairs to wait for the bus where I joined the five other women who would be with me on this 400 seat plane. Three were Saudi women, dressed in black abayas with head scarves to match. The other two were from the Philippines, most likely coming to work as house maids or nurses. Like me, they were dressed in western clothing, and I was thankful to not be the only one.
My seat was in the very back row next to the toilet and a man who had clearly managed to avoid the perfume onslaught. Luckily, the flight was just under an hour long. After take-off the flight attendants handed out landing cards to everyone. The first thing I saw was was the red letter warning. Welcome to the Kingdom....
About 15 minutes before landing, I gathered my make-shift abaya, (Thank you $20 Kohls long black dress and my black sweater) and changed in the bathroom. I forgot to bring my head scarf in with me, so I threw it on blind when I got back to my seat. I'm sure it looked all askew. When the man next to me woke up after we landed, he looked surprised. When we boarded, I was a blue-jean wearing American. Now I was a blue-eyed abaya wearing woman. I noticed that the Saudi women I had boarded with had changed too, adding a veil to their hijabs to cover everything but their eyes.
I was nervous going through immigration, I didn't do anything wrong, and I had all the correct visas and entry permits, but it didn't stop me from worrying. I had my fingerprints scanned and when I nervously attempted a smile when they took my photo, the immigration officer laughed. I'm not sure if it was because no one usually smiles, or if it was because he had just read a hilarious text on one of the two cell phones he was constantly checking through the whole process. Just like that, I was done. I gathered my bags loaded them on a cart, and headed out of the airport. A man holding a sign for the company who hired me was waiting for me at the exit, and I felt so relieved. He pointed to my name and I said yes, that's me. I asked him if I could first change some money before we left the airport, and I quickly realized that he spoke no English, and I had not gotten passed the alphabet in my attempts to learn Arabic. Luckily, money talks, so he knew what I wanted and led me to the Western Union. He had a friend with him, and instructed the man to wait with me outside while he brought the car around. It was 1:45 in the morning and dark, but I was sweating under my long dark clothes and heavy headscarf. Once again, I saw only men outside, lined up, waiting for taxis, or maybe taxi drivers themselves. All were wearing white thobes, and the distinct checkered red and white cloth over their heads. It was like being in a field of bobbing picnic blankets, fluttering from time to time in a slight breeze or the passing of a car. I don't understand how those things stay on. They seem to be held down with just two loose loops of black rope. It isn't tight on the head at all, just resting like a crown on the top of the head. I wonder how heavy it is?
Finally, the man came around with the van, and we loaded my bags. I sat in the back, and tried to see out of the windows, but they had been tinted so no one could see in, with the added bonus that it was very hard to see out. He drove recklessly fast, but there was almost no traffic. At one point he said something and pointed out the window. I looked and could just make out an archway in a long fence with the words in English below the beautifully scripted Arabic:
After another 30 minutes or so we arrived. I wasn't sure where we were arriving to. By this time it was almost 2:30 in the morning, so I doubted we would be going to the office, but It didn't look much like a hotel either. There was a guard out front, and the two men in the van helped me bring my stuff into the hotel, then promptly left. I stared at the man at the reception desk, who was juggling two phones. Finally, he put one down, and I was relieved to see that he spoke some English. He checked me in, then helped me put my bag into a tiny elevator. He indicated that I should squeeze in too. He pushed a few buttons, closed the door, and sent me up alone. He was waiting for me at the top and led me to my room. It was actually two rooms, a bedroom and then a living room area with a TV and a little fridge, stove top and microwave. He asked me if I needed anything else, and suddenly, I felt very tired. I realized I had no idea what to do when I woke up in the morning. I asked the man, and he said he would call them and have them send a driver to pick me up at 9am. I asked about Internet, so I could also send them an email, and luckily, there was wifi, which he helped me sign into. I thanked him, locked the door behind him, took off my headscarf and abaya, and took a deep breath. I had finally arrived.
Before I settled down to wait for four hours at the gate, I made my way to the bathroom. I sat down, did my business, and then, looked around for the TP. I realize that I did this in the wrong order, and that you should always look for toilet paper before you sit down, but sometimes you just don't think. In this case, it wouldn't have helped anyway because there is no TP anywhere here. All bathrooms come equipped with a tiny shower head you can use to clean yourself right over the toilet. Having used bidets before, I was excited. I think they get you cleaner than TP and as a bonus, they are better for the environment. So I grabbed the shower head, positioned it, and gave it a good squeeze. It was a good thing I was sitting down, because I was not prepared for the sheer force of the water pressure coming out of this tiny little shower head. Gradually, I figured out you can adjust the water pressure, by adjusting how hard you squeeze, but I still think they should come with a warning. I wasn't exactly prepared for a self enema.
I also wasn't prepared for what happened next. Noticing a dark bump on my knee, and thinking it was a scab from hasty shaving, I went to pick it. I know you should never pick at your scabs, but it's a compulsion. This time, I'm glad I did. It wasn't a scab. It was a tick. A tick I must have picked up 2 days before at my farewell bonfire, and carried with me 6,609 miles. Luckily, I had tweezers in the toiletry kit of my carry-on, although, a good blast from the bidet might have just as easily done the trick. Tick removed and flushed, I returned somewhat unsettled to wait for my final flight.
The best thing about the Doha airport is free Internet. A PlayStation 4 free gaming room might be a close second for some, but I was content with Internet and more people watching. The ratios were suddenly reversed. Boarding the plane in Chicago I had seen a few people wearing thobes (men's robes) and abayas (women's robes) but mostly people had on western dress. Here, I saw a few westerners, and some Arabs wearing western clothes, but for the most part everyone was covered. Two or three flights left from my gate before my own flight and I watched families line up for Dubai, or Bahrain, and disappear down a staircase to the shuttle buses that take you on a half hour ride to your plane parked on the runway. Aside from the clothing, it all seemed fairly normal.
Finally, they called the flight to Riyadh, Saudi Arabia. I began gathering up my things, and stood to get in line. When I looked up, I was shocked. There was not a single woman in the whole line. It was all men. A long, long, line, of men. To buy time, and because I suddenly felt I needed to, I went to the bathroom. I'm not sure what I thought would happen when I came out, but I guess I hoped the line would be shorter, or that the women were just slower to stand up and get in line. But nope, nothing had changed, though the line was slightly shorter. I stood at the back of the line, and tried to avoid the stares of the men in front of me. I wish I had decided to put my make-shift abaya on in the bathroom, but I figured I would wait and put it on on the plane before we landed. (I read in a book once that Saudi women often changed in the bathrooms just before landing when flying home from abroad, and figured that was the way it was done). I shouldn't have worried though, a man stepped in front of me to join the line as if I wasn't there, so I guess he didn't notice my clothing, or me, anyway. I finally got aggressive after the second guy cut in. The thing is, you can't leave any personal space, or they think you aren't actually in line. I was awkwardly close to the man in front of me, counting the hairs on his neck, which were about eye level to me, when one of the flight attendants pulled me from the line. He asked to see my ticket and looked surprised that it was the right flight number. He sent me to the front of the line, and downstairs to wait for the bus where I joined the five other women who would be with me on this 400 seat plane. Three were Saudi women, dressed in black abayas with head scarves to match. The other two were from the Philippines, most likely coming to work as house maids or nurses. Like me, they were dressed in western clothing, and I was thankful to not be the only one.
 |
| Warning: Death for Drug Trafficker |
My seat was in the very back row next to the toilet and a man who had clearly managed to avoid the perfume onslaught. Luckily, the flight was just under an hour long. After take-off the flight attendants handed out landing cards to everyone. The first thing I saw was was the red letter warning. Welcome to the Kingdom....
About 15 minutes before landing, I gathered my make-shift abaya, (Thank you $20 Kohls long black dress and my black sweater) and changed in the bathroom. I forgot to bring my head scarf in with me, so I threw it on blind when I got back to my seat. I'm sure it looked all askew. When the man next to me woke up after we landed, he looked surprised. When we boarded, I was a blue-jean wearing American. Now I was a blue-eyed abaya wearing woman. I noticed that the Saudi women I had boarded with had changed too, adding a veil to their hijabs to cover everything but their eyes.
I was nervous going through immigration, I didn't do anything wrong, and I had all the correct visas and entry permits, but it didn't stop me from worrying. I had my fingerprints scanned and when I nervously attempted a smile when they took my photo, the immigration officer laughed. I'm not sure if it was because no one usually smiles, or if it was because he had just read a hilarious text on one of the two cell phones he was constantly checking through the whole process. Just like that, I was done. I gathered my bags loaded them on a cart, and headed out of the airport. A man holding a sign for the company who hired me was waiting for me at the exit, and I felt so relieved. He pointed to my name and I said yes, that's me. I asked him if I could first change some money before we left the airport, and I quickly realized that he spoke no English, and I had not gotten passed the alphabet in my attempts to learn Arabic. Luckily, money talks, so he knew what I wanted and led me to the Western Union. He had a friend with him, and instructed the man to wait with me outside while he brought the car around. It was 1:45 in the morning and dark, but I was sweating under my long dark clothes and heavy headscarf. Once again, I saw only men outside, lined up, waiting for taxis, or maybe taxi drivers themselves. All were wearing white thobes, and the distinct checkered red and white cloth over their heads. It was like being in a field of bobbing picnic blankets, fluttering from time to time in a slight breeze or the passing of a car. I don't understand how those things stay on. They seem to be held down with just two loose loops of black rope. It isn't tight on the head at all, just resting like a crown on the top of the head. I wonder how heavy it is?
Finally, the man came around with the van, and we loaded my bags. I sat in the back, and tried to see out of the windows, but they had been tinted so no one could see in, with the added bonus that it was very hard to see out. He drove recklessly fast, but there was almost no traffic. At one point he said something and pointed out the window. I looked and could just make out an archway in a long fence with the words in English below the beautifully scripted Arabic:
جامعة الأميرة نورة بنت عبد الرحمن
Princess Nora Bint Abdul Rahman University. We drove for another 10 or 15 minutes alongside this walled fence before it finally ended in another entrance to the University. For the first time, I realized just how large the University where I would be working really was.After another 30 minutes or so we arrived. I wasn't sure where we were arriving to. By this time it was almost 2:30 in the morning, so I doubted we would be going to the office, but It didn't look much like a hotel either. There was a guard out front, and the two men in the van helped me bring my stuff into the hotel, then promptly left. I stared at the man at the reception desk, who was juggling two phones. Finally, he put one down, and I was relieved to see that he spoke some English. He checked me in, then helped me put my bag into a tiny elevator. He indicated that I should squeeze in too. He pushed a few buttons, closed the door, and sent me up alone. He was waiting for me at the top and led me to my room. It was actually two rooms, a bedroom and then a living room area with a TV and a little fridge, stove top and microwave. He asked me if I needed anything else, and suddenly, I felt very tired. I realized I had no idea what to do when I woke up in the morning. I asked the man, and he said he would call them and have them send a driver to pick me up at 9am. I asked about Internet, so I could also send them an email, and luckily, there was wifi, which he helped me sign into. I thanked him, locked the door behind him, took off my headscarf and abaya, and took a deep breath. I had finally arrived.
Wednesday, April 23, 2014
Leaving America
I promised everyone I would write and tell them all about my life as an English Teacher in Saudi Arabia. In the past I have sent email updates of my travel adventures, but I think it's time I moved into the 21st century, so here is my first shot at a blog.
Flying and spending time in airports has always been fun for me. Mostly because the people watching is at its best in airports. So many stories begin and end here. It's like watching a thousand mini-soap operas crossed with those choose your own adventure books. Waiting in the terminal for my first flight to Chicago, I watched a couple arguing. He had gotten her a sandwich and she was mad because she told him she didn't want anything and anyway it had mustard on it and she hated mustard. He said well what do you want to do, starve? You haven't eaten since we left and you won't get anything on the plane. It will probably be another 5 or 6 hours before we can eat again. Do you just want to starve? She said, I'm not gonna starve, and I'm capable of buying my own sandwich if I want one. Okay, he said, just trying to help. Stop trying to fix everything, the woman whisper yelled. Are you gonna be like this the whole trip?, he wanted to know. She gave him the stone coldest stare I had ever seen. Where were they headed? Would they make up? Would anyone eat the mustard filled sandwich? Choose your own adventure.
After the Chicago flight, I had about an hour to kill before my next flight took off. I was hanging around in a gate across from mine since there were no seats left in my gate area. I watched a young guy re-pack his backpack. He pulled out a ball of yarn, a pack of lightbulbs, 3 pretty hefty looking books, though I couldn't read any of the titles, a few articles of clothing (including a single sock, into which he put a bag of sunflower seeds), a smaller bag with unknown contents (probably toiletries) a pair of plastic handcuffs, and what looked like a ziplock bag full of Legos. He meticulously put everything back in the bag and settled in to wait for his flight. He had on headphones, a hoodie, and the kind of glasses that quiet guy at work you always suspect would go crazy and kill everyone one day would wear. Or maybe that's the contents of the bag talking. The gate said the flight was headed for Albany, but mine boarded before his, so I'll never be sure if he got on the plane, or if the light bulbs were still intact when he arrived, or what he was planning to do with yarn and handcuffs. Choose your own Adventure.
The woman I sat next to on the flight from Chicago to Qatar had bought her ticket only hours before take off. Her sister in law had a fairly routine operation in India, but something had gone wrong, and now she was on a ventilator and not doing well. She was on her way to join her husband and son to be there when she recovered, or to bury her if she didn't. Choose your own ending.
Another thing about flying that I enjoy is the in-flight movies. I watched American Hustle first. Before it would let me start the movie, I had to agree that I was over 18. Then it told me that the movie was edited for content and format. I didn't think much of it until every time there was a scene that looked like it might be heading toward sex, it quickly cut to another scene. The first few times I just thought, huh, interesting directing choices. But I quickly realized it must be something the airline does. Nice if there are children next to you who could lean over and see your screen, but I think it probably had more to do with respect for muslim audiences.
I've gotten pretty good at long distance flights over the years, but I must say, I never remember quite so much turbulence... I have to wonder if it is just my imagination, I've been watching Lost (I know, only about a decade too late) and then there is the whole Malaysian Air thing, so perhaps I'm feeling more nervous about slight turbulence than I used to. In any case, it was bad enough to wake me up when we were about an hour and a half from landing in Doha. I knew I wouldn't probably have time to finish another movie, but I put one on anyway just to distract me from the turbulence. I know that I'm not the first to point this out, but it's so easy to cry when watching airplane movies. Maybe it's the dry air of the pressurized cabin, maybe it's that you are usually nervous, excited, sad, anxious, scared, and just an emotional ball of nerves anyway when you fly. Whatever it is, things that are only mildly sad, are suddenly tear jerkers. So the plane lands, and the movie is nearly over, so it's at a really sad bit, and I'm practically bawling, but no one is moving yet, just standing around in the aisle, so I keep watching, and crying, hoping I have time to see the end. And its fine, because everyone is facing forward trying to rush off the plane, so no one is paying attention to me. But then, disaster. The stairs are pushed up to the back exit of the plane, and everyone turns around to exit out the back. Suddenly, everyone waiting with their carry-ons slung over their shoulders, is looking at me, the only person still sitting, tears streaming down my face. The woman whose sister-in-law in India is in critical condition reaches over to pat my shoulder. I smile and wave her away and say, it's just this movie!, but I know she must think I'm insane. If anyone should be crying it's her. The man behind her, heard me explain and laughed out loud! I didn't get to see the ending, but I bet I gave a few people the makings of a great choose your own adventure story.
Flying and spending time in airports has always been fun for me. Mostly because the people watching is at its best in airports. So many stories begin and end here. It's like watching a thousand mini-soap operas crossed with those choose your own adventure books. Waiting in the terminal for my first flight to Chicago, I watched a couple arguing. He had gotten her a sandwich and she was mad because she told him she didn't want anything and anyway it had mustard on it and she hated mustard. He said well what do you want to do, starve? You haven't eaten since we left and you won't get anything on the plane. It will probably be another 5 or 6 hours before we can eat again. Do you just want to starve? She said, I'm not gonna starve, and I'm capable of buying my own sandwich if I want one. Okay, he said, just trying to help. Stop trying to fix everything, the woman whisper yelled. Are you gonna be like this the whole trip?, he wanted to know. She gave him the stone coldest stare I had ever seen. Where were they headed? Would they make up? Would anyone eat the mustard filled sandwich? Choose your own adventure.
After the Chicago flight, I had about an hour to kill before my next flight took off. I was hanging around in a gate across from mine since there were no seats left in my gate area. I watched a young guy re-pack his backpack. He pulled out a ball of yarn, a pack of lightbulbs, 3 pretty hefty looking books, though I couldn't read any of the titles, a few articles of clothing (including a single sock, into which he put a bag of sunflower seeds), a smaller bag with unknown contents (probably toiletries) a pair of plastic handcuffs, and what looked like a ziplock bag full of Legos. He meticulously put everything back in the bag and settled in to wait for his flight. He had on headphones, a hoodie, and the kind of glasses that quiet guy at work you always suspect would go crazy and kill everyone one day would wear. Or maybe that's the contents of the bag talking. The gate said the flight was headed for Albany, but mine boarded before his, so I'll never be sure if he got on the plane, or if the light bulbs were still intact when he arrived, or what he was planning to do with yarn and handcuffs. Choose your own Adventure.
The woman I sat next to on the flight from Chicago to Qatar had bought her ticket only hours before take off. Her sister in law had a fairly routine operation in India, but something had gone wrong, and now she was on a ventilator and not doing well. She was on her way to join her husband and son to be there when she recovered, or to bury her if she didn't. Choose your own ending.
Another thing about flying that I enjoy is the in-flight movies. I watched American Hustle first. Before it would let me start the movie, I had to agree that I was over 18. Then it told me that the movie was edited for content and format. I didn't think much of it until every time there was a scene that looked like it might be heading toward sex, it quickly cut to another scene. The first few times I just thought, huh, interesting directing choices. But I quickly realized it must be something the airline does. Nice if there are children next to you who could lean over and see your screen, but I think it probably had more to do with respect for muslim audiences.
I've gotten pretty good at long distance flights over the years, but I must say, I never remember quite so much turbulence... I have to wonder if it is just my imagination, I've been watching Lost (I know, only about a decade too late) and then there is the whole Malaysian Air thing, so perhaps I'm feeling more nervous about slight turbulence than I used to. In any case, it was bad enough to wake me up when we were about an hour and a half from landing in Doha. I knew I wouldn't probably have time to finish another movie, but I put one on anyway just to distract me from the turbulence. I know that I'm not the first to point this out, but it's so easy to cry when watching airplane movies. Maybe it's the dry air of the pressurized cabin, maybe it's that you are usually nervous, excited, sad, anxious, scared, and just an emotional ball of nerves anyway when you fly. Whatever it is, things that are only mildly sad, are suddenly tear jerkers. So the plane lands, and the movie is nearly over, so it's at a really sad bit, and I'm practically bawling, but no one is moving yet, just standing around in the aisle, so I keep watching, and crying, hoping I have time to see the end. And its fine, because everyone is facing forward trying to rush off the plane, so no one is paying attention to me. But then, disaster. The stairs are pushed up to the back exit of the plane, and everyone turns around to exit out the back. Suddenly, everyone waiting with their carry-ons slung over their shoulders, is looking at me, the only person still sitting, tears streaming down my face. The woman whose sister-in-law in India is in critical condition reaches over to pat my shoulder. I smile and wave her away and say, it's just this movie!, but I know she must think I'm insane. If anyone should be crying it's her. The man behind her, heard me explain and laughed out loud! I didn't get to see the ending, but I bet I gave a few people the makings of a great choose your own adventure story.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)