Day 1: I like airports because they combine the wonder of flight with having to walk 5 miles from check-in to your gate. It’s sort of a nice bookending of the whole evolutionary travel experience, and a good ego-check: you may think you’re hot shit now, what with the magical flying machines, but walking is still a giant pain in your ass, and you are way, way worse at it than a cheetah, or even a gazelle. This is especially true if you are weighed down by two overstuffed handbags that appear to be sidesaddles and your only feasible mode of ambulation is a hip-swaying, weight-shifting waddle which best approximates a penguin going for “saucy”. I am weighed down thusly, at present, because my big plan to make the travel experience Easier and More Convenient is to only take two carry-ons and not check anything in. The woman at the easyjet counter threatens to undo this plan before it can even get off the ground (thank you, thank you) since one carry-on is technically the limit, but at the last minute she relents and decides that one of the bags can count as my “personal luggage”. I like the idea of “personal luggage”, luggage that I can tell all my secrets to, luggage I can share my hopes and fears with. Anyway, I am so elated that the check-in lady lets my baggage excess slide that I promptly forget to recollect my ticket confirmation, and don’t remember until I get past security clearance and decide not to go back and get it because “hey, no big deal”…this is before I know that, upon my arrival to London, I will spend four hours being detained by immigration, partially because I don’t have confirmation of my return ticket, which will be tucked safely behind the check-in desk in Madrid. So much for Easier and More Convenient. |
