One thing about early morning flights; it doesn’t really hit me that I am traveling until I am actually in the air. When your flight leaves at 7 am, there is not much time for a night person to wake up until, say, after your nap on the plane.
I scarcely remember customs, now that I am on the other side. I know I had my papers in order, and my passport at the ready. How nazi does that sound? Having your papers ready. If your papers aren’t just so, or the border guard doesn’t like you, for some reason, they can turn you back, or delay you so badly you miss the flight. They can mark your record, so that every time you want to cross, you can be assured of a thorough search. They can simply bar you from the country, for four years. If they don’t like the way you look. As someone who lives on the fringes of mainstream society, this is something I worry about.
It turns out my preparation was not needed, this time. The guard was a young guy, pretty cheerful. He didn’t ask twice about my purpose for travel, after I said I was visiting friends for some snowboarding. There were no questions about my lack of return ticket, and so my friends standing by waiting for a call to confirm were undisturbed. At least they got to sleep in. My papers proving I had property in Canada that I was not about to abandon, and a letter stating my expected return to Canada, all not needed. I breezed thru customs, bleary eyed and grateful.
Once on the plane, I chatted with my seatmate, pleasant nothings about his love for skiing, my attempts to learn snowboarding. He told me about his high school sweetheart, who he met up with again after 34 years, fell in love with, again, and this time, married. He showed me pictures of his disabled son, his daughter, and his elderly dog. I learned his views on older animals in pain, and we shared the distress of our dogs growing older. I told him about my truck and my dog, about my mum lending me her car. We chatted for a good hour of the flight, before I had a nap. He handed me my bag as we deplaned, and then his back disappeared into the crowd of ruffled passengers.
I never even learned his name.
I have slowly come to this realization, that I like it this way. I like the brief intense connection, the shared moments, and then the alleycat goodbye of simply… walking away. No serious information exchanged, no expectations, and yet, I learned details about this man that I reckon his last girlfriend didn’t know. Such can be the way of travel, tiny bits of life, in a sea of swirling humanity.
I made my way thru the San Francisco airport, the hanging mobile of planes stirring faint memories. I have been here before, much like this, making a connection to somewhere else. Once again, I pass thru the security areas of this place, here, but not really of the city. It is hard to feel part of the outside world, when behind glass walls, and security guards. Held apart from society at large. Like planes are some sort of politician, and you may only get near them with proper screening and searching.
The scent of food, charred bread and salty soup assails my nostrils. Here in this tiny food court, between gate groups, I find a soup and sandwich sort of place. Eschewing the overpriced fare, (seven dollars for an egg salad sandwich?!?) I detour past the condiment stand. Sure enough, tiny pats of butter. I snag two, and carry on to my gate. Once I have located my gate, I sit down, a nice seat overlooking the tarmac. I watch the planes taxi in, fascinated by the ground crew, their guiding the effectively blind planes in. With this entertainment, I shuffle in my bag, finding the grain bun I had bought a few days previously, for about 90 cents. Buns, especially dense grain ones, travel pretty well. Butter does not. Mostly, you can find free butter, and jam. There is rarely such a thing as free buns.
I watch the planes, and eat my breakfast. A handful of trail mix, made the night before, rounds out my meal. Do I need to mention the water bottle? Of course I carried an empty water pottle thru security, and filled it with free tap water. The small noises of many people in an indoor space bounce around the gate waiting area. Several children run about, much to the tired annoyance of their parents. I suppose some must sit still, but I don’t notice those ones, now would I? No, it’s the screaming sibling pair, tired and fighting over some favored toy. I hope they are boarding the plane next to this one, and will not be on the connecting flight I am heading to.
My hopes are borne out, and my next plane is a bit quieter than the waiting area, tho there is a few vocal children on the flight. It’s only a quick hop over to Reno, however, and then I am rolling down the glassed in hallway, escaping the secure holding pen. I spill out into the main luggage claiming area, people milling all about. There are a few joyous reunions, but most people appear to be merely making a quick trip. I miss the bustle of a bigger airport, with its intense human interactions. The basic emotions, concentrated. Loss, in the farewell to a departing one. Joy, in the return of a loved one. Airports bring out the pure emotions.
I walk out into the sunny lobby, and meet up with my friend Jay. Smiling, we hug, and I toss my bag into his truck. Off to another adventure. My life truly is wonderful.
Wherever you are, Be There 