This morning started at 6.30 with getting all of my last minute preparations finished before setting out for Florida, and by 8.00, I was being dropped off in front of the airport with my bright red suitcase and leather carry-on bag. And I’d like to say that I did all right, thank you very much. Granted, I spent the first twenty five minutes waiting in the wrong line for Delta, and I was clueless as to where to pick up my ticket after finding a more correct line, but after an hour of lines and security, I was finally sitting in the correct terminal and waiting for my 10.05 flight to Atlanta. The first leg of my journey was from Saint Louis to Atlanta and went quite well. Window seat. Hardly a cloud in the sky. No turbulance. Even with sitting right next the engine, I could still listen to my iPod at half level and be just fine (which, by the way, my Florida playlist is pretty kickin’: Vampire Weekend, Imogen Heap, Arcade Fire, Nickel Creek, and a plethora of just about everything. No really, I even have some Backstreet Boys and Spice Girls on there. Eat it!). The Atlanta airport was the only thing I was worried about–mostly because my first flight had been delayed by an hour, which meant that I had missed my second flight to Fort Lauderdale. On the bright side, the second leg of my journey had also been delayed, so I ended up at the correct terminal in plenty of time. Definitely beats my similar experience two years ago.
And that was something that really struck me. Exactly two years ago, to the day no less, I was in the Atlanta airport, running back and forth between terminals that didn’t even exist just to get to my aeroplane for Germany. It had been a total mess, with my friend and I running between trains and construction to get to the right spot just in the knick of time. So, it slightly amazed me that I should have almost the exact same experience today, only not. It was the same connecting flight, the same terminals. Everything the same except that I found where I was going quickly and easily. Maybe it’s the lack of construction. Maybe it’s the fact that now I’m an adult and could trek there on my own without having to be with a group. I’ll never know, but if things are going to work this well, then I don’t care to figure it out.
The second leg of my trip was terribly bouncy, and I was stuck in an aisle seat next to a very bored five year-old. Half way through, I pulled out a National Geographic and began to flip through the pages of wonderful photos, being sure to tilt the magazine so that Xavier (yes, I learned his name while on the flight) could see it. Later, I nonchallantly flipped through photos on my laptop for him to see. And I’m not sure if it completely was enthralling, but he did look over quite a bit. So maybe I made his trip a little less monotonous.
Anyway, I finally reached Fort Lauderdale after a long day of travelling and delays and no food, and my dad was there waiting at the exit for me so that we could fetch my luggage. We drove to his house in Pompano Beach, had salad with fish–
Yes, I ate fish, and will eat fish over this holiday. It’s hard to avoid, and I’m not picky enough or a bitch enough or even someone who cares enough to refuse. So, yes, I had fish.
–sat around on the porch and chatted, et cetera. He mentioned that I should blog about my trip as a start to my dream career of being on the Travel Chanel. As ridiculous as it is, I thought I’d do that. So, expect some blogs from me over these next two weeks. Hopefully nothing daily; I wouldn’t want to read that, and I’m sure you wouldn’t want to, either. And, who knows, maybe this will be the start to my fabulous life as a professional traveller.
Or maybe I’ll just share with you my adventures. You know, same same, but different.