Saturday, March 23, 2019

Transatlantic

Friday, March 22. It's 2:17 PM Dublin time and who knows what time wherever I am 40,000 or so feet over the Atlantic Ocean. I'm very happy to be going home.

I should be writing this on my Chromebook, but the space bar isn't working. Because the WiFi isn't working either, I can't find a fix for the space bar. So I'm using Keep Notes to write. Necessity is the mother of invention.

I just finished a white wine mixed with Diet Coke, which is a surprisingly good combination. During drink service, the very nice young flight attendant asked me if I wanted one or two white wines and I foolishly and hastily said "just one." Poor decision making on my part. It's slightly turbulent and another wine or two would not be a bad idea. But it's all good. It's all good.

What is wrong with my space bar, anyway?

*****

I started to feel fluish on Tuesday or Wednesday and I ignored it, for two reasons. Reason one: I ignore all health issues less serious than bleeding from the eye sockets. Reason two: I didn't want to ruin the trip for everyone. But now the trip is pretty much over, so I can stop moving for a bit and just rest. 

Except that I'm 40,000 feet over the Atlantic Ocean.

We arrived at Terminal 2 of Dublin Airport just a little less than 3 hours before our flight, and we needed every minute of those hours. I can't express in words the relief of finally shedding all of the extra bags, then passing through both security checkpoints and just waiting at the gate.

Because my travel companion is temporarily disabled by a broken arm, we were granted the privilege of early boarding. In the future, anyone who wishes to travel with me will need to have some sort of injury or disability because it's quite an advantage to have the cabin almost to yourself. We were comfortably settled, with all of our belongings stowed and arranged, before anyone else was even allowed near the plane. And then we got to watch as our fellow travelers (in the literal sense) settled themselves and their belongings, with less time and a lot less room to move.

According to the in-flight map (which wasn't available on the flight over), we are somewhere south of Greenland. I'm listening to music now. I made a playlist, which includes some of the usual suspects (Paul Simon, Bruce Springsteen, Lady Gaga); and a few outliers (The Ting Tings, Betty Who, Michael Jackson, Aaron Neville, Bill Withers). It's a good mix. I can't worry about anything when Aaron Neville is singing "People Get Ready."

*****

I never understand people who complain about airplane food. It's not that the food is so good, it's just that we're on an airplane over the ocean and it's a bit of a miracle that any hot food at all is available. I remembered that it was Friday so I asked for a vegetarian meal and a moment later, I was a bit character on a Seinfeld episode. Call me Vegetable Lasagna.

We're halfway through the flight now. Still south of Greenland, pointing toward Newfoundland. We still have a way to go but we're closer to the United States than Europe now.

We passed over Newfoundland a little while ago and we're approaching either Nova Scotia or Prince Edward Island. The path on the map keeps shifting a bit so I'm not sure. Or maybe I just like the names of the Maritime Provinces. I was an Anne of Green Gables girl. Two more hours or so.

We passed right between them, actually, and now we're heading toward the East Coast of the United States, in a path that will take us right between Boston and Montreal. It's nice to be back in a place where people care about hockey.

*****
Saturday, March 23. The preceding was what you get when I'm stuck in a tiny chair with nothing to do except watch silly movies ("Crazy Rich Asians"--ridiculous) and good TV shows ("Derry Girls"--awesome), listen to music, read, and monitor the flight path. I didn't sleep, but I did get up and go to the bathroom 57 times. People probably think I'm a drug addict. I'm still sick, and I'm too tired to write anything more. It's nice to be home. 

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