Day 1 - Long Day's Journey Into Night

nostalgic | Pink Floyd

 

May 31, 2005

After 5 hours on a way-too-air-conditioned bus, we arrive at JFK, 11 days worth of luggage in tow, passports in hand. Harley and I had entertained ourselves for the duration of the busride by doing impressions of ex-Pres, prestigious peanut farmer Jimmy Carter, reading random bumperstickers (who lit the fuse on your tampon?) and reading a gift I got the day before on my birthday, AMERICA by Jon Stewart. Dig the irony.

At JFK we are greeted by 3 floors of escalators, one of my worst phobias (it's right up there with vending machines and cheesesticks). After a teeny-tiny panic attack, I ditch my bags and head for the stairs. Some heavy breathing and asthmatic threat later, I am reaquainted with the group and my bags at the customs gate.

Customs Gate = Legal Rape.

It's not long after we arrive at the terminal that it's time for departure. We took SwissAir which dons the Swiss Symbol on its sides. I kept referring to it as Air911. No one thought it was funny

.

I was seated in the aisle seat next to the bathroom. Initially, I scoffed thinking "what a shitty flight!" but later I would be thankful that the bathroom was sooo close. Next to me, in the window seat that I would happily give an extremity for, was a Romanian man named George that would become my good friend during the 8 hour flight.

I flipped through magazines, sipping wine and occasionally glancing over George's shoulder to see the view. The sun was setting behind us and we were flying into dusky pinkness. I turned my head to look out the other side of the plane and saw that it was already pitch black. Unbelieving, I looked over George's shoulder again and still saw the glowing orange ball slip away into the distance. It still boggles my mind.

Over dinner, George and I began to talk. First about our food, next about our destinations ...and then he told me stories of his life in Romania and how different it is in New York City where he works as a doorman. Over wine, he told me about his children and their lives and asked me where I thought mine might lead to. The stewardess came and took what was left of our food and our empty wine bottles (all six of 'em!) I excused myself as I got up to use the bathroom and it was then I realized, "Damn! I'm drunk!"

When night finally hit, they turned out the lights on the plane and I grabbed up a pillow and a blanket and leaned onto George's shoulder to try and sleep. I drank all the wine hoping it would put me to sleep the way it does on dry land, but to no avail. I was drunk and awake on a plane of sleeping people. Luckily, I wasn't the only one. About 6 other people from my group were having the same problem and we decided that we should throw a party in the back of the plane in celebration of, what else, my birthday!

So the oh-so-trusting stewardess brings us underagers a plethora of mini bottles of alcohol. We popped 6 champagnes (or champagni?) and toasted to the wonder that is me. (And they just met me!) We played a game of virtual Who Wants to be a Millionaire, complete with Regis Philbin speaking Dutch!

Wie Wil Millionaire Zijn? Ik!

Before we knew it, it was morning again. Nightime lasted all of 2 hours.

Sleep: 0

Alcohol: too much

Me: not feelin' so hot.

I nudged George awake so he could get some good shots (he's a photographer in his spare time) as we flew through the Alps. It was amazing. There we were, above the clouds and poking through them were the tips of the Swiss Alps. You could barely tell the difference between the clouds in the distance and the snow covering the jagged rocks of the Alps. Despite my impending hangover and jet lag, I smiled. Just then, a day after my 20th birthday, I saw something that many people never get to see in their whole lives. And it rocked.