Sunday, June 22, 2008
The Joys of Travel
Travel is a bitch.
I don't mean that glorious, heart-warming travel thing you do where you're gobsmacked by the wonders of the world, the similarities or differences between cultures, or the incredible serendipitous moments that create memories that we hold separate from our everyday memories.
I mean the act of getting on a plane in the US. Getting from A to B. Yuck.
I was ambitious yesterday, first canoeing in the Meadowlands, then flying to Vegas so that I could start my Grand Canyon rafting trip this morning.
Canoeing worked out. I had just enough time to drop off my car, take a super-fast shower, and get a taxi to Newark Airport.
My flight to Dulles was delayed an hour, so I sat on a plane on the runway worrying about my connecting flight (and luggage, which I'd checked after growling about the liquid rules for a while). Then my connecting flight ran late, so I got a manicure in the terminal before again sitting on the runway for more than an hour.
By the time I crawled into the "world's largest Super 8" in Vegas, I was shattered. Sitting next door at the greasy spoon restaurant at Ellis Island Casino, I reflected that eating next door to the karaoke bar would normally be amusing.
It was not.
But somehow, it all worked out. And if I'm lucky, in the next fifteen minutes, I'll store a bag, get a taxi, and arrive at the meeting point on time. If I'm luckier, I'll buy a water bottle and deodorant. How could I forget these things? I'm guessing I don't want to go out into the heat without deodorant. But then again, no one on the raft will know me or ever see me again...