Tag Archives: airport


You know at baggage claim when a bunch of the people from your flight are all waiting around because your bags haven’t come yet because maybe one of the baggage cars got unhitched and meandered onto the runway or something. Either way, everyone’s kind of in this daze, but not because they don’t have their bags–I think it’s because there’s always that one big bag that looks kind of old or is a bright gaudy color, that keeps doing laps around the carousel. And so everybody just watches it, licking their lips, half jealous to the point that they consider grabbing it so they have something to go home with, but really you just can’t help but wonder, “what’s that guy doing?” I know they didn’t miss the flight ’cause it was full, and it’s been a half hour, did he get stuck in the lavatory or something, or did he have to finish his in-flight entertainment ’cause he just had to see how Lincoln was going to end. And they couldn’t have taken someone else’s bag because there’s no possible way two pale green corduroy suitcases were ever made. This one was certainly a mistake. Maybe that’s why it’s been abandoned. There’s probably nothing in it. The owner probably just checked it so they could leave it at the airport and not have to deal with it anymore. If I ever try to leave my baggage at an airport like that I’ll at least have the decency to tape a “4 Sale” sign to it so someone else can grab it.

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January 30th

Wednesday, January 30th: We had a few hours to kill in the morning before getting shipped to the airport, so we walked into downtown for a bit of shopping and sightseeing shenanigans and shin-diggery.

The winds were calmer today –still biting—but I didn’t need to wear a scarf. There were only a few whitecaps, but I think the wind was generally confused – well, either it or me… and I’m never confused. Within about 50 paces down one stretch of sidewalk the wind blew from the left, then the front and blow my hood off, then the right, and then from the back and blew my hood back on and proceeded to push me along the sidewalk. It was indeed confusing. None of the locals wear hats or hoods. I think they’re tired of being confused.

We went in the Harpa, which is an awesome concert hall/foyer/and-some-study-rooms sort of place. The architecture in there is very creative in terms of depthiness and perspective, and the ceiling is mirrors. I suggest you quickly google image search “Harpa.” We walked around town blah blah.

Mumsy wanted to find a Christmas ornament. We searched all trip to find one, and when she finally did, we literally walked out of the shop and saw “The Christmas Shop” two doors down. Irony and such. It was worth a laugh.

We got fish and chips at a place that turned out to be all organic. We had “tusk” and “wolf fish.” They were fish (insert fish pun). I tried their homemade soda concoction of ginger, lemon, agave nectar, and some herb. It was very tart. Organic = no sugar.

It was very windy on the walk back that we were actually blown around a bit by it. Mumsy joked that there should be a net on the edge of town that catches all the people as they get blown off the sidewalks.

I’m tired so I’ll wrap this up here. (I can only imagine how you feel after slugging your eyes through this verbal swam of thickly sticky mud.)

We got in a shuttle that took us to another shuttle that took us to a plane that took us to Seattle where I parted ways with mumsy and headed back to lalaland to be thrown back into the real world, and the rest, as They say, is history in the making. However cheezy it may sound, whenever I feel lost without my possessions, couldn’t see what I was hoping to see, or if the wind simply gets too strong and knocks me over, I can always look back onto trips like this and let the net catch me, knowing everything works out.

…which is a horrible moral for a story, but whatever.

It happend.

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Jan 27th

Sunday, January 27th: good news: didn’t end up in Scottland. Landed in Reykjavik as planned, but still without our bags (not as planned). So what that means, is since I like to relax and pack light on the plane ride by wearing slippers and light clothing, my shoes/boots and jacket are still in Seattle. Mumsy was smart and wore shoes and brought her jacket on the plane.

We de-plained and I popped my contacts in and we verified with the elves chich bus to take. We had to wait an hour and got to watch the sunrise before our bus pulled in across the parking lot. There’s something different about the sunrise here… it’s blue. Not orange, not pink, not yellow, not tinted the wondrous hues of pollution, just… blue. There’s something very simple about such a pure sunrise that I can’t help but feel clean and refreshed to some degree, regardless of how I’ve only slept 5 hours of the last 48.

We waddled out into the parking lot. There was some ice on the land. The temperature isn’t too bad, just low 30’s, but the wind is rather biting. I stepped around the puddles with my slippers and knocked on the door of the bus going to the blue lagoon. The driver was sitting where the passengers do with his feet kicked up.

We were the only ones to enjoy the flat drive through an unusual windswept terrain of jagged volcanic rock blanketed with thick green moss, and sprinkled with snow for texture. I’ve heard there was a volcano somewhere and really wanted one of the small hills to blow up and start oozing lava. However we drove by a Subway and a Taco Bell/KFC, which was surprising enough.

I’d say the Blue Lagoon is a mystical place if I was forced to describe it. Amidst this rocky wasteland of untraversable landscape sites a milky, neon blue pool, the same color as the sunrise, steaming with mineral enriched geothermally heated goodness. In other words, it’s nature’s hot tub. Naturally the temperature of the hot springs is actually unbearable, so they have to mix cool water in it to make it livable.

You walk out into the freezing weather with only your bathing suit and slide into the springs. The lifeguard is wearing ski pants, a ski jacket, and a face mask, walking around to stay warm. As long as you don’t pull any wet body parts out of the water, you’ll never get cold and could stay in there all day. I think we were in for about 2 hours. I got really wrinkly, like, puppy shar pei status.

Walking around in the pool every now and then you’ll stub your toe on something, but in one spot I was walking on what felt like slimey pillows squishing between my toes. The springs create a naturally occurring silica mud, which is white in color, and which you’re supposed to put on your face to exfoliate. I don’t even know what ‘exfoliate’ means, but I felt exfoliated. It was the most relaxing experience I’ve had, maybe ever. Our bags had been lost and we couldn’t do anything else, so all we could do is relax. I came out of the springs and slept for an hour on an indoor pool chair facing the sun. Nevermind that earlier statement: sleeping in that chair after being in a warm exfoliate natural hot spring was the most relaxed I’ve ever been. My body had taken the opportunity to remind me what clock I was still following, and I never really snapped out of that sleepy Blagoon-induced relaxation for the rest of the day.

We were driven to our hotel, took a nap, ate some food, and crashed. I don’t usually recommend things out of the blue, but the blue sunrise, the blue water, the blue lagoon; well, it blue my mind.

(next day)

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Iceland ’13; Jan 26th

Disclaimer: I have no idea if this is any good. I just typed it down and didn’t bother to read it. Don’t ask me how that works. It’s probably littered with typos and nonsense, but really—what’ snew?

Also, before I begin, I would like to pay respects to the two brave pens that gave their lives for this nonfictionalized account. They bled for this story, and it only seems fair to honor them with a brief moment of silence:

Thank you,
And now, if we could; a moment of screaming in gut wrenching guilt and agonizing mourning:
Much appreciated. They will be mist.
Now, lettuce begin…

Saturday, Jan 26th: The day started with the pissing down of rain at about 1.5” per day, and in O.C., that’s a debilitating amount. At the terminal the lady said my bags needed to fit easily into the little sizer box thing, and I thought “does it really matter if it fits easily? What if I have to kick it in, but it still fits?” There’s no point for style.

There was a lady and her dog sitting next to me. I was wasting time on the internet and thought she was talking to her whining dog about flight information, but she was actually on the phone; however she then hung up and continued to talk to her dog about people stuff. She told a random person “She wants to say hi to you,” and the person got out of their seat and went over to kneel down and kiss the dog’s ring, or whatever the hell miss dog lady was expecting them to do.

“He probably smells my dog.” How many times have I heard that? Or maybe he smells your fragrant pants area.
“Oh, it’s a she? Sorry, I didn’t know.” Ugh. It doesn’t matter what gender it is if it is going to keep whining and barking on the plane. However, miss dog said the furry thing curls up in a bag and sleeps stowed under the seat in front. Fair enough.

The PA system called “all passengers to board a flight to Phoenix, but I didn’t want to go to Phoenix, so I got on the plane to Seattle when they told “all passengers” to board that flight. I’m pretty good at remember faces, and I saw a flight attendant that I recognize from two previous Alaska Airlines flights. I didn’t look at her nametag because that’d just be weird. The strangest way I can put this is that she has really big eye-wells, like her eyes are sunken into her face by the gradual tug of gravity due to the weight of her brain. Another flight attendant zoomed down the aisle without pause and told me to turn off my book. Suffice to say I was confused, and closed my book anyways. It’s never given me confidence when they make us turn off our ipods and headphones on takeoff and landing, like listening to the latest hit by Taylor Swift will somehow send the plane into a tailspin. There are no babies near me. I am a happy man. I put on my noise cancelling head thingies and tried to nod off. It’s strange getting used to noise cancelling headphones because the way it works is it essentially blares silence into your ears, so there’s still pressure from sound waves in your ears even though there’s no sound, like the feeling that my ears are constantly going to pop… or maybe I’m on a plane.

I landed in Seattle. It was weird because I didn’t even step out of the airport. I didn’t even check the weather; it was grey (is it “grey,” or “gray?”). I rendezvoused rather seamlessly with mumsy and we checked the heavy stuff and walked through the non-existent security lines. For a moment I didn’t know what to do because there was no line to file into. I just kind of stood there expecting to wait. When we got to the terminal I had to clarify to the jovial “Runway Grill” guy that I wanted 2 cheeseburgers, not just one. Mumsy thought he was Jamaican, but he was just from the city. Maybe he wishes he was from Jamaica. Runway Grill sounds like they cook burgers on the tarmac, which fortunately they tasted like they weren’t. Initially I read “Runaway Grill,” which launched me towards a series of alternate themes for the restaurant.

While eating, Mumsy and I wondered what you are supposed to call Icelandic people. Is it “Icelanders,” or is it something random and cool, like how Netherlands people are Dutch, Belgians speak Flemish, and New Zealanders are Kiwis. A bit of googling revealed it’s just “Icelanders.” How disappointing. In the Iceland travel ads there’s a package where you can go on a six day excursion to go “knitting with the elves” –no joke– so I’m just gonna call them ‘elves’ to stay entertained. There’s a lot of folklore in them thar elfish hills, eventually leading our discussion to another important issue: what’s the difference between elves and gnomes? I’ve only known gnomes (knowmes?) as garden-dwelling dunces and have no knowledge of their folklore or mischeivery, but apparently google labels a gnome as a diminutive ground dwelling guardian of Earth’s precious treasures or something like that – developed in Renaissance times. I didn’t look up elves, but I’ve seen the Keebler commercials from the 90’s, so I’m pretty well verse.

Once on the plane and seated, the head of ground control got on the PA and joked that none of our bags were on the flight with us… except she wasn’t joking. She explained that weather was looking bad in Iceland and we had to carry more fuel in case we’d be forced to land in Glasgow instead. “In order to carry the extra weight, some luggage and passengers had to be eliminated.” Her exact words. I thought I was flying ‘Mafia Air’ for a second. She continued to inform us through the ambiance of sighs, yelps, and a few “F-you’s,” that our bags have been put on the next flight, and to make sure we fill out a lost baggage form when we land. I don’t know why they would hold Us accountable for bags we didn’t lose, but they are. The alternative solution was to stop in Canada for a refuel, but then people would miss their connections… I guess we night be going to Scottland.

(next day)

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