Many people think that the quintessential Alaskan experience involves salmon or midnight suns, but really it is about the red eye. To get anywhere from Anchorage, Alaska usually means an over night flight. A good one takes you close to your destination. A bad one leaves you sleeping on the floor near your next flight’s departure gate. My husband says you aren’t an Alaskan if you haven’t spent the night in an airport. I am an Alaskan many times over.
My flight left at 9:45PM. During the middle of the flight, I dropped my phone into the dark emptiness under my seat. As I have aged, my ability to get small and turn about in an airplane seat has decreased dramatically. This means I have no photograph of the majestic morning over Minneapolis that I was graced with. A one inch streak of an orange pink sunrise over dozens and dozens of lakes each filled with the moving clouds from above them. The experience may well have converted me from the freedom of the aisle to the spectacle of the window.
The first leg of my journey is a good one-Anchorage to Minneapolis– a solid five hours in the air. I arrive at 5:45 AM which is 2:45 AM Alaska time. This early morning arrival is not reasonable, but it is do-able. My eyes burn and the coffee tastes bitter at this strange hour.
I see the woman with the toddler survived the flight. I think to myself, wait until you have three, and one of them is a runner. But those days are behind me– my boys are all sleeping as I wander for food at daybreak. I find an Einstein’s and place my order. My connecting flight is on time.
My body questions the situation. My thoughts are loose–there is a a faint buzzing noise in my ear. I am sensitive to sounds and smells, but eventually my flesh accepts that a nod in a tiny seat flying through a night sky is all the rest available for this day.
I pretend I haven’t spent the night in the clothes I am wearing. I clean my teeth with my tongue. I attempt a discreet yoga pose while my knees remind me just how old I am. I lug myself towards Pittsburg.
The second flight is hard. The woman next to me has bright red permed hair, wears a Harley Davidson hoody, and reeks of her vacation in Las Vegas. She packs a camouflage duffle under the seat with authority. It is a small plane fully packed with humans. I console myself with the fact that there are no loud talkers.
Ketchup.
And Warhol.
I do believe I have arrived at my final destination.
I share a shuttle with a cluster of librarians. At first, they mistake me for one of their own. I am honored and sad to disappoint them. Eavesdropping was delicious. I think a librarian conference might be as much fun as Quilt Festival or a SAQA Event.
I arrive at the Hotel Indigo located in the East End neighborhood of Pittsburgh. This is the view from my room.
And this is the bed that holds the sleep I crave. I resist temptation. I must power through the red eye, make the four hour time zone leap, and accept the twelve hour journey as part of the adventure.
I am here for Fiberart International 2016.
And losing a night’s sleep is totally worth it to Be Here Now.
maybe my favorite blog post of yours ever. could smell the lady from Vegas.
Thank you Petra. I know you have been there.
You are such a good writer! Thanks for the trip… Have fun.
Thank you! I haven’t written a real word based post in a while, so it felt good to it.
Such a literary account. I adored it and felt cramped and tired myself — all at the same time. I thought my flight Monday, departing at 5:45 making my wake-up time 3:15 was bad. You win! Congratulations on the tenacity to travel at all if that is the norm. Let alonehow much you do travel. 😉
Nysha, your flight was bad too! I can never sleep when I have early flight.
Philosophical, well written, nice to keep up with your doings.
Thank you Barb! I have been thinking about you and sending love your way.
I love your description. I was just wondering about your travels. I’ll see you tomorrow!
That bed really does look comfy.
Marty
Marty- I am looking forward to seeing you too!
By the time you posted that picture of your bed, I could feel how tempting it was! Enjoy your time at FiberArt international.
Thank you Marla. It is the hardest part when you see that bed, but know you need to just keep going…
travelling from New Zealand to anywhere is a little similar but we get more sympathy, people realise NZ is far from their place, perhaps they don’t give you the same courtesy.
I slept on an airport floor for the first time at age 50, alone in a non-english speaking country, seemed very simple when you’re very tired
I am jealous of the places you get to travel, but not jealous of the rigors of traveling. I think too many years of working the night shift as a nurse left me never wanting to lose a night of sleep ever again!
LOVE hearing about your travels, and do hope we get a report on this conference. It looks amazing!
I did not know you were a night nurse! I can see that now. I know, I love travel, and I actually don’t mind the journey if there is sleep involved.