THE JOURNEY - PART ONE
SYNOPSIS: It's about the boring part. Getting from here to there.
There was the typical mix of muffled noises: the baby crying somewhere in the distance, the laughter of a woman with that uncomfortably shrill voice, the low humdrum of conversation.
There was the typical set of uncomfortable circumstances: the swollen ankles, the stiff neck, the frequent whiff of perfume.
There was the gentle sway of the Boeing that lulled me into a slumber and made me too tired to read — I tried, but before the end of any paragraph I realized that my eyes were closed — but then it all kept me too aware to sleep.
They say the journey is the goal as much as the destination. And in principle, I agree. But as I am getting older, I am increasingly annoyed by that part of the journey that transports me to my destination. 36 hours in transit from Detroit to Jakarta … And that was one of the shorter flight sequences I could find (and afford). I wish I could snap my fingers and be there.
What did I forget? That was the nagging question when David and I left the house at 3 AM on our way to the airport. I had packed so carefully over the last few days; I could not possibly have forgotten anything. But I did: my travel clock. As minor as that sounds, I was mightily mad at myself when I discovered this.
That clock has been with me for years, and halfway around the world. It is perfect: small, with an alarm, a date, a temperature and a night display. It is always the first thing I unpack at a new destination and the last thing I put away when I leave. It marks my presence and it grounds me in the reality of the passing days. I even looked at it this morning! But I forgot to pack it.
A four-hour layover in Boston, I hoped, would fix that problem. When you travel without a phone — just imagine this: I will be without a phone for two months! — there is no substitute device for keeping time. A hike up and down terminal C did not yield a single travel clock. The only thing left for me was to buy a wrist watch. And I hate wrist watches. I have not worn one in over 30 years. I have to say, there was a colorful choice of wrist bands and monstrous digital clocks with all kinds of gadgets; wrist watches have come a long way. But I am not going to walk around with a big clunky thing like that. And so I got the “classic”, the most basic black face with a black band, but I had to pay an airport designer price for it. Oh well. Thank goodness for credit cards …
I hope the rest of the journey will be uneventful.… And if it isn’t the one baby crying, then it is for sure another …
There won’t be any sleep; I can tell.