Once again I find myself in the airport I have learned to dread. Throngs of travellers are suffocating the small area we are forced to occupy while we wait in limbo for our gates to be announced.
My flight from South Africa seemed doomed from the start when I found myself seated in the middle of the middle row. Not what I was expecting due to my preconceived notion of where I was meant to sit... I soon learned that the seating scheme on the plane was completely different than the last one. Luckily, the seat beside me was empty, relieving the claustrophobic environment slightly. I managed to watch four movies and was surprised by the quality of my dinner... breakfast once again was mush but I enjoyed it in silence as there were no children to be heard of, literally.
The flight landed at 7:25am and I peeled my greasy self out of my seat and made my way to the awaiting shuttle. I managed to make the transit to terminal three unscathed before finding my place in another security line. Somehow between disembarking, getting on a shuttle, and making my way to the security, I may have managed to acquire something illegal... or so airport security suspected.
I have always known that habits, even mannerisms, are often hard to overcome, but today in security I witnessed it first hand. I have always had a natural habit of swinging my backpack over my left shoulder, and my left shoulder alone. My camera was the first item to go through the scanner, so it was obviously the first thing I slung over my shoulder as I grabbed my laptop to place in my backpack. Now came the tricky part. I stood there for almost a minute, looking like a complete knob, as my brain tried to figure out how I could possibly pick my backpack up.... my left shoulder was already occupied! I would like to blame this incident on the lack of sleep or the jet lag, but I have my doubts that it wasn’t my brain attempting to resist change. After a slight aneurism, I snapped out of my stupor, grabbed my backpack, and awkwardly placed it onto my right shoulder and without looking back headed toward the exit.
I had worked out that my layover would be two hours and was eager to burn the time away. At 9:25am by my watch, I made my way to the departure screen to find out what gate I was supposed to be at. The moment I laid my eyes on the screen my cheery mood deflated like a bouncy castle. So amazing and upbeat at one moment, and then completely emotionless. I hadn’t turned my watch back one hour to account for the time change... It was only 8:25am. To lift my spirits I dug through the pile of random change I had, sorted through the Canadian coins, Rand, and Euros, until I found the few British Pounds I had left so I could access the internet for a mere ten minutes.
So there I was, out of pounds and also laptop battery. To burn even more time I resorted to pre-writing this blog in a notebook that I had. During this time, surrounded by hundreds of people, I took to people watching. It is really interesting picking up on a person’s individual style, but I’m not sure if I would go as far as to say their fashion sense. I saw a traveller in a hot pink, floor length dress, another girl was wearing knee-length cut off jeans over tights with odd strips of fabric missing. Before I had found my seat, I had wandered aimlessly among the rows of seated travellers. I couldn’t help but notice a sleeping man with “Shit House” tattooed in blue and red, displayed on his calf on a banner. This really made me wonder what sort of life this man could have led to ever pay for such a tattoo, or what sort of bet he must have lost.
The time was finally 9:25am and I marched myself out of the zoo. The eight hour time change destroyed me, the flight to Vancouver was technically nine hours, but in the end it only took me an hour and a half to reach my almost-final destination. I managed to watch four more movies back-to-back. No sleep for me during this trip.
My flight landed at the YVR terminal at 12:15pm, it was 9:15pm in South Africa and I was still running on this time. I was coherent enough to follow the crowd of people to customs and successfully made my way through security to the baggage claim. I can’t imagine how terrible I looked, my eyes were drooping and I was a train wreck. I stood waiting for my baggage for half an hour before starting to worry. Neither one of my bags ended up making it to Vancouver. Somehow, during the four hours I spent in Heathrow, I had managed to lose my bags. To make matters worse, the vegetation samples I had spent hours collecting and processing were in my bag. I would have to claim their existence without having them present. I made my way to the baggage inquiry desk and managed not to cry for the first half of the conversation. I was exhausted and the anxiety had gotten to me. This was the beginning of a three hour ordeal, constant water-works, and wads of toilet paper. I managed to cry in front of two security guards, five customs workers, a Tim Horton’s cashier, and approximately 500 passengers that laid eyes upon me within this time. I had been travelling for over forty hours and my emotions were haywire. Before my permit and samples could be approved I was on my way to make my final flight. I would have to wait to hear from customs after I had made it home.
By the time I had made it to security once more to make my way into the domestic flights wing of the airport I had cried myself dry (or at least for the time being). I had managed to pull myself together and aside from puffy, blood shot eyes, I looked like the typical haggard traveller. My flight to the island was delayed by 45 minutes; aside from a few tears I distracted myself from my current situation by blasting my ipod in my ears. Luckily no one asked me what was wrong or tried to help, any contact with a stranger would have probably led to another breakdown. The twelve minute flight allowed me to relax slightly but by the time I had walked into the terminal and was greeted by my mom and Natalie I was crying again.
It is still surreal to be home and other then not watching TV for 8 weeks, it seems as if I had never left. The time in South Africa is 5:10am; I have almost hit the 48 hour mark and am convinced I am partially insane for not going to bed as soon as I got home. My blackberry is functional once again and I can’t wait to share my pictures and stories with everyone. I am back to reality, back to life.
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