Have you ever gotten to the airport only to find that your pilot has gone missing? Apparently that happens. I finally got out of Kansas City and caught a red-eye from Chicago to London (hello from Heathrow!). I only wish I’d been smart enough to pack basic toiletries and a change of clothes in my carry on. Here’s to hoping that my luggage meets me in Tel Aviv eventually.
I love how cultures collide in airports. Right now, I’m listening to a guy speak French into his iPhone while wearing a shirt that says “Brooklyn” across the front. I just accepted German chocolate from a friendly Jordanian and earlier walked by a group of chic Europeans (maybe Italians?) drinking Stella before noon. Then there’s the pink-faced stranger of unknown origin who’s snoring loudly a few seats over. Snoring is a universal language, n’est-ce pas?
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