Leaving our little Big Island is quite an endeavor. I'm in the midst of flying to Eugene, twelve hours in and six more still to go. I've just slept in an airport for a few hours. (Eric always checks out this site before he commits to a long layover at night.) Sleeping in an airport is both an amusing and soul sucking endeavor. Airports in the middle of the night are full of the world's richest hobos. Fancy middle class people coming or going from vacations sprawled across their suitcases, bellies hanging out, snoring with their heads wrenched at the most atrocious angles. No one wakes up feeling rested, that much is certain. If you're unlucky enough to end up on the concrete laminate floor of an airport, it will pull every ounce of body heat from your very marrow. The alternative is to huddle around an outlet, which must be the rich hobo equivalent of a fire in a trashcan. Pray for the airport seating without arm rests so you can at least stretch out.
I also watched a lot of television on my computer, read a little Bill Bryson's Neither Here nor There: Travels in Europe
and received lots of compliments on my quirky new airplane earrings, bought via Copious especially for the trip. I might be turning into Ms. Frizzle
in my old age.What do you do to pass the time in airports? I'm certainly glad of a chance to catch up on my blogging!
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