It’s an acquired skill. (As with any specialized task, certain key tools make all the difference. Here - good headphones, a hooded sweatshirt.) There are certain destination points that it’s nice to acknowledge, or that you might miss out on, like snacks and “important” safety announcements. On the whole though, most would agree sleep is way more fun.
I was thinking this is kinda a funny metaphor for stuff. Even when I’m traveling with friends, I’d really rather not chitchat on the plane. It’s almost more painful, ya know? Leave me be in my cocoon of semi-sentient misery. Talking makes me aware of the unhappy plight I’m stuck in for the next __ hours. I forget what I wanted this to be a metaphor for. Alas.
A weird bonus is the fact that it’s easier for me to sleep when I’m sick, so getting sick while traveling sometimes enables me to zonk out before we leave the runway. Blissful dreamworld until it’s time for peanuts.
Oh yes! A metaphor for unintentionally sleeping to your destination, and missing the travel part of it. I guess it all depends on your goals. Want to live life to its dryball scraping static stale fullest? Don’t sleep on your plane. :P Want quality ’stead of quantity? Slip on those noise canceling headphone and let the yakkers yak. (Sidenote: yak = throw up = talk incessantly. Interesting).
I’m back from Spain, as of Sunday. The 67 (really, I couldn’t cut it down any more) pictures shuffling above will give you an idea of what we were up to.
Spain makes you stay up late, but they make it worth it, with such yummy things as freshly fried churros and thick chocolate. Not just “chocolate” but chokoLAHtay (if you get my drift). This stuff is dark, drippy, dense, and DELICIOUS. (And after extensive research, determined to taste better in Barcelona than Madrid).
I need me a deep fryer, so I can try to replicate these guys someday. Mmm…
(Let’s just say that they do speak English, yet they don’t speak English down there.)
Getting off the plane in Johannesburg, I had no idea what to expect. During the past 23 hours of airtime, my legs had been going numb to the tune of TED talks on Africa, Ladysmith Black Mambazo and the Lion King, and Fodor’s guide to South Africa. All that was, perhaps, too much to absorb in a semi-conscious state, because I still didn’t know what I should find at all.
Did my luggage actually, really make it over? In a bout of distrustful paranoia, I’d only checked one bag, and borrowed TSA-friendly locks for it to boot. Expecting the worst, I had carried on a large backpack with a spare set of clothes and my malaria pills. Would I get mugged? Would I actually get the chance to maybe punch someone?
We (coworker and I) arrived in Johannesburg at about 4pm, a little concerned about getting through customs and all in time to make our 5pm shuttle pickup.
It was a tad stressful, because we weren’t sure where the shuttle was supposed to pick us up. After being happily shocked to retrieve our luggage, we made our way to the exit. A hippie looking sort of lady with a tattered “Youth Hostel” sign ambled up, and asked if we had a place to stay. We did, and when she heard where, she dismissed us with “Oh, that’ll be the guy with the orange sign. He’s around.”
He wasn’t, so we asked the security guard about hostel pickups. He started to explain, shook his head, and started walking us to the pickup area. After five minutes of following this man, who was chatting with his friend the whole time, we suddenly found ourselves no longer in a noisy airport walkway, but in a sunlit, silent area between two buildings. His friend had vanished, and there was another man following 20 feet behing us.
Just as I started calculating whether to run with my backpack, or drop it, our “guard” smiled and pointed to the sign at the end of the alley, and the driveway beyond it. “Hotel Pickups and Shuttles.” We weren’t getting mugged, after all!
We were, however, in the wrong place. The taxi drivers at the hotel pickup spot knew this, and we were a little worried, since it was nearing on 5:00! After explaining the situation to the cabbies, one actually gave us change to call the hostel. With the help of an information desk (who let us use their phone for free, AND helped us dial), we deciphered that the meeting point was the information desk, and all we had to do was stand around.
Standing for a bit past 5, we realized that there had been no need to rush, really.
The car radio on the way to the hostel spouted the usual traffic, stocks, weather, and crime reports. Barring stories and warnings, South Africa was looking to be quite the pleasant trip.
We got to the hostel uneventfully, met Jess, and…found that all restaurants close early on Mondays. Alas.
Hostel food is edible and hot, if bland, and after a meal of apricot chicken and rice, we tucked in for a 5am safari wakeup call.
