London Part 1 - Saturday July 22, 2000

1. Airplanes.

Airplanes and airports at least in the moment of hindsight are surreal. Window seats showed me wings and the patchwork of human development contrasted with the divine landscape of clouds viewed from above.

The first plane is short and satisfying, babies and businessmen. It was early and everyone, even the flight attendants, were subdued. The excitement was numbed. Although most of the time I felt like I was eight years old again. Orange juice and a cinnamon roll seemed like nursery school snacks and I was light—in awe of New Jersey and how many baseball diamonds. The landing was rough—Pure physics of going very fast and trying to stop. Noisy and painful as an amusement park.

Newark was so smooth. A modern monorail to a circular terminal. So many girls from Kentucky and the British family with the disappointed boy (The metal detector never beeped from him). The blonde Europeans with the blonde toddler and the wispy haired euro-infant who probably couldn’t focus to see he was in America. The Kentucky ladies smiled and cooed and I wondered what it is like to be eight months old.

The second plane was more of a spectacle. There were Dividers and hallways. Below, mostly ocean. So frightening to see just clouds and blue as if you are upside down or in between two skies. But when the movie comes on I have to close my shutters and I am in a tube or a Pringles can that is not really moving, and look, there is a movie. The same thing on three separate screens. It’s crap. She has cancer and dies and he learns that money is less important than love. But she dies. So he’s off the hook. There is no sacrifice for his revelation.

The stewardesses constantly pass out strange foreign objects. I am startled when I discover that I am holding a heated moist towelette. I have no idea what to do with it. The man in front of me puts it on his face and I do the same. And then I notice no one else is putting it on his or her face so I stop. What if that guys is just weird? What if I am just weird?

I drink way too much Dr. Pepper but only gather the courage to go to the bathroom once. I plan it so that the carts are on the other side of the plane. I will be quick and not make a scene but there are so many signs to read and symbols to figure out. When I try to open the door I hit the cart, startling the stewardesses and myself. How embarrassing.

It seems like the stewardess brings things just to me. A chocolate chip cookie--my survival food. I put it into my backpack and I live off of it. There is still a piece left.

Then I sleep a little anyway. I refuse to watch “You’ve Got Mail” but sometimes I try to analyze the editing. I don’t learn anything.

When the movie is over the screen shows flight information: maps, distances, temperatures, and times. I stare at it. Each time it changes, I’m hundreds of miles closer.

I open my screen and England appears under the wing. Even from up here you can tell it’s another country. New jersey was pools and all squares and houses and baseball. This is a jigsaw puzzle or a stained glass window of abstract art. Everything looks like it might be a castle and there are actually sheep.

I watch the sunset and the suddenly there is a runway. The landing is uneventful I kept waiting for the roughness, the pull but it was just land and stop. I am in England.