Flying Away From Home
Life • December 15th, 2006Once upon a time, traveling used to be fun. Packing your three pieces of clothes, your walkman and a small set of tapes for the flight was easy and took only a few minutes — or what felt like minutes… Waking up at dark on the morning of the trip, taking a shower, grabbing your bag, and driving across the city on your way to the airport was plain glorious. I could see the lights on the streets, knowing that the city was still sleeping but I was about to get on a plane that magically would transport me to a new and exciting place. Daddy’s short checklist for his girls on the last minutes before going:
—Are you bringing the three Ps?
—Pasaporte (passport)… check.
—Plata (money)… check.
—Papá (dad)… check.
Fast-forward twenty years.
Every morning on the 7-day countdown to a plane trip, three new pimples appear on different parts of my body (face, back, neck). A slight tension on my forehead bothers me the whole week and surprises me since I never get any headaches. I find a small lump close to my ear. Without any explanation my right arm is sore like I’ve carried a huge suitcase across miles of airport hallways. I reserve a FULL DAY to pack and prepare psychologically for the trip next day, and just to be sure, and since I have the flexibility, I throw an extra day to take care of things (pay bills, collect important files to bring with me, hold the mail, drop important stuff at the safe deposit box, and so on).
Packing life’s necessities for a few lousy days away from home has slowly evolved into torture: Deciding on what specific items airport security won’t confiscate while inspecting every single container inside my hand-luggage. Planning how to fit all I need while leaving a little space for shopping in one carry-on bag, because checking luggage on flights between the U.S. and Colombia is a sure way to make your travel experience even more stressing and miserable than it already is. I just can’t imagine doing all this also with a baby and the full paraphernalia. My respect goes to you all, parents.
Maybe I’ve become psychorigid. Maybe terrorists have ruined air travel (YES. They have!). Maybe I’ve had enough bad experiences while traveling on a Colombian passport. Maybe Miami is the worst airport in the world. Maybe I’ve been “strip-searched” one too many times in the wonderful post 9-11 world. Maybe the anticipation of going home is not as exciting as the anticipation of going to a new place. Maybe I’m rusty after a few years traveling always with a partner. Maybe I’m scared that my parents have moved away from the city, and that is a very scary thought for someone who hasn’t lived in Colombia for the last 10 years (but don’t tell Colombians I said this or I’ll be put on the black list of “gringonized” traitors). Or maybe… Maybe I just hate living my nest no matter what.
This time I’m not going through Miami (THANK GOD), and now I fly as a U.S. resident (which helps a lot). I am excited to see my parents, the new house, and a few old friends (I really am). It should be a wonderful trip… I just have to get through the agonizing pain of getting there. It will be a full day of pilgrimage tomorrow. Wish me luck… I’ll try to write some postcards…
