(This was written on the plane from SF to London on 9/24, but I couldn’t post it until the next day.)
I can now attest to the fact that one can go all the way from north Berkeley to the airport via BART in under an hour and a half. I cannot confirm that money was well spent on so-called improvements to decrease the noise in the transbay tube, however. Its deafening screeches are still painful.
While circling back round the small city that is the San Francisco International airport on the AirTrain, I mentally noted our departure times, the names of the various terminals, and our ensuing adventures when things did not go smoothly, but now I think I prefer to sum it up this way: “Terminal 1” looks identical to “Terminal I” on an itinerary. What I want to know is why would one use a mixture of numbers and letters to designate terminals?
We left the house at 9:30 am, yet had just enough time to grab lunch at the airport version of Il Fornaio before boarding for our 12:55 flight. Thank god we didn’t have an early morning departure…
Am delighted with the size of my new-ish laptop as it fits compactly in the little soft, inexpensive, and reasonably priced case that I ordered online (before I vowed to buy local). Unfortunately I was unable to locate said case before my trip abroad—I love the way those words look together trip abroad—leaving me with the option of stuffing it into the day-pack I was bringing along for day trips or using the heftier case that housed my old laptop, which is much larger and heavier but would offer better protection. So I’m lugging around my cute little laptop in the dinosaur case. The laptop also fits nicely on the fold-down tray-table with room to spare on each side. However because the person in front of me is reclined fully, I cannot tilt the screen back enough to read my text very well. Ah, the sacrifices we make as writers.
I’ve been enjoying the occasional glimpse of the monitor showing our progress. We’re now over Greenland, have covered 5413 miles, and are currently traveling at a speed of 942 mph. (Just thought you’d like to know.) Oh, wait, make that 5447 miles ad 944 mph, yet that little white outline of a plane looks so still on the monitor.
I can hardly believe I am going to London. The land of Dickens, Beef Wellington, and the Beatles. Of course when we arrive it will be just past daybreak for the local Brits but my body will think it’s midnight. So that should be interesting. I wonder if we will be served breakfast, in deference to our destination, or dinner, according to our stomachs.