The Flight

Written on the plane: I hate flying. I do it a lot, but I just can’t stand being cooped up in a tiny seat with no way to get comfortable. It’s bearable for flights in North America; they tend to only last a few hours. Flying from San Diego to Newcastle was certainly an 18-hour crying-baby trial. And so on the San Francisco to Osaka, Japan leg of this journey there was a crying baby, but this one at least had the common decency to only cry at maximum volume for hmm, about an hour I’d say. Still, this flight is one of the worst I’ve ever been on. I can’t pop my ear. I can’t sleep. And probably half a dozen other minor things that are all not worth mentioning, and would be bearable, except I am stuck in the same two-foot square barely able to move for about twelve hours. I just hate flying. I wouldn’t do it except, you know, it tends to make me wind up in places like Japan or England or Québec. Oh well. Smiley face. The end.
Written after arrival: We're here. Finally. It is 7:30 AM in Austin, Texas. I am pretty tired. I am also very very excited! We've arrived, gotten our luggage, gone through customs, wandered around through train stations until we found the right train line, found a taxi, managed to get him the address even though he didn't speak any English at all, and we've checked into the hotel. Hard to believe since these things always go wrong for me, but nothing went wrong. Everything so far, everything, has gone flawlessly.