Sylvia's Journal

American Airlines also paid for the MIA hotel which, luckily, did not require me to leave the airport and deal with baggage carts that always have to be left behind, and stand in fuel-saturated areas to wait for the one shuttle bus that is not in the line up. After I picked up my bags I simply took the elevator two floors up and wheeled my bagage cart right into my room. The stranded LAC passengers were less lucky (“our late arirval was caused by traffic control at JFK! – write to the government!”) and probably were not going to pay the overpriced hotel room that had a seller’s market advantage.

The day did not start auspiciously: another long wait in between towering baggage carts with people trying to jump the line. I think most people were still too sleepy to protest. Then came the bad coffee (I should have taken the Cubano) and the reactionary radio talk show blabbering overhead in the waiting area by the gate. My breakfast consisted of an almond croissant (plus bad coffee) compliments of American Airlines, that left my brown travel dress flecked with powdered sugar and me with sticky hands. I have now been eating bad and overpriced airport/airline foods for over 24 hours and am craving fresh vegetables and fresh fruit.

At boarding time the noise level started to rise again. I was dreading this last part of the trip and hoped, even prayed, that it would be, indeed, the last part of this trip. I have come to believe there is a shouting and yelling bell curve (which does, by the way, not apply to kids). When people are not quite awake in the early hours of the day or overtired and worn out at the end of the day there is very little yelling. In the middle of the day after just enough abuse and frustration, the shouting gets to its shrill peak, creating more abuse in its wake. So that is how the cycle gets maintained. I am imagining the flight attendants and ground crew coming home at the end of the day, worn out and tired and then act it out on their spouses, children or pets. I also wonder if being put on the Haiti flight for duty is considered punishment among the staff, like the vodka-soaked Delta flight from Moscou to New York, as I have been told.

This endless trip is only palatable because I write. It forces me to look at and for amusing situations and things, which takes my mind off obsessing about things that go wrong. For this purpose I carry with me a tiny little notebook and a pencil. Here are some of the things I scribbled into this note-booklet while most of my fellow travelers were nervous, angry, yawning or simply asleep.

A cashier at the airport wore a Direct Merchants Land’s End shirt. The logo was embroidered where the restaurant or hotel’s logo should be. I could tell it was not the real thing because the comma was in the wrong place. Later I stood in line behind a guy with fascinating Chinglish written on the back of his shirt: December XVIII: Abuse of greatness is when join remore from power. To complete the outfit he wore a baseball hat of the brand ‘Caffeine’ according to the little metal plate glued to the back.

On the plane to Miami yesterday I was sitting in front of a young Christian man and a young Orthodox Jew (curly side locks, black hat and all). They were talking about Jesus. The Christian kid say, incredulously, “you mean Jesus was just a regular guy?” “Yes,” said the other kid, softly, “just a regular guy.” He said it in a very compassionate way, like you would break bad news to someone. There was more conversation but the fire seemed to have gone out of it after the devastating news about Jesus. The young Jewish gentleman did not say much after that and kept stroking his prayer book. I tried to imagine what his life would be like. Of course I cannot, but I have just finished the 650 page book, translated from German into Dutch, which traces one Swiss Jewish family from the mid 1800s until 1945 and was deeply immersed in the life and rituals of his people back in the old days. My two full days of being in transit was good for several hundred pages.

At JFK airport yesterday there were many young and old orthodox men, all dressed in the same uniform, same hats, same locks. One carried two small black boxes attached to long leather straps and some form of headgear. He was looking for travelers willing to undergo a ritual he was willing to provide. I wondered whether he was doing some sort of practicum, as I did not think this was about winning souls. Two teenage boys agreed and I watched intently how one of them had his arm encircled by the black straps, one square on his head, covered by the headgear and another on his arm. After that there were prayers said and the boys closed their eyes. It was all done in about 5 minutes. The young boys walked away excitedly and the young Jewish man wrapped all his religious paraphernalia up and, unsuccessfully, approached others before joining his people in a far off corner. I felt like an antropologist observing an old tribe. There was so much I had wanted to ask them but I did not dare, afraid I would also be strapped up and prayed over. In hindsight it might have been a good thing.

There was more. Once in the plane (another very ancient Airbus that had known better times) a man with an entire multi-story sound system the size of a good size suitcase worked his way against the traffic from the back of the plane to the front. He was accompanied by a number of big mamas, all with handbags that could give you a head injury if you did not duck in time. It seemed they were on the wrong side of the plane. Chaos. After a while they returned; more chaos, more ducking. They were on the right side of the plane after all. They disappeared towards the back, with much commotion. The flight attendants simply ignored the whole thing and did not raise an eyebrow.

Sitting in the A seat next to me was a young woman who must have eaten tons of garlic on the eve of her departure (I got used to the smell within fifteen minutes). More entertaining was the gentleman on the far end of our row. He wore a brand new baseball cap. I could tell it was brand new because the large sales ticket was still attached, dangling from the top. Nobody seemed to think this was something one should remove, and I was not going to tell him. 

By the time we landed (more intense praying and hallelujas) I had stopped caring or finding anything odd or worth writing about. Even the young woman (on last night’s flight) who, seconds before landing got up and went to the bathroom. The flight attendant just shrugged her shoulders, rolled her eyes and then advised her to stay seated on the toilet during landing. No big deal, after a long day of work it seemed the rules are quite bendable. Everyone was tired, why fight?