The one with the airplane food

As of right now, I’m in Dublin, wondering how in the world an airport can feel so dang comfortable. It could be the fact that there’s more green outside of one window than I could see from any one area in Santa Rosa, or it could be that the terminals are pleasantly empty, but it can probably be best chalked up to the fact that I’m finally able to straighten my legs out and stand up straight after 10 hours on a plane with many, many strangers. Yeah, I’m gonna go with that last reason.

This first day (calling it a singular day because if I think too long about the timezone thing, I’ll get a headache) was an adventure all on its own. Not an adventure as weird as some of my prior experiences, but there’s still plenty of time for those in the next few months.

The flight began with an inappropriate amount of excitement over the toothbrush included in the airline’s complementary overnight bag. Then I realized that the woman in the seat in front of me was not planning to move her seat from the furthest reclining position at all. I didn’t think it was possible to fold the human body into thirds and still manage to sleep. Kind of.

During the flight, I managed to forget everything that I had ever heard about airplane food – until dinner was served. The most disappointing part was I actually allowed myself to get excited about dinner, since it smelled pretty good. But after unwrapping the tinfoil and plastic to reveal fluorescent orange chicken-and-rice that somehow managed to be both gristly and slimy, I realized that they must pump in fake aromas. Like Disneyland does, but the airplane scents let you down so much more.

At least I figured out I could simultaneously watch The Boss, The Hobbit, and Captain America: Civil War by staring over fellow passengers’ shoulders.

However, given it was a 10 hour flight, I am left feeling remarkably peppy. The flight crew all had accents that made it impossible to complain, although I did have a brief moment of panic when I couldn’t understand the captain through the combination of airplane intercom static and Irish accent. And any discomfort during the flight is nothing compared to how amazing this entire trip is going to be.

Plus, I get to be in Dublin for a little bit.

In the first hour of my 5 hour layover, I got to see a half-naked child sprinting through the terminal, a mob of travelers staring down the doors of a closed terminal for an hour until the staff caved and let them in, and two 9-year-olds moving seamlessly from a perfectly choreographed fight sequence into impressions of airplanes (which nearly resulted in a broken leg for one of them).

I have also realized that every pair of shoes I own at least LOOK like they’re falling apart.