Monday, September 12

The Slades spent a very pleasant weekend with J&ML at the Colesville Roadhouse, and in the afternoon Missus Slade dropped me at Baltimore airport's E Concourse, which is "the international pier," a shitty, barren new glass adjunct at the far end of the airport, for international airlines like WOW, which was the one I was taking.  It was pretty deserted (probably because I was so early). It felt like I was in, like, Bucharest International Airport in about 1982.

Security was thorough and rude. Sample:

<> (Big dumb-looking guy totally enjoying his position of authority): "Got anything in your pockets?"
<> (Me): "Just some kleenex."
<> (Big dumb guy): "Then the answer is 'Yes!'" [He paused for a fraction of a second to fix me with a condescending smirk of contempt at my failure to have achieved his level of skill at logic and the English language, and then he said with barely concealed impatience:] "Put it on the tray."

GOD this guy loves this job! He'd probably do it for no pay.

I had to stand inside the Dick Cheney atomic orgasmatron body scanner machine twice. Then the official dumb guy made me sit on a chair while he frisked the back of my right ankle. WTF?

Before I went into the security gauntlet there was a sign that said there is a newsstand inside, but it turned out to be closed. There was nothing but a crappy little restaurant, and a crappy little duty-free shop minded by a large bored woman who was doing aerobics against a trash bin out in the corridor. 

Once inside, I had only to wait. If the crossword in the on-board magazine has already been done, I'm gonna be kinda pissed. 

A bunch of purple flight attendants boarded. At Wow Airlines everything is purple. Then the gate lady announced that "passengers with senior status" can board first. What does that mean? Is it some upgrade class? I went up to the lady. Do you just mean old people? She smiled and said yeah, YOU can board now.

Manhattan, as viewed from seat 14A

It turned out there was no on-board magazine all, just a duty-free catalog. 

So then, a long tedious ride through the north Atlantic darkness (I wrote most of this on my phone during the flight), until --- THE LAND OF ICE! - and just enough time between planes to get your passport stamped into the EU and hit the snyrtingar.

It was 46 degrees, dark and rainy, and we were transported around the airport in buses.

By the way, Keflavik means "Driftwood Bay." Isn't that a pretty name? I wonder why they don't just CALL it that?!