I am drinking the world’s worst tea. Ain’t gonna sugar coat it — and god knows I tried, three sugars already! — it’s bad. But it’s hot and liquidy and unless something weird happens, I know that my stash of Twinnings tea will see me through the rest of the week should tea continue to disappoint across the border.
Not that I am across the boarder yet. I am in the American side of Pearson, hanging out at a Friday’s trying to put something into my stomach. The first plane of my trip lifted off around 6:00 am in darkness and by the time it landed in Pearson there was this wicked tomato-colored horizon followed by a swollen neon sun. A tiny thing, the Dash. Not as small as the Cessna will be later today, but by no means big. My window seat was right by the engines with a clear view of the propellor, which gave it a strong, WWII feel. Like I should be smoking a cigarette and whipping a scarf over my shoulder while the biplane takes off.
Right now, I’m kicking around for another two hours before I have to be anywhere. That means blogging, reading, staying out of trouble. I was expecting that crazy scanner, but maybe that will only be in Boston on the way out? Or to Cape Air? Don’t know. While there were lots of mini-security checks, everyone was pleasant, forgiving of my goofy nervousness, and efficient. Well, except for one lady that got grouchy with me; I had offered up my carry on goods the same way they had asked me to at the Sudbury airport. BZZT. Wrong answer! Minor blip. Smooth sailing (and a chemical scan!) after that.
To locals: I am taking pictures, but for the life of me, they will not upload to Flickr. All I have is Little Whoo.
More to come, when I can!
(Psst: it’s finally here! Viable Paradise, here I come!)