Over the holidays I went home to see my family. For those of you that don’t know, I used to live in Newfoundland, and for those of you who don’t know where that’s too, it’s a small-ish island off the east coast of Canada. It’s typically a 3 hour flight, which isn’t terrible, but then again, I did say that it’s typically a 3 hour flight. On my way there we were delayed due to late planes, trouble finding passengers, planes needing to refuel as well as deiced, a fun Canadian experience. That was only for leg one, we had about a 40 minute lay over in Halifax. Now, when I fly I would rather pay the extra money to have a direct flight, but since this was a last minute thing we had to make due with what we could get.
Somewhere along the 5 or 6 hours it took for me to get there, this idea not surprisingly came to mind. It tends to pop up whenever I travel, because no matter how many time I fly, and no matter how many times I have realize that I don’t like flying. About a week later I’m always itching to go somewhere else.
I think I just want the movie version of traveling, that like 5 minute montage of a plane taking off, and landing somewhere else in the next scene. It looks so care free, and fun, and I always fall for it. I always thing next time won’t be awful, with the lines, the delays, the annoying headache I get every time, but it always is, and even though I know this. I’m still looking forward to my next trip.