North America | United States of America (USA) | The Mid-Atlantic states | Pennsylvania | Philadelphia – Flight from Hell
We left chaos on a drizzly morning. It was as difficult to leave as to arrive. We spent almost an entire day trying to extract our few meagre possessions from the dust and clutter. I was worried about the journey: 90 minute car trip to Philadelphia airport, an hour flight to Boston followed by a 5 hour bus ride to Maine. Lucy and I had done it before, in Spain but back then, we had only come from London, were not sick, not jetlagged and did not have 3 weeks worth of possessions.
When we flew to Barcelona last September, the flight was diverted to Valencia at the last minute, due to tornados (they didn’t tell us that; I saw it in the paper the next day). A friend was meeting us in Barcelona airport; in Valencia we had no one. We had to wait until midnight for a bus to appear, and take us to Barcelona, 5 hours away. Then, at 5 am, I had to extract a sleeping one-year-old, stroller and luggage from the bus and get it all into a taxi. If I survived that journey, I could do anything.
But the feeling now, after 2 weeks of travelling, was not so invincible. We settled on to the plane, listened to the safety warnings and taxied over to the runway. Just as the valium and codeine were starting to kick in, we were told the planes ignition wasnt working and we had to go back to gate.
An hour later we were all told to get off the plane right back into the same airport from which we had come.
The bus was due to leave Boston Logan at 4:15 pm. Our original flight would have landed at 1:45. Now we had to get a 2:30 flight arriving at 3:45, giving us a nail biting amount of time to get our luggage and get on the bus.
Bear in mind that Sexton had not had a cigarette in several hours and Lucy was either fussing or running off with every family she came across and you realise we were NOT having fun.
And the flight was delayed. And delayed. We were going to miss the bus to Maine. Sexton swore he would never travel anywhere again.
I called my friend Mrs Boston and begged her husband to pick us up at Logan. There was no way we could face public transport after sitting in an airport all day. And since we werent going to Maine today, we may as well stop with friends near Boston.
Yet another car ride later we found ourselves in a historic slice of New England. Lucy, who had cried the whole way in the car, now was in heaven, padding around barefoot with the familys oldest 3 children.
In the morning the sun gleamed on snowy lawns and crystal forests. The house was huge and clean, with polished hardwood floors throughout. The cold didnt bother us; most American houses are too warm. And now we felt rested; the difference the light and order made were tremendous. We now felt ready to travel.
And for the first time in this journal, there is no mention of guns…