Airports

I love the atmosphere in airports – the air seems to crackle with excitement, with plans to see new places and meet new people and love seems to float freely between embraces of people who haven’t seen each other for years, months, days, in the tears and kisses of those separating and in the anticipation of return. It is a place of liminality – where things don’t really count but they feel even more epic than they are. Where two and a half months feels like years, where new friendships last for minutes and you bond with children through smiles, peek-a-boo and winks despite language barriers.

Despite my love for airports, for planes and for travel they are often places that embrace those things in life that are hidden and that I resent. Although air travel is a luxury there are still important distinctions to be made – those who are first class, gold class, platinum class, business class… and then those who are not. Those who can go into the members lounges, use the showers, get massages and free coffees while waiting for their next flight and then those who can’t – those who sleep on the chairs clutching their things for fear of theft. This inequality, often hidden and ignored on the street and in our everyday lives, is embraced and normalized in this space of liminality.

A pleasant flight for me consists of the following things:

Co Conversation with at least two strangers, a child to make eye contact with at least two times, time to write in my journal – liminality is a terrific time for reflection and a good book.

Luckily, my flight has consisted of all of these things. Talking with two flight attendants first about my earrings, then about crafts and somehow onto one of my favorite topics – coffee. With the man in front of me we talked about Guayaquil, Cuenca, studying Spanish and his own immigration to Miami 25 years ago. Across from me sits one of the cutest little girls I have ever seen – she has big, brown eyes and two high pigtails that twist into ringlets and bob around her face as she explores the seats her family has. Not afraid of adventure, or of strangers, she climbs onto the armrest and peers over the seats in front of her. Next, she takes the Safety instructions from all three seats and brings them over to me and begins to tell me about them in Spanish – only about one in five words are ones I can make out or understand. I’m not sure if this is because of my own incompetency or because she is babbling. I’m hoping it’s the latter.

In two hours I will arrive in Ecuador. I’ll be there for 72 days. Looking at the sunset out the window, feeling thankful for the friend I brought with me- Abraham, eating the only thing for dinner I can eat – salad – and sipping on some warm coffee I feel confident that no matter what happens this will be an adventure and will give me many stories to tell my children.