Dubai Airport, Gate A10
On my flight over from Seattle, I sat next to a 70-something year old physicist from Portland on his way to Bangalore. As we flew over the east coast, the melting Arctic, and the arid deserts before landing in the Middle East, we added our own stamps to each other's adventurer bios. He spent about five years backpacking the world, starting with east Asia and Oceania right out of college and then progressing through various parts of Europe after working in a yacht factory in Minnesota for two years. We discovered our mutual love for paragliding, and although most of his flights have taken place on the west coast, he admires my paradventures in Nepal. Once caught in a pretty intense volcanic suck, when St. Helen started fuming one afternoon, he recounted the story of how he plunged from the sky without a parachute (though luckily, he was able to regain control and not collapse his paraglider entirely). After the birth of his daughter, he and his wife made the move from paragliding to scuba diving, and apparently, Puget Sound is a must-dive (also Jacques Cousteau's fave). Now, he works in microprocessing and related applied physics environments, oftentimes collaborating with other members of the physics community in Stanford or Berkeley. We shared our attachments to our parents and our fears for their health; his mom, the only connection he has left to his family, is over 100 and must always be resuscitated. I would want the same. We exchanged emails and handshakes as our dew-tipped 747 touched down in the humidity of 6:00 AM Dubai and vowed that we would continue our million-stars over five-stars adventures.
Rusted Root - Send Me on My Way
Currently sitting across from the Heineken Lounge, eating أصلي-flavored Pringles and wondering where in this God-forsaken terminal I can find a familiar looking outlet. Laptop is running on 36% battery, with a 22% charged phone plugged in. It is 11:49 PM Dubai time, and although Emirates 772 isn't scheduled to board until 3:05, many people have already wound through the red-ribboned makeshift line holders and (I assume) found their seats in our giant metal can.
I suppose I too would be eager to trade this free range and overpriced Shake Shack for an early departure if I had any idea where I was arriving. Landing in Cape Town at 11:40 AM. Probably earlier, now that it seems half of the passengers have boarded three hours in advance. Then... what. Airport? Airport. Airport airport airport.
Haven't quite figured out the travel arrangements that will get me from the Cape Town airport to my hostel, though given the nature of the rest of this trip, it seems like it will probably come together at the last minute. I finally officially registered for the South African research program, which is good since I'm set to arrive in twelve hours......... Still have to figure out some logistics for the Maldives, but it's far too far in advance for me to expect it to work out now.
I actually have no perception of time after traveling this first leg, BUT! if I did, I would sense that the last twelve hours or so have been proof that entropy is simultaneously the most terrifying and the most rewarding element of traveling. We all plan the hell out of trips so that we know what exactly will happen at any given minute -- where we will be, who we will be with, when our bus will arrive with what sign with how many other people wearing what color clothes who are going where -- because going to a foreign place is frightening. That was how I planned Nepal. Every detail was meticulously plotted out because I was not going to roam across the Himalayas with 11 dependents and no plan, so help me God. Not about that life.
The opposite has been true for this summer. It's been minimal planning at best, most of it decided within days and upon sudden impetuosity for recklessness and adventure. My flights were finalized about a week ago, and many other integral logistics of the trip are far from that. I'm filled with this sense of excitement and undeserved maturity, this overwhelming backpacker-ness characterized by a glaringly underrated approach to travel. It's internal framed backpacks instead of hard-shell suitcases, cracked folded maps instead of iPhone GPSs, open-skyed lobby areas in cheap hostels instead of marble tiles and chandeliers.
On my flight over from Seattle, I sat next to a 70-something year old physicist from Portland on his way to Bangalore. As we flew over the east coast, the melting Arctic, and the arid deserts before landing in the Middle East, we added our own stamps to each other's adventurer bios. He spent about five years backpacking the world, starting with east Asia and Oceania right out of college and then progressing through various parts of Europe after working in a yacht factory in Minnesota for two years. We discovered our mutual love for paragliding, and although most of his flights have taken place on the west coast, he admires my paradventures in Nepal. Once caught in a pretty intense volcanic suck, when St. Helen started fuming one afternoon, he recounted the story of how he plunged from the sky without a parachute (though luckily, he was able to regain control and not collapse his paraglider entirely). After the birth of his daughter, he and his wife made the move from paragliding to scuba diving, and apparently, Puget Sound is a must-dive (also Jacques Cousteau's fave). Now, he works in microprocessing and related applied physics environments, oftentimes collaborating with other members of the physics community in Stanford or Berkeley. We shared our attachments to our parents and our fears for their health; his mom, the only connection he has left to his family, is over 100 and must always be resuscitated. I would want the same. We exchanged emails and handshakes as our dew-tipped 747 touched down in the humidity of 6:00 AM Dubai and vowed that we would continue our million-stars over five-stars adventures.
After arriving in Dubai, I met a 60-something year old social worker from Seattle in the Starbucks in Terminal 3. Over bottles of Perrier and cups of chopped up fruit, I discovered that she is en route to Mumbai to do a 12-day trek of the Himalayas and to visit family. Her daughter lives in San Francisco, and her son, who has muscular dystrophy, lives with her. She enjoys being alone, and she speaks of her husband using 'was'. She practices Jainism, but her children aren't religious at all and eat all kinds of meat, since her husband was a "bad Hindu". She moved from India to St. Louis, where she earned her degree, and from St. Louis to New Jersey, where she was dirt poor and met her husband. They then moved to Seattle, where she has lived since.
As we parted ways and I searched for an area to wait out the next 11 hours, I walked past a Moet store. It was insane. Immediately sent a photo of it to my dad and continued wandering.
I spotted a girl wearing a Yale sweatshirt as I passed another gate. She is on her way to Thailand, where she will be living alone in a family friend's house and completing an internship at a small non-profit working to end human trafficking. She's vegetarian but plans on breaking the habit for the next three months. She's nervous about figuring out how she will get from the house to her internship. It's always comforting to realize someone else is in the same boat. Her favorite classes have been on the history of political philosophy and Greek philosophy. She is a Stilesian, a humanities major, and quite likes Dean Fabbri, despite my disbelief. Last summer, she spent two months in Indonesia doing language study and another few weeks in Japan, teaching English to Japanese kids. We sat together for a few hours, talking Yale and catching up on our emails, until her flight and adventure took off.
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| Nothing like sitting in a jank seat and not having showered in 30 hours to get you in the mood for some bubbly |
I spotted a girl wearing a Yale sweatshirt as I passed another gate. She is on her way to Thailand, where she will be living alone in a family friend's house and completing an internship at a small non-profit working to end human trafficking. She's vegetarian but plans on breaking the habit for the next three months. She's nervous about figuring out how she will get from the house to her internship. It's always comforting to realize someone else is in the same boat. Her favorite classes have been on the history of political philosophy and Greek philosophy. She is a Stilesian, a humanities major, and quite likes Dean Fabbri, despite my disbelief. Last summer, she spent two months in Indonesia doing language study and another few weeks in Japan, teaching English to Japanese kids. We sat together for a few hours, talking Yale and catching up on our emails, until her flight and adventure took off.
My computer is now at 4% battery, and I am far too disoriented to make anything half-decent out of the rest of the jumbled thoughts I've collected. My flight is to board in an hour or so, but I'm now starting to doubt I am at the correct gate. Signing off for now, but hoping the adventures remain continuous. Or at least resume when I wake up, some way between Dubai and South Africa.
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