November 18: Baltimore to London

Whenever I travel, I always worry about the logistics until they are safely settled. I had two large bags in Baltimore, one weighing over 50 pounds and I was sure I would have to pay more to check it. But going first class (with much thanks to my friend, Ted, who made all the arrangements), has its benefits. My bags were easily checked, and all the way through to Cape Town. The only interesting things on the flight from Baltimore to Miami were my companions in first class. A gay couple sat across the aisle from me, one stocky and older - maybe 60 (if I can still call 60 "older") and the other one, younger - maybe 40 - very tall and thin with beautiful, large hands. As they were settling in, in that period when first class is on the plane and those seated in the back troop through, many with scowls that announce their dislike for the privileged traveling up front, the younger one got out a package of sanitary wipes and wiped down everything: the tray table, the arms and seat and backrest of his location, wiping away furiously as his companion ignored him and read the paper. It made me wonder about their relationship and what held them together. When my seat mate joined me, he was on the phone and stayed on the phone until well after the door to the aircraft was closed. He had a British accent so listening to him was okay. But he was one of those people who drink so much their pores ooze a kind of sickly smell. His was of gin, heavily laced with garlic, not a good combination. The plane was only partly filled and so he moved to the empty row in front of me. What a relief! My aisle seat was fine except that the reclining control didn't work. I discovered this when we took off and I was flung unceremoniously backward into the lap of the poor man behind me. We came into Miami just as the sun was setting, turning the sky brilliant orange. The cloud cover looked like milk curds, or cotton batting, and as we came lower down and some of the clouds cleared, I could see Miami way below, lights twinkling as though on some giant Christmas tree. I had the odd sensation of being on a glass-bottom boat, looking though the clouds to the sea of humanity underneath and wondering, as I always do at such times, what all those people were doing, where they were going.
When I left the plane in Miami, I found the American Airlines lounge and since I had an hour to kill, found a nice reclining-kind of chair that was a relief to my weary muscles. Just for fun, I checked on my messages in Baltimore and found that Stacy, my contact for this gig, called about noon and left a message that I should call her immediately. It was after six o'clock so I didn't reach her. She said she'd "shoot" me an email but so far, nothing. Is the trip cancelled? Will the ship arrive later? Was there something disastrous about the cruise that I should know? I boarded the plane for London wondering what Stacy wanted.
Miami to London was a dream. The pods in first class really do allow you to sleep. I had a simple dinner, extended my chair into a bed, covered up with the blanket and, with the help of a sleeping pill, slept almost six hours, waking if not refreshed then at least not shaking and dishevelled as I normally am after such a long flight. One has the sense of being in one's own world, and I paid little attention to those around me except for a young man in the row ahead of me who was on the plane when we got on. He looked like he might be a vocalist in a rock group, with tattoos all up and down his arms. At least that's what he'll be in my imagination.
I got additional exercise here at Heathrow, walking more than a mile to get the bus from one side of the airport to the other. But everything is clearly marked and it was very easy, if tiring. In Terminal Five, I was "fast tracked" though everything, including an additional security line, and directed to the Concorde Lounge, British Airways' most prestigious stopover place. Even though I didn't have fresh clothes to change into, I took a shower and shaved, getting back into my Crocs, some gray Polo khakis and a green Polo shirt. It didn't occur to me when I selected this outfit for the sake of comfort in traveling that I look like every mechanic at Minieke's Muffler shops. It's only noon here and my flight for Cape Town doesn't leave until 7:30 so I have lots of time to kill. I'll go back to my book, "Losing Julia," which I'm thoroughly enjoying. Stay tuned.
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