Hooray, here’s my very first blog entry – not so much because I have anything remotely interesting to report, but rather because I’m bored out of my mind, and I’m still facing more than an hour’s wait at this dreary gate F 30. Also, even though it’s not quite seven in the evening yet, my internal clock tells me it’s getting late, and my computer clock confirms that, indeed, it is in fact ten to one tomorrow morning – and Henry James gets a bit demanding around that time.
If you’ve got about five hours to kill in an airport, you end up almost feeling grateful for the absurd amount of security checks one goes through – most pretty nominal, though. Surely, no one really expects would be terrorists to proudly declare they are visiting the US of A to try and shoot the president or blow up the Pentagon, or that they will acquire a new face or passport over the course of the two-hundred metres that separate the immigration officer from the customs people and the airport security officers. My facial features have been scrutinised just under ten times today (so far), so I’m pretty sure I’m still me – which is always good to know.
I’m sure Philly is a lovely place to visit, but I wouldn’t particularly recommend terminal F. Clean enough, sure, but the sights are not inspired, and the only pub in the area is disgustingly expensive. It did allow me to find out, though, that a “buffalo chicken sandwich” doesn’t remotely resemble my idea of a sandwich but looks an awful lot like a hamburger and comes with chips (fries, that is) and a purely nominal hint of lettuce and tomato (half a slice of the latter).
1 comment:
Good to hear from you, Ruben. And pleased to learn that Hemingway has not managed to completely displace James.
Post a Comment