Culture shock

After five months of travel, Erin and I arrived at John F. Kennedy International on Saturday, February 17^th. 16 hours in flight from Hong Kong had left us a bit dazed, but otherwise unscathed. And after negotiating airports in Tanzania, Namibia, Laos and Vietnam, among other developing hotspots, we thought our transition back to the US air travel system would be smooth as a baby’s bottom.

What fools we were.

JFK was like returning to Dar Es Salaam International. In a word, it was chaos. As fate had it, there was a large winter storm on the East Coast a couple days before our arrival. Hundreds of flights were canceled, travelers were stuck in planes for up to 11 hours on the tarmac and a lucky few got to spend four days camped out in the airport trying to get home.

So the scene we entered was a bit tense, to say the least. The heat in Kennedy seemed to be out of order, as the airport hovered around freezing. Every Delta flight appeared to be departing from one of two gates, resulting in a sea of humanity swarming the boarding areas, hoping to catch snippets of information about upcoming flights.

Of course, we hadn’t really slept in 48 hours, so we were a bit edgy ourselves. And to add insult to injury, passengers in the US are not allowed to wander the airports with beers in their hands. Oh how I longed for the relative comfort of Vientiane International, where Beer Laos cost a buck.

After seven luxurious hours in the passenger “lounge,” our flight to Buffalo eventually departed. Welcome home.