Home again (again).
If I were at all superstitious, I would seriously have believed that I jinxed something writing my previous entry about how it is possible to have too much time at the airport. Because - what do you know - it happened again.
So I showed up early at the gate in Chicago, but as boarding time approached, it soon became clear that something was a little off, since there was no plane. After a while, the plane arrived. I would think, at a guess, that it was late because of a technical problem (though no reason for the delay was announced). I was watching it out the window, and for a long while there were two to four people in fluorescent yellow vests standing around by the nose wheel alternating between chatting, talking on the phone and peering at the machinery above the wheel with flashlights. At the last they found some sort of machinery that they seemed to apply to it, and not all too long after they had finished, the start of boarding was announced.
That was actually a little scary. For a while I couldn't stop thinking that maybe there would be something wrong with our landing gear when we got to Frankfurt. That maybe there was something wrong with the nose wheel that they didn't know about or that they tried but had unknowingly failed to fix.
Of course, these thoughts were the product of my very tired mind. We landed perfectly well in Frankfurt - except of course for the fact that we were around an hour late and I had only twenty minutes to make my connection to Oslo. Of course this wouldn't work. The airline - American - acted very well and efficiently in this case; I was met just inside the terminal building doors by a woman with a ticket they had booked for me on a later flight.
Four hours later, in fact. And how I managed those four hours without leaving my valuables all over the place, I have no idea. I was so exhausted at that point, having been up for more than twenty-four hours with only very broken sleep on the plane, that I was practically asleep on my feet. Several times I ended up searching frantically through my bag because I thought I had no idea where my passport and ticket were. Of course, I always found everything in my bag where they were supposed to be.
I slept practically the whole way between Frankfurt and Oslo. In Oslo, I was met by my Mum at the airport, made my way to the bus, and was met by the boyfriend at the bus stop.
It was ever so good to be home.
So I showed up early at the gate in Chicago, but as boarding time approached, it soon became clear that something was a little off, since there was no plane. After a while, the plane arrived. I would think, at a guess, that it was late because of a technical problem (though no reason for the delay was announced). I was watching it out the window, and for a long while there were two to four people in fluorescent yellow vests standing around by the nose wheel alternating between chatting, talking on the phone and peering at the machinery above the wheel with flashlights. At the last they found some sort of machinery that they seemed to apply to it, and not all too long after they had finished, the start of boarding was announced.
That was actually a little scary. For a while I couldn't stop thinking that maybe there would be something wrong with our landing gear when we got to Frankfurt. That maybe there was something wrong with the nose wheel that they didn't know about or that they tried but had unknowingly failed to fix.
Of course, these thoughts were the product of my very tired mind. We landed perfectly well in Frankfurt - except of course for the fact that we were around an hour late and I had only twenty minutes to make my connection to Oslo. Of course this wouldn't work. The airline - American - acted very well and efficiently in this case; I was met just inside the terminal building doors by a woman with a ticket they had booked for me on a later flight.
Four hours later, in fact. And how I managed those four hours without leaving my valuables all over the place, I have no idea. I was so exhausted at that point, having been up for more than twenty-four hours with only very broken sleep on the plane, that I was practically asleep on my feet. Several times I ended up searching frantically through my bag because I thought I had no idea where my passport and ticket were. Of course, I always found everything in my bag where they were supposed to be.
I slept practically the whole way between Frankfurt and Oslo. In Oslo, I was met by my Mum at the airport, made my way to the bus, and was met by the boyfriend at the bus stop.
It was ever so good to be home.