At the American border
As much as I moan and bitch about the meaning of the program I graduated from, I can't help feeling a little proud when I was asked "what do you do?" at the border, and replied "software engineer". I am vain. Well it will pass in time.
In the evening I stared out the window as the plane approached the destination. I looked at the lit bridges and wondered if that's the Bay Bridge, was I looking across the state to the Pacific (clearly I didn't have a sense of direction or knew geography), etc.. I looked at the neat grid of lamps and thought "here comes American city planning", and suddenly noticed a familiar dark rectangular piece of land crisscrossed with a few windy paths, and the diagonal boulevard, more brightly lit than the others. San Francisco is distinctive from 10,000 ft in the dark.
Vancouver: it was cold. Back to reality, now. Took an extra day or so.
In the evening I stared out the window as the plane approached the destination. I looked at the lit bridges and wondered if that's the Bay Bridge, was I looking across the state to the Pacific (clearly I didn't have a sense of direction or knew geography), etc.. I looked at the neat grid of lamps and thought "here comes American city planning", and suddenly noticed a familiar dark rectangular piece of land crisscrossed with a few windy paths, and the diagonal boulevard, more brightly lit than the others. San Francisco is distinctive from 10,000 ft in the dark.
Vancouver: it was cold. Back to reality, now. Took an extra day or so.