“I Was Told There’d Be Outlets”

Dearest Rachel –

I’m not sure that I want this to become frequent enough to be routine; there’s a certain point at which, I’m sure, travel loses its luster. That being said, I would certainly prefer to be sufficiently accustomed to the process to not feel so queasy every time I arrive at the airport. Am I following all the procedures correctly? Am I holding up the line by having to break everything I’m carrying down into these little bins? Are my pants going to fall down when I’m required to take my belt off?

Well, I don’t suppose I have to worry about that last one, more’s the pity.

Still, the chaos of getting here and checking in is no end of nerve-wracking. Which is weird, because I don’t recall this sensation when I was traveling to Basel. Maybe it’s a matter of trying to make sure I keep up with the group. Maybe it’s concern that Daniel keep up with me, and that he’s comfortable along the way.

Not that I really need to concern myself with that. Once past the security checkpoint, reunited with the rest of the tour group, and made aware of where exactly our gate is (only to find out that none of the group is bothering to follow us there yet, leading us to attempt to chase a people-mover cart headed back to our original meeting point), all he wants to do is to settle himself in with an internet connection, and catch up with his news feed.

There’s just one problem… there doesn’t seem to be anywhere he can plug in his phone.

“I was told there’d be outlets,” he mutters. It’s one more reason to return to that circular foyer everyone assembled at, just beyond the TSA checkpoint. At least there, the seats appear to have electric and USB plug ports. Although, come to think of it, there might’ve been similar plugs underneath the seats at the gate, but we didn’t bother to stick around to check, since we were the only ones in the group that made it that far.

The irony is, as soon as we returned to the foyer, the rest of the group decided to pick up and head in the other direction. It’s reasonable for them to do so; it’s around dinner time, after all, and supposedly, there’s a Burger King about ten gates down. Since we had a late – and substantial – lunch, we have no need of the place; and ‘bored’ is a very bad reason for me to be anywhere near food.

But bored I get, and in surprisingly short order. I make a point of obtaining Daniel’s permission, and make my way in the direction the rest of the group went. I promise myself I’m not going to eat anything; I just want to see what’s over there, and how far it is from where we find ourselves waiting.

I don’t manage to go as far as ten gates down – and I don’t come across any Burger King, as a consequence. Not that I’m stopping short, as such; the group seems to have settled for a tortas place only two terminals down from the foyer. Meanwhile, only three more terminals down is the closest thing this terminal has to a food court (and, of course, a duty-free shopping area. I feel like we walked through this particular area last time we traveled to Israel, in fact. You might recall that being a fairly long line we had to snake through at the time; Junior’s contact certainly did get us through TSA quickly this time, by comparison)

Part of me wants to join the various conversations, but the majority of my mind is well aware that I’d need to buy something to eat in order to sit down and do so. Not only is it not something I ought to be doing, I’m not even remotely hungry now. Best to keep my resolve, return to Daniel, and wait for the group to join us.

Anyway, that’s about all I have for you at the moment. Keep an eye on us, honey, and wish us luck. We’re going to need it.