I feel like I’m one of the few people who actually enjoy the airport. I love the echo of murmured conversation rebounding off the polished tile floor of the terminal, the slap of sandals hastily thrown on as people rush to get out of line for security, the ever-constant sense of anticipation and adventure pressing at the heavy eyelids of weary travelers. Then there’s the fact that airport time moves differently. The world around the airport moves on with life: work, school, birthdays, etc. Airports are not for any of these events. Airports are for waiting. Waiting on an airplane, on security, on those crappy in-flight complimentary drinks, on arriving. As I sit here in the terminal, waiting for my first flight of the day, I can feel the stagnant aura of the airport wrapping itself around me. And I feel safe.
This time tomorrow, I will be landing in Rome to begin my 110 days of adventure. I guess I’ll learn what Roman time feels like, and see if it’s the same as LA time.