The trip to Alaska is hard to talk about. The first couple of days we had the issue of being jet lagged out of our minds, something that wasn’t really helped by the sun deciding to come up around 6 AM and not going down until well after 9 PM – at the best of times this would have been the height of summer in New York, but it just kept getting brighter and brighter like nothing was wrong. The other problem we encountered was that Veronica’s mother wanted to make sure we crammed as much as possible in the week we were there, which is hard when you haven’t fully gotten over whatever season you call, “in the 50s but there is still ice on the lakes and four feet of snow.”
The trip there was something along the lines of sixteen hours, which if adjusted for time zones I believe means we traveled for three weeks. I should have known it was going to start well when the first thing that happened was that my wife was treated to the full body pat down at security—something that I was also gifted on the way home. Some people seem to think that these are super invasive and terrible. Honestly all I could think about is how uncomfortable it would be if I really had to poop.
One of the other things that makes it hard to talk about is that the act of travel is rather uncomfortable. I love my wife, and enjoy exploring new places with her, and finding more and more annoying ways to take pictures—but after we have been traveling forever both of us start to wear on each other. That, in and of itself, isn’t even fair. After traveling for an entire day, we have grown weary on pretty much the entire concept things, and would just like most them to go away. Mainly the other people in it, and the ones that want to sit directly next to us in airports for some reason, with all of their delightfully incorrect commentary about how neat airports are.
This is also why all of the pictures are from before Seattle, because when we landed there neither one of us wanted to speak. It didn’t help that it appeared that nothing in the city had been updated since Kirk Cobain had still been alive—but wasn’t assisted by the fact that we had just spent about eight hours in a flying coffin directly next to a bathroom. A bathroom that had a guy doing yoga in front of for, not exaggerating, at the very least 45 minutes. If anyone reading this isn’t aware, when anyone on a plane does something in the center walkway for any amount of time, with no clear intention of moving, a sky martial should simply show up and pistol whip them before throwing them out of the plane. I honestly think even the people he was traveling with would have allowed it.
The one highlight that I will bring up, though, is that the Alaskan Airs flight was almost entirely empty. It was almost like flying in the 90s, which is something I think I did twice. After being crammed into two different planes and having seats that felt like they were designed for toddlers having an entire row to share with my wife felt like the height of luxury.
Oddly enough, even though the entire plane was pretty much empty, there was a person who booked the seat directly next to Veronica and me. Thankfully a very nice stewardess came over and told her to take any other entire row of seats that she wanted to. For some reason the stranger had to think about this for a second before moving, like it was some kind of trap designed to throw her off the plane at the first sign of falling for a stewardess’ kindness.