As I have mentioned, my lovely friend Sam has been visiting my for the past couple weeks. While I have been continuing to document my daily happiness, she has, in turn, been documenting her daily experiences on this beautiful Azorean island. It is fun to read her blog, it is interesting to view my life through her eyes. I enjoy her experiences from her perspective, where I am a supporting character.
Well Blog, I made it to Terceira. I haven’t done much but sleep, eat a hamburger, paint a painting, and sleep more.
Before all of that hullaballoo happened, I waited in line to check my bag, then I waited in line to board the plane over here, then I waited for the plane people to check out these two people who apparently were too sick to fly, then we took off and I had an anxiety attack complete with very intense visuals of how I would escape the metal tube I was flying in were it to crash into the ocean. Then we landed and I waited in line to get off the plane, to board a shuttle, to get through customs, and to pick up my bags.
The flight itself was only four hours, but throw everything else into the mix and I think I was dealing with SATA airlines for a good 10. I wish I was exaggerating. I also wish I hadn’t come right off of two flights before I even saw that ridiculous line at the ticketing counter at Logan Airport in Boston.
That’s what you get for flying to a remote island in the Atlantic. That, and jet lag. Which is what I have right now. Which is why I should probably try and sleep more even though I just woke up.
Oh, I also took a picture of the view from the room which Carlis of the O’Clare kind has so kindly set up for me. Batteries are dying all over the place so I’m not going to post it here, but you can know that it’s the same view that you can see here (minus my face).
With that, I’m off to bed for even more sleep. Hopefully this session won’t be full of weird dreams about mental breakdowns and random gifts of banana bread.
Just like that, I’ve adjusted to the time change, Blog. All that sleep paid off and today I was able to take some time for personal reflection along with a nice jaunt down to the beach where I silently freaked out about which part of the swimming hole was best to explore. I was clearly the only American at this public access. While everyone else confidently navigated the concrete stairs that have been built into the rocky cliffs so as to access the Atlantic’s chilly waters, I was awkwardly reading Kurt Vonnegut’s Jailbird while watching the Portuguese dive into water that I eventually learned was not deep enough for even a belly flop (in my opinion anyway).