Airports — Ugh

Last week I flew from Edinburgh back to Los Angeles. I still marvel at the fact that I can step onto an airplane in London, sleep a bit, then wake up in Los Angeles.  No long ocean crossing with dangerous storms to ride out. No crossing the prairie in a covered wagon pulled by oxen for months at a time.

Unfortunately, I didn’t travel alone, but in the company of a zillion or two microbes that hitched a ride inside my lungs.

I seldom take comfort in the travails of others, but I did smile when my pulmonologist just told me that he had traveled through London recently and came home with the same diagnosis: Bronchitis. He said that it’s not from the airplanes which have great filtration. It’s the airports that get you. (While I’d like to think that my pulmonologist is exempt from lung diseases, I suppose that’s about as absurd as my CPA not having to pay income tax).

And the Heathrow airport, which is the primary hub of both British Airways and Virgin Atlantic and serves more than 84 million passengers a year, is a model of … what?  A modern shopping center that doubles as an auto parking lot and a security company with restaurants open 24 hours a day but seldom busy?

Question:  When does eleven hours seem like a very long time?  Try an airplane ride when you don’t feel like either reading or watching a video.  While it might be better than the slow train, the next time I think I’ll take a night flight.  At least then I can sleep.

I know that you don’t want to take any more pleasure from my discomfort.

So I’ll stop.

Alan