Oh air travel, how I love and hate you. I love you for taking me to beautiful, far-away places and for being a giant, still-unbelievable-no-matter-how-many-times-I-fly experiment in Bernoulli's law. But make no mistake, I hate you. For all the typical reasons people hate you, and for playing such a sappy part in so many movies. And, most recently, for making me sappy.
On my recent travels I found myself reading in the window seat as an attempt to block out all around me. (There were at least three crying children and I had nothing to shove in my ears. Except maybe pretzels.) The man next to me was sleeping, and as I turned a page I accidentally brushed him with my elbow. Worried that I might wake him up, I scooted over even more.
“How strange,” I thought, “that at this moment I’m trying to avoid touching the man I’m going to marry.”
Um…what? Where the hell did that thought come from?! Perhaps it was some creepy corner of my mind, like where all of my knowledge of calculus is stored, trying to get back at me for its lack of use. Maybe it was that I was reading Jane Austen. Maybe it’s that the guy was just really cute and, apparently, that’s enough for me.
He struck up the conversation. He waited until I had put down my book (I had finished Jane Austen and moved on to Three Cups of Tea), mentioned that he had read it and enjoyed it, and even told me of its effects on foreign policy since it was first released. After telling me that he spoke Arabic and was on his way to Saudi Arabia to work at a University, I had a brief thought that this guy might be out of my league. Then I got really excited that he might be out of my league, and I started asking lots of questions.
He, in turn, was interested in what I do, asked for some books to read on the subject, and then gave me some recommendations of other books I might like. Visions of becoming across-the-seas reading buddies danced through my head, along with visions of having someone to visit in Saudi Arabia. To act upon this I gave him my card and told him to find me on facebook. He happily took my card, saying that he was looking forward to talking with me after he read the first book I recommended to him. I thought that was the proper response my future husband should have. (Again: what?!)
Why is it so easy to make connections while traveling? Low stakes? Captive audience? Oxygen-depleted plane air?
Well, perhaps it’s not that easy to make connections while traveling. It’s been over a week and no friend invite has appeared, and I fear that it is very unlikely I shall ever hear from him. Dammit for not taking his last name. Er, I mean…getting his last name.
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