LGA, 6:13 am: The cab pulls up to the AA departures outside lane. “Thank you sir. You’re a good tipper.”
Odd. But that’s not where I meant to begin. That is not where I meant to begin at all.
One week earlier.
JFK, a somewhat saner hour (the Little Rascals is now over). : The new terminal is… new. And very clean. Few people. I imagine for a moment that I’m in Canada. It’s convincing.
Seven hours later.
“Velcome to the most beautiful city in the world.” Just after touching down, the lead of the front attendant crew came over the P.A. and uttered this in his thick Russian brogue. I already liked this guy for his sense of humor–playing up his accent for comic relief in a Bronson Pichot kind of way, weirdly dragging out Sun… Frun… Seesco every time. And there’s something to what he said, which you can already begin to see on final approach. This nicely sprawling city nestled in the California coastal mountains.
It’s pleasantly chilly. And hilly. How delightful!
When I caught up with Ivan again on the way back. I looked at him and asked, “Paris?”
“Yes, but ve must be patrreeotic!” he replied. You can’t argue with that. Plus, he’s a big guy.
“Velcome to the capital of the world!” he announced as we landed at JFK. Not sure if that’s quite true either, but I didn’t really mind.
And now Dallas. (Back to today and LGA.) Well, Irving and Las Collinas. But who would have thought that there’s such a nice Italian restaurant just across the highway. And three PhDs at the next table, the one speaking of the time he met Bucky Fuller.
East, West. North, South. Hot, Cold. Left, Right.
I feel streteched and folded. Like a filo. And then Atlanta, a drive, the Wedding. Dallas. Then home, sweet home.