Eaten by Tapirs

No longer airborne...

Sometime in the last few years of air travel, I developed the peculiar habit of sleeping through takeoff. It happens almost every time I catch a plane: I lumber aboard, overburdened with carry-on, stow everything, buckle into my miniscule seat, and then wake up midway to my destination. I don't really remember the last time I was conscious for takeoff... it's a little weird.

LAX is a nightmare, a filthy two-dimensional parody of an airport, terminals all in a long and cruel line designed to maximize walking and frustrate all travellers. Last time I flew through there, I was 8 years old, and thoroughly entranced by the experience. Now, nearly 20 years later, I simply lumbered through badly-labelled check-in desks and security gates manned by teenage screeners, paid $9.50 US for a microscopic "Wolfgang Puck Express" pepperoni pizza, and waited out my three-hour sentence in the world's most horribly designed airport. Maybe I've just been spoiled by the cleanliness, friendliness and efficiency of wonderful YVR.

Maybe not - Costa Rica's tiny airport is also a delightfully clean and speedy place, sparkling new, and I was almost sorry to leave. I was shocked by the transition from the A/C cool of the baggage terminal to the rainforest steam of San Jose's outskirts. My cabbie was a supremely friendly local with a thirst for insane speed and a preternatural instinct for evading potholes and onrushing poultry trucks. I spend the short ride staring at the gorgeous passing mountains, squat but looming with their proximity, slightly cloud-obscured but richly green and inviting. Perhaps exploring one is a worthy way to spend my weekend.

Next up: New home!

posted by Paul @ 1:19 PM