Prior to this trip to
, the longest time I’d traveled to a destination had been about ten hours. Korea
Car → shuttle → plane→ plane → shuttle→ ship→ the
I thought I’d become a travel trouper.
Preparing for my new adventure, I was excited to be on a 747 for the first time.
I had visions of seats that become lounge chairs and a second floor bar where I could cocktail my way to the East.
Only first class had those seats.
And the upper deck lounge went bye-bye long-long time ago.
The transit for this trip was twenty-four hours.
The ordeal however, felt like eternity. Too much exasperation!
Pull, push, lug, lift—OW! My useless carry-on luggage.
Unzip, dig, rummage, dump—DAMN IT! My useless new multi-compartmental purse.
Shove, squeeze, squish, plop—UGH! The tiniest airplane seat ever.
Pew, yeesh, cough, gag—LORD! Hundreds of people on my flight.
After car → plane → tram→ plane → plane → bus → plane → van
I finally settled at the hotel in
. Gwangju, Korea
Kicking my luggage to the floor and hurling my purse to a chair, I vowed:
No more carry-on luggage! What’s the point? I never could get to it!
No more purse with dozens of zippered pockets. I couldn't remember where I put anything including my passport.
No more sitting like a sardine. I will either pay for first class tickets, or buy two seats!
No more traveling without a mask. Not out of fear of catching H1N1 or other bug.
Because there are no antibiotics, no herbal supplements, no homeopathic solutions, and no air freshener . . .
That can protect you from the pong of that much contained humanity.
P.S. I used the word, pong because it sounds Asian, although it's not.
pong [pɒŋ] n, Brit informal, disagreeable or offensive smell; stink