I have been a terrible blogger as of late. Ever since booking my trip back home, I’ve been so consumed with working and getting extra cash in my pocket, by the time I get home at night, I just want to pop in a movie and pass out, and nine times out of ten, that’s what I do. However tonight, you’re lucky.
Since I’m now getting down to the wire, I only have 5 days left until my flight and I could not be more thrilled. So of course I need to start my packing process, which believe me, is a very long and tedious project. So instead of trying to go to bed, which I would normally be doing right now, I’m up waiting for my laundry to dry. Tomorrow, if I have the energy, I will begin the packing process that I so dread.
Here’s my weird thing about traveling. I love to travel. But I HATE to travail. Which ironically is where the world travel roots from. The “act” of traveling is awful. I hate going to the airport, waiting in the lines behind clueless people who can’t get their strollers to collapse, the people who wear shoes that are impossible to take off, getting on the plane to be seated behind the person that puts their seat down the second they get in their seat, recycled air, being freezing cold on a 14 hour flight, never finding a comfortable position. I hate it. I hate to travel. I absolutely love when I get to my destinations. I love down time in airports when I get to people watch, but anything else having to do with the act of transit between one place and another I really do not enjoy. Yuck.
So here’s a tally of the longest flights I’ve suffered in my lifetime:
1- Los Angeles to Sydney, 18 hours, twice
2- Chicago to Frankfurt, 15 hours, 4 times
3- Chicago to Paris, between 11 and 14 hours, more times than I can remember
4- Chicago to London, between 9 and 12 hours, more times than I can remember
5- Minneapolis to Hawaii, 10 hours, twice