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I am in Nassau Airport, finally with a coffee, after a morning that has been a comedy of errors.

 

Hard to sleep last night, just a bit, due to a second burn here at the tail end of the trip, to match the one I got at the start. This one’s a bit worse. But I slept enough. Woke up a bit before my alarm, at 4:56, and I put on coffee and went for my shower. Got dressed, poured the coffee. Finished packing. Had that cup of coffee, had another. Andrew was up by then, together we drained the pot, and we were off by six. Drive down to Governor’s Harbour Airport with the light fast coming up, granting me one last look at the shores of Eleuthera before I was seeing them from the flight out. The waves have never at any moment managed to be anything but gorgeous, in any light, any weather, in anything.

 

At the airport, someone took my bags as Andrew unloaded them and I followed them in confusion. My goodbye to Andrew was briefer than I would have liked, but so it goes. I was in line for my flight, which I had not missed. (Sometime have to tell you about Pineapple Air and how easy it is to miss a flight with them and etc.) It’s a tiny airport, just a couple of rooms. Andrew tells me it used to be half the size and they’ve just now expanded it, because flights from Miami are coming in now—maybe even flights from Toronto soon. He said it used to look like a toolshed. Now there (fake) marble, an actual waiting area, etc.

 

The receipt machine jammed as I was paying for my checked bag, but they sent me through anyway and said they’d send someone to sign once there was anything to sign. Security check was one line, one person at a time. Got through. Read in the waiting area, found out there was a bathroom that was unmarked and I used it. Lovely view out the window of the early morning growing into day. Read one side of a conversation taking place in Poland in the 1890s; a contrast.

 

Plane was late. We went out and boarded it same as before, the flight was about as before—except I was looking out the other side, so all I saw was water. My last vision of Eleuthera was when I turned and looked out the window, saw the Glass Window Bridge and the north end of the Island tiny in the distance. Then it was gone and in a few minutes I was looking ahead to New Providence.

 

Slight confusion where to pick up bags, but all was well, and I managed to eventually find my way to US departures. The Delta counter was, however, not open. Had a nice conversation with a man, Peter, who was on his way to San Francisco to extoll the merits of fly fishing in the Bahamas. I told him that was an easy sell. His daughter had been married in Vancouver, and he knew the city, and said it was beautiful. I told him I worked in a wine store, and he hadn’t heard of the Okanagan wine industry, so I told him about it. Also told him about the real estate bubble, and he reacted about the way any sane person not born into it would. He asked how much a one bedroom would cost. About 2 thousand a month, I told him. He was in shock.

 

Eventually, I went outside again and spent twenty minutes on a bench looking across at palms, listening to the Beach Boys and Buena Vista Social Club, Donald Dekker, the Hazbin Hotel soundtrack. Apart from that last one, it was me getting in the Island vibes last chance before I was back on the mainland of the world.

 

Went back and bag drop-off opened a few minutes later. Happened without a hitch. I wanted breakfast badly; I hadn’t had any back on Eleuthera because I knew I needed to kill time in Nassau. But it was killing itself quite nicely and I still hadn’t eaten. It was almost ten by then.

 

At the TSA check, the machine broke with my stuff in the trays inside. A watch got stuck in it, apparently: we, shoeless and beltless, watched a man climb inside to retrieve it. I never thought I’ve ever seen a human being emerge from one of those scanners, but there we were and out he came. Eventually, they sent us over to another scanner. We watched them get passed over and waited as they came out out of order. But all worked out and onwards we went.

 

Finally through, I arrived to the one proper sit-down restaurant that was available to be told breakfast had just closed five minutes earlier and lunch wouldn’t start for nearly another hour. I scanned around for other options, but there was nothing but fast food. I got a coffee and am sitting down here to wait. Typing and watching the world go by. The time this morning had killed itself; I was silly to worry.

 

When I get lunch, something with seafood to eat with something with rum to drink, I’ll get into some of what I’ve been doing. The prose is flowing out of me again. Call it the stress of life’s bustle: there was none of that there.

 

 

Lunch was good. Stood in the line waiting for them to begin seating lunch, and chatted with a retired middle school principal from outside Detroit. Pleasant lady. She and her husband were seated same time as me, in the next booth over. I got a window view from a distance of the Nassau Airport, which was pleasant. I ordered a Bahama mama (I did, even though I’m pretty sure I got a rum punch) and cracked conch with rice and peas. Then I called home while I waited. Longest call I’d had the whole time: I’m ready to re-enter the world. The food arrived, and it was delicious. Half an hour to boarding time when I finished, and I ordered another Bahama mama (rum punch, with less rum the second time), and a guava duff because I didn’t know what a guava duff was. It turned out to be a steamed British-style pudding with rum sauce—oozing with rum sauce, when I got it. Devoured that, paid, then got to the gate. The couple from Detroit was there; so was the couple from Massechusetts I’d been with during the TSA security fiasco; so was Peter. Everyone was there. Sort of comforting. I sat within the influence of my two “Bahamas Mamas” and waited. At peace.

 

In Atlanta. Clear skies on the way here, so was able to see the route. Saw a lot of Florida, some that I could identify like Jacksonville; and some Georgia, almost none of which I could identify. Except downtown Atlanta, which I was able to make out just as we were about to land.

 

Seat next to me was empty. Watched some Fraiser. WiFi onboard, so I was able to stay in touch with people. In Atlanta, my flight to Calgary wasn’t more than a few feet away. I’m nearish the gate now, waiting for boarding. Should be in twenty-five minutes. A little away, by the closest charger port since I wanted to juice up my phone a bit. Across the aisle by the people waiting for the flight to Panama City, Florida—this was the closest spot.

 

On the flight from Atlanta to Calgary. Forgot to seat select, ended up in an aisle seat. Which means I have to shift and/or be bumped anyone or anything passes. It’s somebody more claustrophobic than the alternative. I asked to move, and I was told I could, but they never came back and since the food/drink trolleys are coming along, I doubt I’ll be able to. Oh well. Just another three hours, and too much cloud cover to see much out the window.

 

I did read a bit. Not much. I’ve already been up for more than 13 hours and I’m starting to sag. I will get a coffee and a snack. Getting the coffee will probably forfeit any chance of moving I still have, but I do want the coffee.

 

Maybe I was supposed to move without anyone coming back again. I don’t know. I didn’t want to just get up. They said I could move after we were up in the air and the seatbelt sign was off, but I didn’t think they meant I should just get up at that point and move. Oh well.

 

It’s starting to hit me how neurotic I really am.

 

In Calgary. Did manage the seat change, but got stuck between two sleeping people and that felt worse so I went back. It wasn’t so bad. Eventually they even did let me have the window seat. Saw Brooks and the Badlands just before landing. Childhood memories—we went there some twenty-five years ago when I was obsessed with dinosaurs.

 

I haven’t slept for a very long time, so starting to get punchy. Screwed up a little at customs, but made it through. So, the hard part is done. I’m in Canada, I just need to get to YVR and pick up my bag.

 

Other thing was charging my phone. But it’s charging happily now.

 

There’s a food court, but I don’t just want fast food, I want to sit down and linger somewhere for a bit. There’s a Chili’s, apparently, so I’ll try to find that. Right now just waiting for my phone to get enough charge that I feel comfortable moving on.

 

Phone charged, I got up and asked where a sit down restaurant was. There’s that Chili’s and it’s in Terminal C, so there I went. I rode this cute little rapid movement shuttle, which I like—not as impressive as Atlanta, but still. I love it.

 

There’s a beer on tap here that’s hard to find, so I got it, and I complimented them for even having it.

 

Have an hour until boarding. I’ll enjoy my burger—what to get in Alberta, land of beef.

 

Last time I was in Alberta was when I was in the train coming back from Montreal, when I was a traumatized waif and had no idea what the future would look like. Well, here’s the future and here I am in Alberta again. No, I didn’t have any thought that it would look like this. Mundane thought, but profound thought.

 

It is amazing, you know, how out of it and distracted I was going through customs. O boy that is an incorrect time to be not thinking about what you’re doing.

 

I need sleep.

 

Sleep is on the other side of this next flight.

 

No, it’s on the other side of the trip home that’s on the other side of the next flight.

 

It’s on the other side of something impending. It is soon enough.

 

I’ll try the local lager, too. It’s called … tool shed? I’ll ask. (Yes: Tool Shed lager). It would be a funny callback to Andrew’s comment at the day’s start. A nice bookend. It’s almost like somebody planned it.

 

I never got into what I did while I was on Eleuthera. Well, not all of life needs to be recorded. We get into those issues I got into in those poems I was writing there, if you read those. I don’t know if I’ll post those, so maybe you didn’t. If you haven’t, I apologize for this confusing paragraph.