The trip I had been waiting for.

It was a regular day at Schiphol Airport. Not too quiet, not too busy. Everything was going real smooth. I was in the wrong line, because I had already checked in online so I didn't need to wait for more than half an hour, but could have taken the shorter line. But it was all good, I had enough time, it was all stress-free. Packed two pieces of luggage, but when putting them on the belt the ground steward was making his suprised-face: I was only allowed to check in one piece. "I think you're already on the verge of a great adventure, so let's not make this day more exciting than it already is, I'll check them both in for you.." he said. So it was still all good, I still had enough time and it was all still stress-free. Bought a digital camera on sale, a really, really cute one. Bought some souvenirs. Stopped by the bank. It was still all good, time was running out though and it was getting less stress-free. So I ran to the gate and made it to the plane, but only after taking off my boots and putting them on again, unpacking my carry-on and packing it again and being physically violated by this rough airport chick..

Exit: Holland, Enter: Washington

OH
MY
GOD
As soon as I stepped foot on US soil, all hell broke loose. Officers were yelling, people were making their annoyed-faces, children were crying, French people were pushing and it was way too hot for so many people in one area. The Chinese-American airport lady was kindly requesting us to be careful around the escalators because we were so many: "MOVE AWAAAA FROM THE ESCALATAAAAAL.. HEY, YOU, GUY, MOVE AWAAAA!! STOP, STOP, NO, TO THE LEFT." I'm not really good at guessing, but I think there were like 500-600 people in line to have their passport checked and their I-promise-I-am-not-a-terrorist-form by US customs. Just checking someones passport wouldn't take that long, but when you want to know why someone's there, where he is from, where he is going and where he is staying.. plus his fingerprints of both hands and a picture.. then it takes a really really looooong time. I arrived at 15.00 and my next flight was at 16.50: I missed it. I MISSED MY FLIGHT! And they couldn't schedule me on the 21.45 flight because that was an Air Canada flight and I had United Airlines tickets. So I needed to find a hotel as the next flight was the next morning. Paid by: me. Airlines cannot be held responsible for security checks taking too long. I actually do understand that. However: who can be?

Exit: Airport, Enter: hotel

In the shuttle towards the hotel I found I met Steven Johnston. A man the age of my grandfather, if he were still alive. I stopped by his room as I was going to the 7-11 around the corner to get some food and wanted to know if I could get him anything, but he was worried about me going out by myself, so we ended up having dinner somewhere close to the hotel. He told me how he worked for Ashraf, the sister of the Shah of Iran, from 1964 to 1968 and his job as an electrical engineer and his travels from Ireland to Australia to the US and France again. He told me about his children and his grandchildren and advised me on what to look for in a husband. He shared his vision on religion and marriage and many, many, many other things... I went to bed at 22.00 and got up at 05.00. Airport security made me take off my boots and put them on again, unpack my carry-on and pack it again, but refrained from harassing me physically this time: thank you Washington.

Exit: Washington, Enter: Montreal

Finally! I am here! I thought I had died and gone to heaven. No one was making their annoyed-face. No children were crying. French people were not even pushing and the immense passport check area, with high ceiling and not air-conditioning but fresh air, was empty! Only 5 people in line per douanier. Only one question was asked (purpose of visit). I got my suitcases within 5 minutes and there was Tamar, whom I had met during my exchange in France, to pick me up and bring me to my apartment.

*sigh*