Sep 1, 2006 | Flying To and Fro

The familiar greasy odor of McDonalds greets me as I step among the idling crowd at the United Airways terminal at O'Hare International. The people opt instead to line up for a chili fast food- with two hours left I might have to drop by later. Listening to Fort Minor, I wait for my connecting flight that will take me back eastward.

Security was noticeably lighter than in France, where they went through a tiered security process from before checking in to getting to the gate. Come to think of it however, the boarding process hasn't changed since the earlier times before terrorism became a byword of the population: there's always the screening, the security questions and the checking of passports. Everything has just become much more tedious and detailed. Though I greatly feared the need to pickup luggage and check everything in again at O'Hare, the process was suprisingly easy and smooth: all checking in luggage involved was dropping off one's cart at a place where airport people picked it up and put it on a concourse. Though I don't consider myself as an impatient person, I have a very low tolerance level when it comes to airports.

21:53 local time, 3:53 Paris time: U.S. Airways didn't put my suitcase on the flight that I was on, and therefore I am waiting here in the lobby, alone, hoping that the next flight that comes in from Chicago has my suitcase and backpack with it. I met up with another Swattie by chance but she left, leaving me with a sense of utter boredom. It's that rather frustrating, ego-centric feeling that you get when you're looking for something, rejoicing when someone else suffers the same fate, but then the other person finds what they were looking for, leaving you to sallow in your search.

And I thought this was going to be a smooth, routine, uneventful flight. Bah.

Also written on this day..

• 2004: Sardinia Travel Entries (Part 3)
• 2004: La Marmorata, Part 3