I was twenty-three the first time I boarded an airplane. For an hour before my flight I sat at a bar in La Guardia, sipping Irish Whisky and vibrating with anticipation. I was about to spend four months traveling around Europe. I had one pair of shoes, an inadequate jacket and a backpack no bigger than a school kid's book bag. Other than a couple trips to Canada I had never been outside the United States, and I had certainly never spent so much time on my own. The airplane, when we boarded, was massive, and I was seated in the middle of the wide central aisle in a seat that did not recline the paltry three inches allowed by the airline. I spent the night watching the plane's progress across the Atlantic on the large screen at the front of the cabin, and when the sun peeked through the windows on the right side and we descended through the clouds, I saw, for the first time, London spread out below, and the Thames in its eternal course.
Seventeen Years Since La Guardia
Seventeen Years Since La Guardia
Seventeen Years Since La Guardia
I was twenty-three the first time I boarded an airplane. For an hour before my flight I sat at a bar in La Guardia, sipping Irish Whisky and vibrating with anticipation. I was about to spend four months traveling around Europe. I had one pair of shoes, an inadequate jacket and a backpack no bigger than a school kid's book bag. Other than a couple trips to Canada I had never been outside the United States, and I had certainly never spent so much time on my own. The airplane, when we boarded, was massive, and I was seated in the middle of the wide central aisle in a seat that did not recline the paltry three inches allowed by the airline. I spent the night watching the plane's progress across the Atlantic on the large screen at the front of the cabin, and when the sun peeked through the windows on the right side and we descended through the clouds, I saw, for the first time, London spread out below, and the Thames in its eternal course.