In the Chicago airport...

It’s quiet in the terminal.

That’s all I can think about right now. Currently I’m sitting in my gate, using internet sporadically since they charge by the minute, and watching people browse the duty free shop across from my gate. Which, by the way, is empty, since I’m 3 and a half hours early. The 5:10 flight before me just left, so I have a good two and a half hours before I even need to board. I seem to be the only passenger sitting at the gate- everyone else seem to be bored security guards or TSA workers watching football on the overhead tvs.

Because nothing makes me feel confident in airport security like five security guards gathered around a tv, watching people tackle each other.

It’s been a rough couple of days. My family left for Aspen, so it was up to my mom and I to run all over the place, getting ready for my imminent departure. I’m the earliest person I know leaving for study abroad by a long shot, so while everyone else got to sit and enjoy their breaks, I was busy mall hopping and frantically figuring out exchange rates. Not that I’m complaining. But it would be nice to have another week or so. Though I was lucky to get to Madison for New Year’s Eve- I’m not sure if I’m ready to talk about it. I can’t even remember most of it. Madison is hardcore, and I’m ashamed to call myself a Wisconsinite when these other WI natives are able to party so much harder than me and still live. I’m assuming it will only be worse in London.

Today was a sort-of sucky day. My family was supposed to fly back to Milwaukee just in time to see me off, but Aspen being Aspen, a massive private jet bumped all the flights from their schedule and they missed their connection in Denver. I wish I knew who was on that jet. I’m so mad, and because of that, an entire family has to wait a whole other day to get home, just because some rich person couldn’t wait a little longer to land (and no, it wasn’t a fuel issue, that would actually be understandable). But it’s amazing what a call from a really good friend can do, so I got over it.

I ended up taking a bus down to Chicago’s O’Hare airport (Milwaukee doesn’t fly to England, or really anywhere outside of North America). It was fine, one of those nice Coach deals. I got on in Waukesha, and ended up being the only person on it for about a half hour, until we got to the train station in Milwaukee. What made that more awkward was the fact that I sat in the wayyyy back (I wanted to be close to the bathroom, if that makes any sense) so keeping up a conversation between yourself and a bus driver a good 20 rows ahead of you is no small task. It involved yelling and the occasional “I’m sorry, what?” Luckily more people hopped on, and after a couple more stops in Milwaukee, Racine, and Kenosha, there were about 20 people.

So, while normally the ride from Milwaukee to Chicago’s about an hour and a half, I sat on this bus for two and a half hours, just listening to Michael Jackson and feeling a little like a freak because no one sat within five rows of me.

When I got to the airport, I thought I had an idea of what to expect because I listened to my aunt. Aunt Lu has traveled pretty much everywhere, from China to Brazil to Egypt to Spain. She married a German and now divides her time between Kleve, Germany and Rice Lake, Wisconsin. Incidentally, she’s flown that terrorist-targeted KLM flight from Amsterdam to Detroit dozens of times, since she lives on the Holland/German border and then transfers in Detroit to Minneapolis. Aunt Lu’s helped me out a lot, and is even offering to help me move in when I get there, since apparently London’s only an hour plane ride away from Amsterdam. She got me slightly nervous, drilling into my head- “You better watch out and get there early. I fly out of Chicago all the time and it takes me an hour and a half to get through security! And then when you do, there are no restaurants on the other side!” Listening to her, I made sure to get there four hours early, thinking that post-terrorist attempt, it would take me two hours to get through imagined long, winding security lines.

It took me ten minutes.

I fly a lot, since going to school a thousand miles away tends to mean I have to. That was literally the shortest security line I’ve ever had to go through. I’ve sat for an hour at LaGuardia, stagnant, hoping to get moving soon to catch my flight to Milwaukee. I’ve felt rushed, aware of the possibly hundred or so people impatient behind me, glaring while I tear off my shoes and pull out my laptop. I even wore new moccasins that I knew would make the security dash less stressful.

Only two people were behind me. Neither were impatient, but rather more occupied with the cat traveling with the person in the security line next door. The only thing that held us up were the TSA workers flirting with the guy ahead of me (one started dusting his hand for residue or something, I don’t know, it was terrorism related, and then giggled and admitted she just wanted to touch him. I almost threw up on the X-ray machine).

After I passed through I was hit with an overwhelming and puzzling quiet. When I called my mom, I felt like I should whisper. It was almost eerie, passing from crowds, the bustle, and the loud and sometimes passionate goodbyes on one side of security to the silence of the other. I kind of liked it.

There was one thing my Aunt was right about, though- there really is not a single restaurant of any kind past security. Nothing. Not even a little kiosk selling sandwiches. The best I could do was skittles, and it was between that and pringles. It’s a good thing I’m too nervous to be hungry (and have a couple fruit roll-ups packed in my carry-on) or I’d be starving.

I literally haven’t had time to visualize what it’s going to be like in London. Part of it is that I have absolutely no idea what to expect. To reiterate, I’ve never been out of the country. Never passed from these continental 48 states. I have no idea what London’s even like to visit, much less to live there for six months. Right now I’m just trying to concentrate on getting through the flight. I’m so deathly afraid of flying, the flight itself has been occupying my mind for the past few days that I’ve almost forgotten where I’m flying to. I have no idea what’ll happen when I land, since I can’t get beyond the actual act of landing. I just hope everything goes well on this, my longest and first international flight, and that I’m able to pass easily through customs.

So, just in case anyone wants to contact me while I’m abroad, I’ll have to let you know that I won’t be using my cell phone. But I did just set up a skype account- it’s under my twitter name, annethwimmerson. Otherwise of course there’s facebook and the aforementioned twitter and I hope that I don’t abandon this like I do everything else and-

OH MY GOD SOME MALE FLIGHT ATTENDANTS JUST SAT ACROSS FROM ME AND THEY HAVE BRITISH ACCENTS. I think I’m going to sound off and just listen to them speak for awhile. Didn’t give them much thought until they opened their mouths, now find them very attractive. Looks like there are perks to flying British Airways. I think I’ll be liking London after all...