[Note: The next few posts are back dated as I was waiting for free internet access to post]
I’m coming to you now en route to Prague and about 30,000
feet above Augusta, Maine. Why Delta thought it was a good idea to have me fly
down to Atlanta only to then fly north along the ENTIRE eastern seaboard is
beyond me, but here I am.
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| Dinner One - Over New York |
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| Dinner One - Over Maine |
Have you ever noticed that when you fly from one unimportant
city for an airline to another similarly unimportant city the service on the
airplane tends to be subpar? Well, when you’re flying into our out of Atlanta
on Delta, it’s pretty much the exact opposite. We have “Atlanta based” flight
attendants, who have made their rounds four times already and we’re only two
hours into the flight. Delta even splurged on this one and offered free wine
and beer to anyone over 21 years of age. Maybe this is a regular thing for
overseas flights, but I’ve never noticed it before. I thought about trying to
schmooze my way into a free glass of wine since I’ll be 21 any day now, but I
decided it wasn’t worth it. When I actually saw the wine being offered, I knew
I’d chosen correctly. The wine was stored in cardboard containers that reminded
me of Franzia’s classy cousin. Of course, being the classy one in a family of
hillbillies isn’t exactly an accomplishment.
Currently, the sun is currently setting just out my window
in a brilliant rainbow locked between two black abysses. Speaking of windows,
normally I wouldn’t be thrilled about a window seat on a trans-Atlantic flight
but I managed to get an exit row, so leg room isn’t an issue and I’m seated
next a very nice elderly gentlemen from Atlanta. We got to talking almost right
away and it turns out he’s a lawyer in the area who’s made a business over the
last twenty years in defending small bottling companies from Coca-Cola as they
try to consolidate their business to improve efficiency. He went to a small
Presbyterian college, I believe, though he only mentioned it in passing, before
getting his law degree from Emory.
I never actually visited Emory, but it was high on my list
when I applied to colleges, largely based on the city of Atlanta. After a visit
in 2008, Atlanta sky-rocketed to become one of my favorite cities in America
based largely on my evaluation of the city’s people and trees. It seems I have
this attraction to trees in a city, because I don’t remember much about the
city itself except the shopping district, Houston’s, and the trees. Then again,
the same thing happened when I went to Princeton last summer. I remember SoHo,
pancakes, and Dutch Elms. Put another way, if you want me to remember
something, relate it to shopping, food, or trees. Of course, there are other
details that I remember from both trips, especially Princeton, but I think I’ve
made my point.
I warned about potential ramblings, sidebars and tangents
right? I hope I did; if not, consider the last two paragraphs your warning.
Besides serving as my seatmate’s graduate school, Emory also
happens to be the institution of higher learning for many of my classmates on
this trip. As a result, I’m sure many of them are on this flight. Of course,
that knowledge does me little good since I don’t know any of their names
(though I could look it up) nor do I know what they look like (which would be
more difficult to figure out without asking every passenger if they were flying
to Prague for a study abroad program with CIEE). I’m not trying to make a
terrible first impression, so I think I’ll just stick it out and wait to meet
my classmates at orientation.
Between orientation and the Czech intensive for the next
three weeks, I think we’re going to get to know each other pretty well.
Although, I wonder how it works for those kids, like myself, that don’t speak a
lick of the language, and those who are conversational, fluent or native. Will
I see them during the day? Will that create divisions between students? What’s
going to happen when I find someone with whom I am unable to communicate? Am I
making a big deal out of nothing? Always.
When I stop thinking about the mountain I’ve just created
out of an anthill, I become excited about the prospects of my flat. I think
normally there are four people to a flat, but as of right now, my understanding
is that we have three. I’m pretty sure I’ll still be doubling up to give
Miroslav the single, since he’s both my roommate and my host as well as several
years our senior.
Miroslav seems really cool. Of course, my first impression
is based entirely on Facebook, something I’ve made a conscious effort to avoid
for almost every single other program participant in order to avoid pre-judging
a book by its cover so to speak. Just a combination of Miroslav’s profile
picture, which is him doing something on a rooftop and his friendliness in
introducing himself to me has me hesitantly optimistic. My hesitance is really
only a product of my track record and is not as a consequence of anything I’ve
seen up to this point from Miroslav. I just haven’t ever had a roommate that
turned out to be great for me. Of course, there’s a long way from great to bad
and so saying that I haven’t had a great roommate precludes very little, I just
would like a great roommate at some point, like a Joey to my Chandler, not an
Eddy.
