Departure

One early summer day in 1955, I accompanied my best friend Ed, and his parents to the Los Angeles Airport (before it was known as “LAX”) to see his grandparents off on a vacation to Russia. Going to the airport in itself was an adventure for me, and the idea of getting on an airplane and going to a foreign, not to mention communist country, was just too much to imagine.

People dressed to travel then, had stylish, matching luggage, (including make-up cases that ladies carried with them on to the airplane), and bought a lot of magazines with them (because there were no in-flight movies) because you had to do something besides eat and smoke for all those hours.

I’m still struck with the memory of standing in the terminal and looking up at the departure board, reading aloud the names of the cities that were listed. Images of what little I knew of those far off places swirled in my mind and stimulated my young imagination to the point of daring to wish that I too might one day board an airplane and emerge on the other side of the world and experience their wonders and magic.

Be careful what you wish for.

Traveling at nearly 500 miles per hour for 11 hours, you can gage the vastness of the Pacific Ocean, and the endurance of your backside to occupy a seat on a Boeing 777. I know; I did it this past Sunday. I arrived in Tokyo on a flight from San Francisco, and having had such a grand travel experience, waited in a lounge at Narita airport for two hours to board another 777, and warm a seat therein for 7 hours more. I emerged at Suvarnabh airport in Bangkok and made my way in a stormy, steamy midnight to the cool and sumptuous comfort of the Four Seasons Hotel, 26 hours after beginning my travel.

Wonders and magic? Yes …. It’s still a part of travel for me.

Complaints? Not at all. I am blessed with being able to call this part of my “work.”

The Four Seasons, Bangkok. A great place to lick my travel wounds.