24 Hours Until Brighton - Part 1

September 1, 2009

I’m sitting at my flight gate for Manchester inside the Atlanta airport. I am utterly overwhelmed by the British-ness. I can still hear the menagerie of “British” on my right and left sides through the thumping K-Pop from my Ipod. I’ve been preparing for my departure by watching British movies and series, courtesy of Youtube, for the past six days. Yet once again, “nothing beats the real thing”. The “posh”, Received Pronunciation I’m most often exposed to via the tube (Youtube mainly, since I stopped watching real TV), is now replaced with accents neither BBC- nor Masterpiece Theatre-esque. The real thing comes from five feet to my left and right. Even an hour ago, my trip to England for three months still felt surreal. But now, it’s real. The tingling of my insides and warmth from my throat tells my brain this is truly happening. It’s not because I’ve finally lost all feeling from the waist down with my legs pretzel-like on the seemingly comfortable black plether airport chaise. The Harry Potter-speak I’ve spent years failing to master is nothing compared to the sounds around me. I can’t really tell what’s Northern England, Southern England, Cockney, or anything else, but it’s a rhapsody to my ears. Glorious!

Just as I was writing this, the familiar sound of American surrounded me. Maybe I should savor it in preparation for my 14-week deprivation…

In-Flight

I’m currently writing this while reclined in Delta’s Business Elite cabin. I’ve only flown business class twice in my life, thanks to an airline’s overzealousness by over-booking a flight. Hence, flight₁ (bodies₁ > chairs₁) --> flight₂ (bodies₂ <>₂) + bodies₁. The first time I sat in business (first – is that the same?) class resulted from much persistent persuasion from my dad. Initially, all I wanted to do was fly home at an earlier time and eat ramen noodles by foregoing the first-class treatment and two additional ticket vouchers. My naïve and overly-stubborn 17-year-old self did not realize the sheer awesomeness of seats one through eight until I was sipping ginger ale out of a glass and eating steak and haricots verts off of china plates, possibly better than my dishes at home. This time, the upgrade was totally unexpected since I only wanted the flight vouchers for six more hours of waiting and one extra layover in Manchester. I didn’t discover this pleasant surprise until I walked tin y boarding gate after being issued a new boarding pass. Right this moment, I’m enjoying roasted warm nuts, ice water in a glass, and a poofy pillow covering most of my lower body. Without sounding too pretentious, there is one tiny downside. All the detailed service brings a lot of unnecessary extras – Bose-shaped headphones (noise-cancelling?) toiletries case (Update: I wished I used the toothbrush), thermal blanket, all the extra food sitting in individual servers, and trays coming out of unseen orifices of the chair. I guess I’m just not used to the pampering. Then again, that’s what the three and a half feet of leg room is for.