[This is the last of a series of entries I wrote in a travel diary I kept during the summer of 1999, when I went on a two-week long trip to Europe with people from my high school French class. Thankfully, many friends and my one-day husband were included in that group. Sadly, I have not yet had a chance to get back to Europe again, but I will again someday. I still have a desire to live there, though emigration is a hard thing to accomplish in any country. And I still don’t like planes. — Present-day Carrie]
Hey, I’m 39,000 feet over New Jersey. Or Pennsylvania. Hard to tell; the map has no state lines. Watching the channel on the plane that shows where we are & how fast & how high up, so forth & so on. Should land in Atlanta in about an hour & a half.
We left the hotel at 4:45 a.m. Italian time. Yawn. Flew from there to Gatwick in England in a 737 (very small plane*) & now we’re on the magnificent 777 from London to Atlanta. I like these planes, they give you blankets & drinks & food. Had salmon for lunch. It was quite good actually. Lunch by Italian time though. My body thinks its 8:35 pm, but in Atlanta it’s 1:35 pm, & in Birmingham it’s 12:35. Easier to recooperate from the jet lag going this way though.
Now I think we’re over Maryland.
Definitely going to have to go to Europe again sometime. Now I know more what to expect, & what I like and don’t like.
Gonna stay in Switzerland for at least a week next time. Just ride those boats. & I would go to Italy if I could get an air conditioned hotel. It’s awful hot there.
Ug, I think I’m gonna try for some sleep here. My body clock is so wacked out**.
*Freakin’ puddle jumper. Never again.
**Never slept on the plane, either way. What if, before I closed my eyes, that was my last conscious moment before the plane crashed while I was sleeping?