Three Months in Albion

19.6.12 (Seattle, at departure terminal) - I've never been to another airport like Seattle-Tacoma International, and I've been to a great many airports in my lifetime. There are the monster airports with their own miniature economies; there's the amusement park of Atlanta, where large satellite terminals are connected by the sinews of conveniently placed trains, the vast vaulted ceilings and cool tube passages at O'Hare, and the metropolis of Los Angeles International that my mother used to dread taking us to (I don't blame her), that linoleum labyrinth that guides you along duty free shops, gilt and illuminated by glass tubing, vegan burger grills with cartoon happy meals dancing next to neon lettering, the novelty jewelry stands selling paste at such an inflated price as to cause even the staunchest libertarian to wince. The smaller airports are more manageable, but you lose the feeling of being lost, of being part of that corporate mall culture we're so used to in the States.

Sea-Tac is a wannabe among its larger, more well-known brothers. It wishes it were bigger, had more customers to drive the rumor of traffic along the I-5 corridor. There are two gate satellites which you arrive at via underground tram, but the airport itself is not terribly large, surprising for a port that services Seattle, Tacoma, Olympia, and the rest of the surrounding area. It's no JFK, but it does it's job. There are a few shops, but they're scattered, probably due to the ongoing gate construction that's taking up a large portion of the S Gate. I'm currently at my terminal at S Gate, arrived at by one of the aforementioned underground trams. There are very few people here, but it's beginning to fill up. I arrived almost three hours early for my flight and glad I did. As of this posting, I have about an hour left before we depart.

There are several worries that have been going through my head during the planning of this trip. What if my host family forgets that I'm coming? I'd sent out an email a few days ago, but received no reply. The cliched list of "things that can go wrong" fills the mind like a headache and there are few ways at an airport to relieve it.

I've been upgraded to an aisle seat. This isn't really an upgrade. I've been moved to the tail of the plane, so that there's no possible way my headphones will be able to penetrate the decibels produced by a tail-mounted jet engine. I take my new ticket and tuck it into my passport, folded so not to crease the scannable barcode.