I'm writing this post in the Greenport bar in the Istanbul airport, sitting here with my new colleague Dave, who I met in the LA airport two flights (and many, many hours) ago. He's drinking a Fez beer. Trevor and I called our last cat Fez.
In addition to jet lag, a crusty nose, swollen ankles, staticky (yet somehow also greasy) hair, and frayed nerves over a very important bag that Lufthansa made me gate check (and Turkish Airlines swears is now checked through to T'bilisi), I'm feeling pretty good. It was surreal going through LAX yesterday with what appeared to be every security guard and police officer scanning the crowds, and trying not to think about that horrible day 10 years ago as we lifted off and touched down four times.
I'm hoping that I left my tears behind when Trevor walked away in the Columbia airport (cashmere has no absorbent properties, by the way) and am ready to step forward into this new, excellent adventure.
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