What essentials do I need for life?
Feeling too lazy to send off my stuff and not wanting to drag a giant suitcase, I packed just a few clothes and my laptop. Done and dusted with my moving prep in the time it takes to pack a morning work bag. Though it’s a hassle, I booked my flight, hotel, and even the shuttle from the airport to the hotel. Since I get lost easily, I needed that peace of mind by planning my transport to the final destination. I’ll find a place to stay within the week at the hotel. It’s always easy to make plans.
Finally, the day to set off. I usually arrive super early or fashionably late, but this time I got to the airport three hours early. I only remember rushing in late before, but now I have over an hour to kill. Sitting for an hour is tough, and imagining enduring more than ten hours on a plane is already wearing me out 😩. Yet, once on the plane, after a nap and two meals, here I am in San Francisco. Time moves at its own pace, never matching my expectations.
San Francisco International Airport (SFO) feels like an old medieval town, with its vintage vibe and the people and shops around. It’s charmingly worn, though it can’t quite compare to European airports that feel like relics.
Most flights to the US are large, with more passengers than you’d expect, so once you land, just head straight to immigration without looking back. A bathroom stop might mean despair as you face a line of passengers snaking like a boa 😱. I made it through what felt like an endless immigration line, only to step outside and fail to find my shuttle’s pickup spot. Even with a map, it was hopeless to expect I’d find it just by reading a couple of sentences. Thankfully, an information desk was nearby, and they kindly helped out.
“Upstairs, cross the road.”
Thanks to the cool black staffer’s concise directions, I finally found the shuttle waiting area. After a quick ID check and boarding, I was so relieved I drifted off to sleep. Waking up, I found myself already in San Francisco’s city center. The streets and buildings, like the airport, are just the right mix of clean and charmingly old.
Dragging my two turtle-like suitcases, I strolled into the hotel lobby. Presenting my reservation at the front desk, I requested a room with a view. The receptionist handed me a key with a smile, and when I got to my room, all I could see was a construction site. Now I get why he smiled. But honestly, it didn’t matter if the view was a construction site or a celestial bridge, because I crashed onto the bed and slept for three solid hours. Maybe I slept because the view was so dull… I can’t really remember. 😴
Anyway, I made it safely to San Francisco.
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