A post?! For real?!

Yikes...I really am like the worst blogger ever. I even included my blog in my Christmas letter this year (with a warning that it's rarely updated) - and I haven't posted a single thing since before that letter went out.

So...right now I'm stuck in the airport in Paris, waiting for a flight to Serbia. Crazy, huh? You don't know the half of it. I was supposed to be doing all of this yesterday.

Here's the story, morning-glory: I made it safe & sound all the way to Chicago, where I was supposed to catch my next flight. Being the naive first-time International traveller that I am, I was completely oblivious to the fact that you catch Air France flights in a completely different terminal. Instead of high-kicking it over there, I ate some McDonalds, surfed the net (it's crazily expensive in airports, peeps - I'm being self-indulgent and it has to stop), and responsibly checked the flight boards for my gate assignment. By the time I was freaked out enough to ask someone, I had about half an hour to get all the way to another terminal, hurry through security, and run to the gate...

...to find out I had just missed the final boarding call.

Commence the horror of having to get my flight re-routed. Air France said to go to the ticket counter, so that's what I did...and no one was there. One phone call later and I was dragging around about a hundred pounds of luggage (mostly clothes and chocolate) to another terminal and checking at the Delta ticket counter. Delta told me to talk to my booking service, who then told me I had to talk to Delta again. At this point about three hours have passed.

What's a girl to do? Apparently you need evil witch facilities to get your flight re-routed promptly...and I'm sorely lacking in them, I think. I cried. I called my mom. And my sister & brother-in-law. I paid the ridiculous airport internet fee and skyped. I cried some more. I spent an hour on the phone with three different Delta agents (who were all lovely and responded well to my distraught pleas for assistance) who managed to get me re-routed with only a day of travel time lost. Kathleen, Sue, and Kathy: you saved the day!

To my awesome sister Jess: thanks for booking me a hotel that night. Crashing into bed hasn't felt that good in a long time.

My first International flight was spent attempting to sleep. You get a pillow that looks like it came from a doll hospital (it works surprisingly well) and a blanket which resembles a sarong made out of T-shirt cloth. Cozy. Fabulously, however, there was an empty seat between me and the other person in my row - yay for a place to dump all the junk you don't really need to bring with you on a plane! Also, it was a nice place for elbows.

Dinner was lovely (a sort of unidentifiable mass of pasta, pesto, and cheese - but it was tasty); breakfast was swallowed quickly enough that it didn't have to be tasted (it involved an egg).

My only other comment for now is that I'm surprised at how cold I am. The flight was cold; the airport is cold - and I'm wearing a wool coat. The oncology nurse in me briefly suggests that maybe I'm going to spike a temp...not likely, but that's one of the first things that came to mind. ; )