Dear TASPers,
Voila. Here I am in yet another rental car, heading for the hills of Pennsylvania a mere twelve hours (almost exactly) since departing Aberdeen. Ratses.
The journey was an interesting one, though perhaps not as interesting as one might have hoped under the circumstances. They didn’t even search us again in London before we got on the plane to America. I was most put out. Our departure from the Aberdeen airport was far more eventful. After my father figured out how to work one of those self-check-in kiosks (I proudly announced that I had already used one, upon my departure from Saint Louis), we proceeded to the end of the queue for security. The line stretched the entire length of the airport and wrapped itself around the luggage carousel. Excessive queues have become a feature of British airports since the terror alert, as half of all passengers are now to be body searched. My brother and I were amongst the unlucky fifty percent, much to the bemusement of my father (whose rather ferocious title “Professor of Barbarians” did not seem to phase the security personnel) and my mother (who can be described by the even more terrifying sobriquet, “Scottish mother”). (I had no idea Aberdeen security had been alerted to my serious coffee addiction and potential for prostitution and genocide.) My mother’s handbag was also analysed, though I’m not surprised: what with the amount she squeezed into it, it really did look as though it were about to explode.
One of the benefits of these new security measures is that everyone now arrives well in advance of his or her flight, so both our planes were able to leave slightly early today. Indeed, we were among the last to board the Aberdeen flight, even though my family are almost (though not quite) as paranoid about security as I am. (My parents woke me at 5:00 this morning to leave for a 7:00 flight, which I thought was leaving it awfully late...)
At Heathrow there was plenty of time for some final shopping. I thought of the TASPers as I browsed through Harrods’ selection of scarves and vainly sought for TASP favourites such as Burnt by the Sun and Before the Rain in HMV (a very nice CD/DVD store, though rather deficient in the Russian and Macedonian/Albanian departments). We then boarded the plane to America ( they didn’t search us again, as I noted earlier, although there were two very visible security guards at the bottom of the steps leading up the airplane). I didn’t notice, but my father said that the stewards and stewardesses looked very nervous throughout the flight.
The flight itself was quite nice. The captain told us before take-off that he “didn’t propose to disturb” us until we were about to land. What phrasing! I was most impressed. A chap a few rows ahead of us had ordered a vegan meal, and I became quite nostalgic as I remembered Ryan and Miranda and their vegan adventures. Alas, I was not near enough to see what his special dinner was, but for his sake I hoped it wasn’t Portabello mushroom. I thought of Ryan again when Denver appeared on one of the maps on the television (now British Airways planes are fitted with special tracking devices that appear on one of the TV channels), and I thought of Jordan as we glimpsed Manhattan through the clouds. How I miss you all! Today I had some peace and quiet to look at Facebook without nosey librarians trying to zap me with their killer stares (they seemed to have some sort of vendetta against teenage bloggers with American (or at least distinctly foreign) accents). I saw all the lovely pictures, and reread all your lovely comments and posts, and missed you all awfully. How I wish I were in the lounge again! Vous me manquez tellement, mes choux. (By the way, Manasi, what is a chinchilla?)
We landed, got past customs (a miracle in itself, considering my parents, hardcore coffee drinkers, had smuggled several packets of Sainsbury's finest in the suitcases), and are now here. (Well, I'm actually at home now, but I was in the car at the time.) Ahh, America: where all the wrong people take off their shirts, eh Mina and Tracy? (An example just passed in his pickup truck.) I am glad that I'm back in a time zone where I shall be able to communicate more regularly. I have also figured out how to comment on the blog. Whut! Whut! I am most pleased.
Now, alas, I must depart, and pray that the silly computer doesn't eat the formatting (again). I hope you are all enjoying the last few days of summer/ the first few days of school. I don't know how its going to work when I get back to school: I don't think things can ever be the same now that I've been to TASP and met such wonderful TASPers... It's odd: at first I didn't want to show anyone my pictures of TASP, and became quite territorial when my little brother opened my CD of TASP photos without my express permission. Now all I want to do is talk about TASP and the TASPers and bore everyone (including my dog) to death in a deluge of anecdotes about Breanna's hair, Lynn's glare, Tyler's taste in films, Kathryn's laugh, Spencer's Andrew Jackson fetish... Ahh, me. But now I must away. I'm sorry I haven't been so good about communicating up until now, and I promise that I'll do better. A bientot!
Alison
P. S. When I said there was "sex" at Hogwarts, I should have used the term "eros." I was thinking of "sex" more in terms of hormone-driven behavior that at TASP would have been deemed totally past the Walter Mondale-proof fence. (After all, in Saint Louis a mere high-five could cause a factotal eyebrow to arch skyward in horror.) Then again, you never know: the sixth Harry Potter was rather steamy...