Early morning flights meant we had to be up by 7:30am and out of the apartment by 9. Megan had it worse though: up by 5am.
Fully packed and last-minute sweeps of the apartment done, I decided on a farewell photo of the living room. The light streaming through the window was beautiful this morning.
We hauled our exceedingly heavy suitcases down the narrow stairs. Trying to make as little noise as possible proved most difficult.
Luckily, right across the street from us were two parked cabs. The first cab driver passed on taking us all the way to Newark, and the second cab driver said he would take us, but only if we paid cash. Another $90 cab ride for us. Ugh. We probably could have taken transit as Megan did, who had texted me to reassure us that the trip was actually quite easy, but we really weren't feeling up to lugging our suitcases all over Manhattan, especially with Sue's hand still in recovery mode.
Our cab ride took us past the stomping grounds of my previous trip. I was saddened to see that the D'Agostino grocery store was now a Duane Read, but the Morning Star diner was still around.
At the airport, Sue and I had to part ways after checking in. Our terminals were nowhere near one another, seeing as Sue booked a direct flight into Vancouver, and I still had a layover in Detroit before flying to Seattle. It would be a long, long day for me.
My food dreams came true at the Newark airport!
I was hungry and stuck between a non-existent breakfast and a lunch-hour flight, so I wandered around the terminal and found JavaMoon. Their slogan is "where food dreams come true morning noon and night" (no punctuations). I had a massive chicken caesar salad and a chai latte, which actually tied me over for almost the entire day.
Arrival at Detroit airport. And so begins my three-hour layover. The plus side? The Detroit airport is quite pretty. Or rather, the evidently new terminal area I was in was very clean, white, and modern: a treat for my eyes.
People watching, a book, and my laptop could only relieve some of my boredom. I started feeling restless after a couple hours, and the terminal was too loud and crowded for me to nap. There seemed to have been a huge delay in flights and my flight was overbooked.
It would've been nice to nap on the plane, but I got seated next to two people who'd met in the terminal and switched seats to sit with one another, so they were chatty-chattersons throughout the flight. Did I mention drunk chatty-chattersons? They were loading up on the booze and the guy next to me decided to order some rum with his coke. The smell of that alcohol, in such close quarters coupled with my desire to rest, almost made me hurl.
In the SeaTac airport, I had another two hours to kill before having to board a lightrail train into Seattle for my bus back to Vancouver. I picked up some essential Cheez-Its and found a secluded corner to plug my laptop in.
Seattle's new lightrail is so convenient and affordable! For $2.50 I was able to get from the airport to the bus terminal in central Seattle. (Hey, TransLink in Vancouver, get a clue!)
Unfortunately, the station I got off at looked pretty sketch at night. I wasn't positive where I was going, I'd only a rough idea of the direction based on maps I'd studied online. Reaching street level, I saw the bus and train depot across the street, but couldn't see how to get down there, and there was no one I could ask.
As I rolled my giant suitcase down the street, a man appeared from around the corner. He seemed to sense that I was not sure of my whereabouts and asked if I was heading to the bus and train terminal. I said 'yes' and he told me I was going the right way and just needed to turn the corner and take the flight of stairs down. He was super jovial and asked where I was coming from and going to. I am so thankful that he'd turned up when he did and that while I was following his directions, I didn't run into some crazed rapist lurking in the dark corner. That route down to the depot was very poorly lit and secluded. Also, the flight of stairs was LONG. I almost felt embarrassed by the racket my suitcase was making.
I went into the (stale, old) terminal building to print my bus tickets and was again, faced with a lack of directional signage. Contrast the aforementioned jovial man who'd offered his assistance to this: I approached a man standing outside, evidently waiting for something, which I assumed was the bus that I was catching (it was Sunday and this was the last service of the night), but he could not offer any help, only answer 'no' to all my questions in a curt manner. Annoyed, I approached some Japanese girls instead who were at least able to tell me where I ought to wait for the bus.
I finally reached the bus terminal in Vancouver well past 12:30am, where I was attack-hugged by my boyfriend.
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