An English Breakfast

Before takeoff at the Philadelphia airport terminal en route to Heathrow in London, England.
see all photos »

A rough landing, at least according to seasoned traveler's.  To me, I was stunned by the smooth entrance into the airport.  After a night of crossing the Atlantic Ocean, I was in disbelief of the modern marvel of the commerical airline.  Everyone's naysaying about flights before the trip was all for naught.  I enjoyed the flight immensely (on British Airways) and the staff was tres considerate.  Every need was met (although, I had few) and the flight was without any problem.  The flight over gave me much time to get to know one of my fellow Ghanaian colleagues, whose interest in art and art history perked my own interest.  The morning consisted of her drawing my face on a piece of notepad paper.  It was an exhiliarting experience.  We spoke at length about our dreams for Africa and its dreams for us.  Why were we so intrigued by the grand continent, why were we going?  It was on this trip of seven hours that I realized traveling was a must, a future requirement, not a whimsical matter.  Sunrise in London was beautiful.  That was what met us as we descended from the sky.  Already the lag of the time changes was getting to me, and most of all I felt the stuble of not shaving.  The airport, however, was beyond inviting.  The onrushing feeling that I felt as travelers shopped, ate, and ran for flights pumped the blood through my veins faster than ever.  I was on another continent and even if it was in an airport terminal, I didn't care.  The shopping around me was the first order of business.  A group of us toured the place (including the bathrooms, where condoms were apparently the item of choice).  The first thing I recognized was the currency exchange.  For every dollar, we had to pay over 2 pounds.  But, we didn't care so much as we found a restaurant at the far end of the terminal: Garfunkel's.  An English breakfast was in order and was it ever so.  We savored every last bit and we absorbed the ambience quite well.  For some odd reason, only after a week with these people, the shared experiences we were having was only aided by the restaurant's strong sitcom-like appeal.  Suddenly, I felt as if I was in a coffeehouse on the American television hit, "Friends".  As we  shared stories over our past travel experiences, I began to realize that our next flight, the second leg of the journey to Africa was about to begin.  I had little time for England to sink in before we were off again, off over Europe and finally over northern Africa.  Despite our height in the sky, I was certain I saw the orange of the Sahara desert as I consulted my map on the screen in front of me on the airplane.  Time was lost on me now, and I never felt better.

Time was lost on me now, and I never felt better.