APOKALIPSIS

This is the second time I’ve been overseas for the presidential election. I was studying abroad in Spain during the Bush-Kerry race, and the outcome of that contest completely flummoxed the Spaniards, who seemed either unable or unwilling to pronounce the word “Bush” without making it sound like a vulgar parody: BOOOSSH.
This year I’m in Australia, and I watched the final hours of the race unfold from the comfort of a budget airline enroute from Queensland to Adelaide. I was afraid that I would miss the tallies, countdowns and final speeches due to our travel plans bisecting TV coverage, but Virgin Blue surprisingly provides live television in every seat (for a small fee). As I traveled 30,000 above Australian desert and farms, I was glued to the little six-inch monitor, completely engrossed. This election was different, finally.
There were times when I wanted to stand up and cheer, but I was surrounded by strangers quietly reading, napping, or watching movies. Back in the States, people were staying up late shouting and hugging each other; on TV it was nighttime and the energy seemed electric. Here, it was mid-day, and I sat slightly reclined in a center seat. I felt like a spy, headphones buried in my ears, intercepting a foreign broadcast. I wonder if this is how the rest of the world processes news about America, as if it were a strange, continuous TV show.
I remember that the first time I saw Obama was on television at an airport. For the life of me, I can’t remember what airport it was, or even what country I would have been in. I guess it must have been during the 2004 Democrat National Convention when he gave that great, impassioned speech that sort of launched him into the spotlight. I didn’t agree with everything he said (mostly about stem cell research), but he made an striking impression. I do not remember what country I was in, who I was traveling with or where I was going, but I clearly recall sitting alone, with my bags at my feet, watching the news in some strange airport and thinking “It’s too bad this guy can’t run for president.”

I’m currently in the low-cost carrier airport in Kuala Lumpur. It is different than I expected, so in the off-chance that anyone who reads my blog is traveling to or from KL on Air Asia or another low-cost carrier, I will let you know what is up!
First of all, unlike most international airports, it is TINY. I have a pretty significant layover here, and was hoping to spend some time wandering around, browsing a wide assortment of chain restaurants and souvenir shops. Since my digital camera busted about a week and a half ago, I figured the cheapest place to buy a new one would be at a duty free shop at the airport in Malaysia’s capital city, and perhaps it would be in the main airport, such ambitions cannot be realized at the the low-cost carrier airport.
There are exactly four restaurants here. One is McDonald’s. One is a Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf. One is just called “Asian Food.” The only restaurant past security (where I am) is called “Cafe Expresso,” but it really serves the same thing as “Asian Food” except without the rice and noodles. You can get something called a “Hot Dog Bun” there … but you probably shouldn’t.
Actually, I might have to go buy one now just so I can report back about it. It could be great.
The airport is not all bad. There is free wi-fi, which can be more precious than gold (because who wants gold these days anyway??), but there are not any places to sit besides the restaurants, which are quite crowded and full of food. There are also not any readily available electrical outlets, which can be a problem when you are stuck in the airport for five or six hours and your computer is not from the future when batteries last for weeks and energy is pulled magically from the air (or the sun!).
The only reason I am even writing this is that I have commandeered a check-in station, which I’m pretty sure is reserved For Airline Personnel Only, but it was abandoned and I did ask ask first. I was very tempted to borrow a courtesy wheelchair (possibly the only courtesy wheelchair), roll up to the desk and make myself at home, but I’ll be sitting plenty long enough on the plane. And also: stealing wheelchairs is mean.
I’m running out of interesting things to tell you about this airport. It is possible that I did not have any to begin with! It is clean, well-lit and comfortably climate-controlled. There are a lot of people, but there seems to be enough space to fit them all comfortably. No babies are crying!
The only shops past security are a couple of duty-free stores that sell exclusively alcohol, cigarettes and chocolate. I have never understood duty-free stores. They are supposed to be cheap (I think?) but only seem to sell huge containers of things which seem overpriced to me. I tried to examine the whiskey to figure out just how many colors Johnny Walker brand whiskey comes in, but I just got confused. The best kind seems to cost about 200x more than the worst kind. To me, that seems to indicate that the worst kind is either really *really* bad, or the best kind is so immeasurably good that only the sort of person who enjoys paying zillions of dollars on booze would be able to distinguish it from the mid-range whiskey.
We’re boarding soon! Hoorah!
Soon I will write an entry that won’t be about waiting at the airport or getting a haircut! The earth will tremble!

Since I last wrote, I have been to Boston, Washington D.C., Chicago, Kansas City, across the American Southwest, and then back to my college town of Orange, California. Mind-numbing reports of my travels there are in progress and will be posted soon.
Right now I am in the Los Angeles airport, where I arrived at 9 a.m. this morning to catch my 11:35 flight to Taiwan. However, it turns out that my flight was not at 11:35 a.m., but 11:35 P.M. So I have been at the airport for TWELVE HOURS.
I’ve mostly been sorting through the 1500 photos that I’ve taken so far this month, and trying to distract myself enough that I don’t notice the slow passage of time.
Against my best judgment I had McDonald’s for dinner, since even though a small order of french fries was $2.50, it was still the cheapest thing in the international food court. I hadn’t made it two bites before I remembered the second reason I don’t eat at McDonald’s. The first, of course, is sticking it to The Man and not giving in to the billions of dollars of advertising designed to convince me to buy from a company that I do not respect or agree with (I failed on that count).
The second, and more visceral reason that I don’t eat at McDonald’s however, is that their food makes me feel sick. It only took two bites to realize this, but that was TWO BITES TOO LATE.
I need to head to my gate now, and am superstoked to be a). leaving this country and b). leaving this airport. All told, spending the day here has been a nice break from traveling, and I’m in the international terminal, it’s given me a taste of what it’s like to be surrounded by languages I don’t understand, before I am completely immersed in them.
It’s the tower of babel has just fallen, and everyone is about to be dispersed to different ends of the earth.

Back now from Wisconsin again. These last few weeks have brought back the feeling that I live only in airports, and everything that happens between the baggage claim and the concourse are like extended dream sequences. The flights and waiting rooms that are my duller waking hours keep everything separated — the dreams can never touch — and allow me to see everything in clearvision. After I’m swept up into a destination again, I can only remember past voyages with a vague uncertainty, like dreams within dreams.
The food usually isn’t as expensive there, though.

Here’s the rest of the photos from my trip to Oregon.

Me in an old family reunion shirt from Clear Lake. Walking to and from the beach and various cabins my aunts, uncles and cousins were staying in I often thought about how great it would be to live close to each other all the time, to share meals and look after kids, to go for walks with whoever else was out walking, and to join in kiteflying wherever we should find it. I knew that it probably couldn’t exist in the long-term, but for that weekend I couldn’t help but pretend.

Aunt Kathy, cousins Lisa and Matthew, and cousin Summer’s kids Simon and Serena in the background. yes, Oregon beaches are quite cold and Kathy is as bundled up as she could get trying to escape the wind. All the same, we spent a few hours lost in sandcastling. The little kids enlisted me to help build moats, but soon I was engrossed in the whole thing, carving walls and plateaus and watch towers in wide expansive curves.

meanwhile, the wind carved its own sorts of sand castles.

More pictures here: yahoo photo album. If anyone knows of a better way to share a lot of pictures, please let me know!