The Strange World of Flying

We just returned from San Francisco, where Captain America and I spent a wonderful six days with family and friends. We had absolutely no issues getting through security at the airport, our flight left on time, we flew Virgin America, which generally rocks, although we're totally not hip enough for it, and then we watched our plane circle over San Diego on the screen on our monitor.

And then they flew us back to LA.

And then they put us on a shuttle.

Which drove past our house to the San Diego airport.

Where we took a cab back to our house.

Successfully tripling the time it takes to get from San Francisco to San Diego.

We were stoked. One less thing on the bucket list. You know what would have been even better? If we flew to Chicago first and got stuck in a snowstorm.

Alas, it was foggy in San Diego. I thought planes can land in the fog, but our pilot explained that they need a mile of visibility for instrument landing, and they only had a quarter of a mile. So I guess I'm glad they took us to LA, as the San Diego airport is apparently not the easiest to land in, even in the best of conditions, what with the buildings and the bay and all.

So, you can imagine the (slight) ironic humor I felt after having boarded said shuttle and proceeding to spend the next 30 minutes driving out of LAX, when I read in Justine:

So I made a sort of inner surrender to the situation, lit a cigarette, and watched the long dissolving strip of the Corniche flow past us.

If only we had a water pipe. Inshallah.