My journey begins on August 25th at 4 P.M. I had just finished packing what seemed to be my entire life into two, medium sized luggage bags and one back pack. I still fear that I may have over-packed. I pulled the car into the hotel and parked in front of the front doors. The Indian man, who had been living in 101 with his wife and daughter, then proceeded to pack their luggage in the back of the car. We, my mom, my two sisters, and I, were going to take them to the train station on our way to the air port. Our car was meant for four passengers and a driver. We had the four of us, plus the three of them. For those of you who are a little slower at math than others, that’s more than five people. It was a very cozy car ride to Albany, thankfully a relatively short one. We then began what I thought was a long journey to New York City, I know now that was nothing. After we found Katelynn at Laguardia airport, we found a hotel near JFK to shower and sleep for a few short hours. Those five hours in that hotel room seemed to be the longest hours of my life. I lay in bed next to my sister exhausted but too nervous and excited to sleep. Finally the alarm went off. It was 4:30 and time for us to go.
As the sun began its slow creep across the New York City horizon, I began my ascent towards a frightening, exciting, and chaotic nine months. I did not notice the poetic beauty of this situation, however, because just at that moment, I had begun to read the letters my sisters had given me. I met this very nice flight attendant who I believe to be Indian. When he saw that I was sitting in a row by myself, he offered for me to sit in one of the many empty seats. Unfortunately for me, I had just finished reading Corrine’s letter and was bawling my eyes out. I managed to smile and choke out an “I’m ok”. I’m not sure if I was saying that to him, or more to myself. Either way, he was satisfied with my response and continued on with trying to please the remainder of the customers. As we pulled away from the gate, I glanced back to the terminal windows, knowing my mom was standing there, watching me go, and crying as if I had just died. A few weeks prior to my leaving, Mrs. Capozza informed me that no amount of tears would convince the airport staff to allow mothers to see their children off, she knew from experience. Mrs. Capozza, I wish to inform you that you stand corrected. Somehow, my mother, Stacia Barkley, managed to finagle a pass that allowed her to escort me to my gate. It can be done; you just have to know how to do it. So there I was, sitting in 26A thinking about how my mom could convince a well renowned scientist that the sky is blue because it reflects off of the grass, when it hit me: I’m going to Thailand. Then I fell asleep. I can’t even describe to you how tired I was at this point. I woke up to strange noises and found an Indian woman moving the armrests in my row so she can lie down. I watched her for a little bit, then continued to sleep. I woke up every so often with her using my arm as a head rest, but I was so disoriented as to where I was, how long I had been there, and how much longer I would be there, I continued to sleep until we were about to land. My plane ride, as was the majority of my trip here, was so surreal that I still feel as though I dreamed the whole thing.
So far my most embarrassing moment of my trip occurred on my flight from Los Angeles to Tokyo. I was still tired from my flight over and was not paying very much attention, which seems to be a necessity when flying. As I walked onto the plane, there were two aisles, one closer to me, and one further away. I watched a group of military boys take the aisle closest to me, then a small family took the aisle further away. Naturally, I thought the aisle closest to me was for first class and military and the aisle further away was for business class, so I followed the small family. I walked down the aisles searching for twenty-six. For the first eighteen I thought odds were on the left and evens were on the right, don’t ask me why. I realized I was wrong and assumed A, B, and C was on the left and E, F, G, and H were on the right, again, don’t ask me why. I got to what I believed to be my seat and waited as the nice man who spoke no English rush to get out an allow me to get in without causing too much of a disturbance. He then offered to help me put my bags in the over-head compartment. I told him it was ok, that my bags fit nicely under the seat. Perhaps if I had put my bags in the over-head compartment I would have noticed that I was sitting in seat K and not A. I did not notice I was in the wrong seat until a mother and her son arrived and she frantically tried to figure out why there was no seat for her next to her son. Of course she spoke no English and I had no idea what she was saying. The kind man sitting next to me looked at my ticket, laughed, then pointed across the plane “You over there,” he said. Oh boy. I had to wrestle my bag out from underneath the seat because, of course it magically didn’t fit now that I was frantic and embarrassed. I then had to try to go against the current of weary people trying to get to their seats so that I could get to that now taunting aisle. I found my seat, this time without problem, and squeezed my way in past two other girls. I shoved my bag under the seat, gave it a good kick for misbehaving, then proceeded to fall asleep, again.
Layovers could possibly be the worst and the best thing. They are nice in the fact that I get a chance to move around and stretch my legs without the fear of turbulence causing me to come crashing to the ground. They can also be very lonely and very boring. As far as I can tell, Tokyo is a very nice city; however all that I have seen of it is the airport. It’s quiet and clean. So far the most exciting part of this airport was the bathroom. First of all, the stalls are more like closets. The walls and the doors go all the way up to the ceiling. The other exciting part of the bathrooms would be the handle of all the controls on the left. The first time I saw a buday I was confused, but this toilet had one built in. You could also adjust the intensity of the water spray as well as odor absorption. Just as in one of those infomercials, that’s not all. There was also a button to play a mock flushing sound to muffle any other noises coming from your stall. For all of those self-conscious peers out there, Tokyo is the place to go. Just in case you can’t read English, Japanese, or Chinese, they have pictures on the buttons to illustrate what each button does. The main problem I have with my layover at the moment is I am very thirsty, but everything requires Japanese currency, which I do not have. I only have two and a half hours to ride it out. Another downside to these lovely layovers is international connecting flights here have security checks. As I’m standing in line, thinking I’m glad I went to the bathroom prior to this, I watched three happy Japanese security officers checking people through. Chatting, laughing, and taking their time. I apparently did not get the memo that the shortest line is the line with the grumpy security officer who wants to get everything done as quickly as possible. I get to him, hand my passport and boarding pass, all smiles. He did not reciprocate what-so-ever. Instead he frowns, puts my laptop in a basket, glares as I take off my backpack, then my jacket, and then my vest laden with electronics, letters, and other random items, then somehow his glare deepens as I realize my vest is still attached to me because my iPod is in the pocket, but my headphones are around my neck. Yet another “duh” moment for Courtney Yonce. I guarantee it will not be the last.
I arrived in Bangkok, Thailand 10:30 PM, almost 50 minutes early. I thought this would mean I would have to wait for my host family for 50 minutes. Oh, was I wrong. It turns out, my baggage claim was all the way across the airport. That took me about fifteen minutes. I then had to go through immigration, which took about another ten minutes, simply waiting in line. What I thought would be the hardest and most nerve-wracking experience of the airport was the easiest. To get through immigration I simply handed the woman my passport and paper, smiled, accepted my passport back, and continued walking. Next was the baggage claim. When I found the board which listed which flights would be on which belts, my flight was listed under belt 18. I briskly walked to belt 18 and waited there for about five or so minutes, wondering where my luggage was. After becoming quite panicked, there was an announcement. They announced that passengers from flight 881 Tokyo could find their luggage on belt 15. What a relief. I found both of my bags quickly and pulled them off of the belt. I then had to figure out how to get out of the airport. I must have looked very lost and confused because a woman came up to me and said "Do you know where you are going? Do you need help?" I asked her, very stupidly, "How do I get outside?" She smiled and pointed to a big sign above my head that read "Way out" in huge, black letters. I thanked her and did my walk of shame as she laughed. As I stepped into the main area, I noticed people holding up signs with names on them, what I noticed most, however, was Big and Finn standing on their tip-toes waving at me. I couldn't help but smile. I met them at the meeting point and was greeted by my host dad, his sister, his niece, Big, Finn, and another man whose name I cannot recall (yipes!). We all lined up, held up a huge banner that said something in Thai, it took many pictures. During our hour drive home, I talked a little with Big, until he fell asleep, and with Finn. These past two days have been very long, tiring, confusing, and exciting. I must now get some long desired sleep.
As the sun began its slow creep across the New York City horizon, I began my ascent towards a frightening, exciting, and chaotic nine months. I did not notice the poetic beauty of this situation, however, because just at that moment, I had begun to read the letters my sisters had given me. I met this very nice flight attendant who I believe to be Indian. When he saw that I was sitting in a row by myself, he offered for me to sit in one of the many empty seats. Unfortunately for me, I had just finished reading Corrine’s letter and was bawling my eyes out. I managed to smile and choke out an “I’m ok”. I’m not sure if I was saying that to him, or more to myself. Either way, he was satisfied with my response and continued on with trying to please the remainder of the customers. As we pulled away from the gate, I glanced back to the terminal windows, knowing my mom was standing there, watching me go, and crying as if I had just died. A few weeks prior to my leaving, Mrs. Capozza informed me that no amount of tears would convince the airport staff to allow mothers to see their children off, she knew from experience. Mrs. Capozza, I wish to inform you that you stand corrected. Somehow, my mother, Stacia Barkley, managed to finagle a pass that allowed her to escort me to my gate. It can be done; you just have to know how to do it. So there I was, sitting in 26A thinking about how my mom could convince a well renowned scientist that the sky is blue because it reflects off of the grass, when it hit me: I’m going to Thailand. Then I fell asleep. I can’t even describe to you how tired I was at this point. I woke up to strange noises and found an Indian woman moving the armrests in my row so she can lie down. I watched her for a little bit, then continued to sleep. I woke up every so often with her using my arm as a head rest, but I was so disoriented as to where I was, how long I had been there, and how much longer I would be there, I continued to sleep until we were about to land. My plane ride, as was the majority of my trip here, was so surreal that I still feel as though I dreamed the whole thing.
So far my most embarrassing moment of my trip occurred on my flight from Los Angeles to Tokyo. I was still tired from my flight over and was not paying very much attention, which seems to be a necessity when flying. As I walked onto the plane, there were two aisles, one closer to me, and one further away. I watched a group of military boys take the aisle closest to me, then a small family took the aisle further away. Naturally, I thought the aisle closest to me was for first class and military and the aisle further away was for business class, so I followed the small family. I walked down the aisles searching for twenty-six. For the first eighteen I thought odds were on the left and evens were on the right, don’t ask me why. I realized I was wrong and assumed A, B, and C was on the left and E, F, G, and H were on the right, again, don’t ask me why. I got to what I believed to be my seat and waited as the nice man who spoke no English rush to get out an allow me to get in without causing too much of a disturbance. He then offered to help me put my bags in the over-head compartment. I told him it was ok, that my bags fit nicely under the seat. Perhaps if I had put my bags in the over-head compartment I would have noticed that I was sitting in seat K and not A. I did not notice I was in the wrong seat until a mother and her son arrived and she frantically tried to figure out why there was no seat for her next to her son. Of course she spoke no English and I had no idea what she was saying. The kind man sitting next to me looked at my ticket, laughed, then pointed across the plane “You over there,” he said. Oh boy. I had to wrestle my bag out from underneath the seat because, of course it magically didn’t fit now that I was frantic and embarrassed. I then had to try to go against the current of weary people trying to get to their seats so that I could get to that now taunting aisle. I found my seat, this time without problem, and squeezed my way in past two other girls. I shoved my bag under the seat, gave it a good kick for misbehaving, then proceeded to fall asleep, again.
Layovers could possibly be the worst and the best thing. They are nice in the fact that I get a chance to move around and stretch my legs without the fear of turbulence causing me to come crashing to the ground. They can also be very lonely and very boring. As far as I can tell, Tokyo is a very nice city; however all that I have seen of it is the airport. It’s quiet and clean. So far the most exciting part of this airport was the bathroom. First of all, the stalls are more like closets. The walls and the doors go all the way up to the ceiling. The other exciting part of the bathrooms would be the handle of all the controls on the left. The first time I saw a buday I was confused, but this toilet had one built in. You could also adjust the intensity of the water spray as well as odor absorption. Just as in one of those infomercials, that’s not all. There was also a button to play a mock flushing sound to muffle any other noises coming from your stall. For all of those self-conscious peers out there, Tokyo is the place to go. Just in case you can’t read English, Japanese, or Chinese, they have pictures on the buttons to illustrate what each button does. The main problem I have with my layover at the moment is I am very thirsty, but everything requires Japanese currency, which I do not have. I only have two and a half hours to ride it out. Another downside to these lovely layovers is international connecting flights here have security checks. As I’m standing in line, thinking I’m glad I went to the bathroom prior to this, I watched three happy Japanese security officers checking people through. Chatting, laughing, and taking their time. I apparently did not get the memo that the shortest line is the line with the grumpy security officer who wants to get everything done as quickly as possible. I get to him, hand my passport and boarding pass, all smiles. He did not reciprocate what-so-ever. Instead he frowns, puts my laptop in a basket, glares as I take off my backpack, then my jacket, and then my vest laden with electronics, letters, and other random items, then somehow his glare deepens as I realize my vest is still attached to me because my iPod is in the pocket, but my headphones are around my neck. Yet another “duh” moment for Courtney Yonce. I guarantee it will not be the last.
I arrived in Bangkok, Thailand 10:30 PM, almost 50 minutes early. I thought this would mean I would have to wait for my host family for 50 minutes. Oh, was I wrong. It turns out, my baggage claim was all the way across the airport. That took me about fifteen minutes. I then had to go through immigration, which took about another ten minutes, simply waiting in line. What I thought would be the hardest and most nerve-wracking experience of the airport was the easiest. To get through immigration I simply handed the woman my passport and paper, smiled, accepted my passport back, and continued walking. Next was the baggage claim. When I found the board which listed which flights would be on which belts, my flight was listed under belt 18. I briskly walked to belt 18 and waited there for about five or so minutes, wondering where my luggage was. After becoming quite panicked, there was an announcement. They announced that passengers from flight 881 Tokyo could find their luggage on belt 15. What a relief. I found both of my bags quickly and pulled them off of the belt. I then had to figure out how to get out of the airport. I must have looked very lost and confused because a woman came up to me and said "Do you know where you are going? Do you need help?" I asked her, very stupidly, "How do I get outside?" She smiled and pointed to a big sign above my head that read "Way out" in huge, black letters. I thanked her and did my walk of shame as she laughed. As I stepped into the main area, I noticed people holding up signs with names on them, what I noticed most, however, was Big and Finn standing on their tip-toes waving at me. I couldn't help but smile. I met them at the meeting point and was greeted by my host dad, his sister, his niece, Big, Finn, and another man whose name I cannot recall (yipes!). We all lined up, held up a huge banner that said something in Thai, it took many pictures. During our hour drive home, I talked a little with Big, until he fell asleep, and with Finn. These past two days have been very long, tiring, confusing, and exciting. I must now get some long desired sleep.
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