please don't cry

British Airways was late leaving Senegal on Thursday. I had actually arrived there two hours before, waking up at 3:30 a.m. and rolling out of bed and getting ready to go in 6 minutes when the taxi driver knocked. Gora had arranged the taxi, and Maguey had tried to make me upset about it, talking all kinds of trash about how Gora can't be trusted. Um, then why did you hire him as my teacher? None of that matters - while Gora himself didn't show up (he'd told the taxi driver he was riding with us to the airport), everything else about the taxi ride was perfect.

But BA was late. I asked a flight attendant halfway through the flight what to do - if there were any way to expedite through the lines to get to my gate on time. I had a two hour layover, but that's insufficient at the hellhole that is Heathrow. Why? Because you have to take a shuttle to a terminal and walk the width of the British Isle and take another shuttle and walk another continent and then stand in line for two hours waiting to go through security while the workers talk about their personal lives. Have I mentioned how much I hate Heathrow?

The flight attendant told me there was no way and it would have to be rescheduled.

I didn't believe him. So when we landed at 1:15, I still believed I could catch that 2:00 pm flight. So I ran over small children and the elderly, vaulting through the airport at Mach speed. I got to the security checkpoint and overcame my natural reluctance and asked for help. A woman was pointed out to me, and here was the beauty - when she saw my ticket she cut me to the front of the line of 1,000 travelers-a-waiting. I ran and ran and reached Virgin Atlantic desk with 17 minutes to spare ...

I said to the security guy there, now full of confidence at the wonders they can work, that I had a 2:00 flight to get on. "Oh, it's too late, you won't be able to get on."

"Please don't cry," he pleaded.

I wasn't crying; it's not my natural response. But as soon as he mentioned it, that sounded really good. I was so tired and the traveling wasn't even half over. I was hungry and needed caffeine.

The good news is, Virgin Atlantic has a flight every two hours. They rebooked me, and that gave me enough time to eat a $30 hamburger at TGIF and leisurely stroll to the flight.

I was a bit concerned about getting into NYC two hours later - I'm never thrilled about arriving someplace dark, and the shuttles stop running at 8 pm. But also getting so tired that I became rather Zen about it all. As I stood waiting for my bags at JFK before customs, a Lebanese woman beside me struck up a conversation. I asked if she knew how much a cab would cost to Manhattan, and the next thing I know a Belgian-South African woman behind me suggested we share a cab and everything worked out well.

I got to Kate's house at a fairly decent hour and she fed me yummy Chinese food as her cats entertained me. She said I look like me, just older. 23 years older, in fact. I think she's surprised that I turned out to be a fairly normal person, and we had a good time talking until late in the night.

NYC is great, and the bakery in Kate's building was amazing. Good thing I was there only one morning, or I would have gained 500 pounds trying everything.