Here.
Upon touchdown I feel a good 5 or 10 years younger, and not just because the bumpy puddle-jumper was a little nerve-wracking. I feel younger because as I look outside, walking up the jetway to the CPT airport, it feels almost like Tucson, the place where I spent most of my childhood. It is hot, 80 perhaps? A little humid, palm trees and cacti are in sight. Strangely familiar.
As soon as I enter the restroom I remember exactly where I am, though. It is overwhelmingly hot and humid inside the restroom, no ventilation. As I open the stall-door I see the window that has been propped open for airflow. Preventing me from jumping out that window is a heaping pile of barbed wire. Interesting.
I collect my baggage from the carrousel and head through arrivals. I look to absorb everything. It was just the airport, but it certainly seemed like an important task. The menial things like the billboards and the cars, looking for clues about how to interact and relate. The Cape Flats, heartbreaking shantytowns that span for miles. I pass a real nuclear power plant, just like the one in the Simpsons. Everywhere, I look and absorb, looking for clues. My neck is soon sore.
