Then there was light. And, sometime soon thereafter, we found ourselves in an airport, having just checked our bags, assaulted with duty free enticements - and other familiar airport experiences - roaming around with the important task of locating gate number 31. We walked, and turned, and stood on moving walkways, walked some more and finally found our designated gate, at the ass end of some terminal where a never-before-known airline, Etihad, rented docking space. After locating the gate, we wisely purchased a few bottles of water and had a snack. It was late and things were closing. ETD 10:50 PM. We ate, drank perused lonely planet. With half an hour to spare, we endeavored to locate a few seats near our gate. Seated happily, the decision was made, unanimously, to chronicle our journey from the beginning with a picture under our gate number '31' as per the instruction on our tickets. A quick favor asked of a neighbor, 2 takes, and we had the desired photo. Sweet. Just then, it occurred to Andrew that there was no activity at gate 31. Nothing. He looked over and saw gate 32. There, people had gathered, things were happening, attendants attending, checkers checking and security securing. "Uh, excuse me. But can you tell at which gate flight 118 is supposed to board. Because, I was under the impression it was gate 31, as per the writing on my boarding pass. you see?" The taller of the two travelers inquired with a tinge of annoyance, just enough to be perceived but not enough to insult (he reasoned that the marginal emotive edition to his tone would encourage more rapid and serious responses by the busy looking flight people). "Why, yes sir. It does say that. But there has been a change. You are now boarding at gate 32." "Oh I see. Thank you." To himself, "nice of them to make the anouncement. I could have been sitting here for hours trying to convince Al to play the travel Scrabble my mom forced me to pack while the plane had since been long gone." No matter, we could simply request that a flight attendant take our picture under gater '32'. To no avail. No such actions were permitted, that is, photographing gates. I thought they were kidding so asked again. They meant business. Apparently, this was some sort of security risk, documenting gate numbers. Should I be happy that they were taking such proactive measures to ensure no photo terrorism in their terminal? Should I be happy that my local gov't had installed an anti-dragon missile defense shield? However happy you think I should have been, then to that degree I was. And so, perhaps what would later become the microcosm that described the whole rest of the trip - that is, misinformation, absurdity and random changes of plans - came to pass. Minutes later, the gate opened and first, then 2nd and the our class was summoned. Someone smelly looking was sitting in my seat. Thus began our journey.
