New York. I don't think I have drunk so much wine in a long time. Then or since.




Although I recall that the punsch and snapps at the gasque earlier that week almost did me in. I checked my bag in without realising and then spent the next two hours looking for it in a state of rising, but contained panic because my keys were in my bag, my room was locked, and my passport was in my room. I did eventually locate it, though to this day it's unclear how exactly I managed to check it in, since the ticket was in the bag..

In a flash of unusual forethought that night I had set the alarm for the next morning so I could make it to the airport in time, but apparently I'd already had a few drinks by that point, because when I woke up the next morning, feeling extremely fragile, I rushed around like a prickly cat, made it to the station without throwing up, waited for the airport bus, realised I was an hour and a half early, passed out on the bus, and got to the airport in plenty of time only to find that my flight was delayed.

Which meant that later in the day I was that person you see desperately running through the airport terminal trying to make my connecting flight. The thing about Schipol airport is that they make it out to be great for transfers because it's only one terminal, but nowhere do they mention that the terminal is 3km long.

Moral of the story: hang on to your bag and DO NOT fly with KLM. Ever.