Dumping the canines with my ever-patient mother, I headed to Atlanta where cousins John, Kathy, and son Alexander wined and dined me. After a good night's sleep, John drove me to the new international terminal in Atlanta where I hopped aboard.
Notice the smile, the lightness, the looking-forward-to-the-eight-hour-flight-to-Amsterdam foolish look? Silly me.
Arrival in Amsterdam. After the eight hour flight, I certainly needed first aid, a lounge, a spa, a comfort seat, and meditation (in a comfortable bed). Anyone wish to guess which option I chose? Yes, it was Door #3, the Airport Spa, where I had a massage delivered by Olga who trained at the prison guard school of massage; I think I still have bruises. I dragged myself through a long amoeba semblance of a line for customs or immigration or some such nonsense, where I was asked the question that all such officials asked me "Are you traveling alone?" as if a woman of my age must certainly have a young companion to keep me from wandering astray.... Although I do acknowledge that after a 4 hour layover in Amsterdam and a 3 hour flight to Helsinki, I felt like....
Granted, this isn't me, but it's how I felt. Unfortunately, even from my earliest ventures across different time zones, when I was youthful, energetic, jet lag has bested me. This trip was no different.
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