Hell Here
She was in Hell. Or was it Purgatory? Which was worse? Weren’t you subjected to never-ending torture in Hell? But Purgatory was where you waited eternally for something to happen but were stuck going nowhere?
Sitting on the plane, in the middle seat, stuck between the sweaty guy who smelled like body odor, and the snoring lady whose fat hung over her armrest and into Jo’s space while she snored loudly, Jo sat. Miserable, tired, and unable to sleep between the smells and snores around her. Jo silently cursed the “no assigned seat policy,” of the airline yet again.
Sure, it wasn’t an issue when her plan had been to travel from Dulles to Edinburgh with her husband, Nick. But that was before her marriage ended.
Unwilling to go back down the rabbit hole of pain, regret, and rejection, Jo put her AirPods in and turned on her travel play list. She turned up the sounds of 311’s “Amber” to cover the fat lady snoring to her right. She put the flimsy blanket the airline had provided her with over her head to block out the smells of the odiferous guy to her left. Jo finally started to nod off when Carly Simon reminded her that it was coming around again...
DING DING
“We are beginning our descent into Edinburgh where the weather is a wet 54 degrees. The Captain has turned the seat belt sign on. Please remain in your seat with your belt on for the remainder of the flight.”
Jo awoke unceremoniously to the announcement and the lights coming on in the cabin. Looking around her small space, Jo exhaled a sigh of relief as she started to gather her meager belongings. Unplugging her phone and her AirPod case from their charges, Jo stored them in her sturdy backpack that had been squished under the seat in front of her. She checked to make sure her passport and wallet were still safely in her bag and then pushed it back under the seat in front of her. Looking around, she was eager to see Scotland come into view below them.
“Excuse me ma’am? Ma’am?” she tapped the woman on her right who was in the process of putting her tray table up and looking around for her Kindle, which Jo had noticed had fallen on the floor. “Do you mind putting the window shade up? It’s my first time in Scotland and I’d like to see it,” Jo managed to ask as politely as she could.
“Sure honey,” the robust lady responded with a southern accent as she lifted the visor. Trying not to crowd her, Jo leaned over as unobtrusively as possible to get a glimpse of the Scottish countryside below, but was thwarted. She just saw an expanse of gray clouds. She was already off to a great start.
“That’s Scotland for you,” her neighbor advised her, also looking out of the window. “First time you say?”
“Yes,” Jo responded a bit dejectedly.
“Don’t let it get you down. The weather in Scotland changes on a dime. If it’s overcast now, it’ll be sunny again in the blink of an eye, and then raining cats and dogs the next second, and then back to sunny again before you can get your umbrella out,” the lady laughed as she explained.
“I’m 63% Scottish on my Father’s side. This is my third time visiting Scotland,” her neighbor explained as Jo tried in vain to catch a glimpse of anything out of the window beyond the clouds. “I came once and was hooked. It’s a lovely country.”
Her neighbor lapsed back into silence as she went back to picking up her things, retrieving her lost Kindle and neatly folding the airline blanket into a square and tucking it under her seat.
Jo sat in eager anticipation with the rest of the plane as they touched down. She held her breath as the brakes on the plane squealed to a stop and pulsed, attempting to gain purchase on the wet runway.
Jo got her first soggy look at Edinburgh Airport as the plane taxied to their gate. As soon as the plane rolled to a stop, she unbuckled her seat belt and stood up. Stretching her arms behind her as much as she could in the cramped space, Jo waited to deplane.
Jo followed the crowd out of the plane, up the jet bridge, and into the cattle chute that herded them all to customs. Jo picked the line for non-residents and opened her bag to grab her passport while she shuffled through the line.
When it was her turn, a kind-faced young black man urged her forward. He looked behind her pointedly as she approached.
“By yerself, then?” he asked in a thick brogue.
“Uh, yes,” Jo responded a bit awkwardly.
“Whit brings yer to Scotland?”
“I’m on a ten-day tour with a group of Falklander enthusiasts,” Jo explained, referring to the television show she and her now ex-husband Nick had binge-watched on Netflix.
“Falklander?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah, ya know, the tv show where the girl gets sent back in time and meets the highlander guy?” She began rambling nervously as the customs agent just stared blankly at her. “He’s Scottish and its like a few years before the Battle of Bothwell Bridge.”
That seemed to ring a bell.
“Not Culloden then? That’s lek yer Gettysburg to us Scots.”
"We're visiting Culloden as well," Jo added quickly.
Seemingly appeased that anyone visiting Culloden could not be an international criminal wanted by Interpol, the agent quickly had her scan her passport, stand for the camera, and then waved her on.
Her senses were over stimulated as she moved into the airport proper. Men in kilts walked past as she tried not to gape. Following the signs to the baggage claim, she walked past souvenir shops and restaurants. She watched in envy as those with just carryons wheeled by her on their way to the exit.
Jo was an overpacker. She used space-saver bags and compression bags to try and save space, but there was no way she could do ten days in Scotland with just a carry-on. Her tour itinerary included a few fancy dinners, hiking through ruins, and tours of Scottish castles. No way could she do all that with two pairs of shoes.
Resigned to the fact she would have to wait, Jo made her way to the luggage conveyor belts. As she read the signs above the conveyor belts, she noticed that her flight was listed above belt 4. She found a good spot and waited for her luggage to arrive.
After what seemed like an eternity, luggage rolling loudly behind her, Jo stepped through the airport doors and embarked on an adventure that even the most rabid Falklander fan would envy.
