I'm the first to admit that I'm a travel-a-holic, if that's even a word. But there are times when even I outdo myself. Four days. 96 hours. 5,760 minutes. That's all the time I allowed myself from the moment I returned home from Bosnia to the moment I left again. I didn't purposefully plan it that way, but it did leave me wishing that my life could always be like that: work four days, travel a few, then repeat. But until that happens, I'll continue to relish in this moment of insanity. Because actually, that's all it really was.
Once I finally felt my feet were firmly planted on the ground, I found myself at the airport again- this time standing behind a podium facing a five minute interrogation. The interrogator held onto my passport as she walked over to another airline employee and proceeded to have a conversation about me. She would frequently glance in my direction and nod her head as her colleague would comment. When she returned, she gave me instructions on the next steps I must take and placed stickers on my itinerary printout. I was informed I had less than ten minutes from that moment to reach a designated location in a far wing of the airport for an appointment.
So I hurried as I made my way to the check-in counter to receive my ticket and drop off my luggage. I continued to cruise past armed guards on my way to passport control. More armed guards line the pathway to the location I advanced towards. When I finally reached the scheduled room, two minutes late, I was again interrogated while my possessions were searched behind a partition.
Fifteen minutes later I was given the clear and escorted to the security check where I passed through the x-ray scanner and frisked down.
When it was all over, I plopped myself down on a chair, exhausted, trying to wrap my head around what just happened. But I wasn't even given sufficient time to do that before I entered a plane with a sign that read, "For your information: This flight has been koshered for Passover."