It seems as though I have some pressure to tell a good story. I hadn't realized what I had started. Oh well...
During the bag checking hour, I took note of everyone in line as much as I could. I saw Tina's little sister Vickie, who could be the tallest real midget at approximately 4' 7", although not as tall as this fake one [video link in window]. I recognized her mother Gail, Aunt Susie and big Paul, who has only gotten bigger now. Almost every other anglophone seemed Italian, and so I assumed that they were with the wedding group. Most noticeable was the girl dressed to kill, as though she just came from the club. At that time of night on that night of the week, it was quite possible. She was too perky for my liking, though.
When I finally was able to check my bags, I made my way to the passenger area where you wait for your flight. I ate an overpriced bagel and drank an overpriced orange juice, then eyed everyone else there. People seemed to notice that I was alone. Maybe that's normal. I notice lots of things about people, but I never seem to notice who's alone. Eventually we got onto the plane around 6 am.
The plane was booked to capacity. I had an aisle seat and I got there first before the other people in my section. A Cuban flight attendant asked me where I was from. I stubbornly said that I was originally from Ontario, although I knew what information he was after. When I told him the answer (St. Vincent), he nodded and said in a thick accent that I have the look of a Cuban. The other two seats were later occupied by two women travelling together. I was tired and cranky like everyone else, and I didn't want to start chatting with strangers right then, although I normally don't mind. The woman in the middle got up to use the facilities or something. I was reading when for some reason I decided to look over to my left. The remaining woman was filling out her travel visa card. I happened to notice her date of birth, which was May 26, 1966. (I swear I was not scanning!) My eyes nearly popped out; it was quite dramatic. This woman did not appear to be 39 years old. I might have guessed that she was 33 at most. I was wondering if she was filling this out for someone else. This started a nice little conversation between us, although besides introductions, I don't remember what we were talking about. The other woman returned to find us apparently becoming friends. Later, when we discussed it, this second woman told me that she did not figure that I might be friendly; I was wearing my glasses, reading a book, then writing in a journal-type book. I had an intellectual snob look according to her. The three of us chatted from time to time between sleep and turbulence. I didn't know it right then, but this encounter would really set the tone for the rest of the week. I spent half the week speaking French with what I like to call La Ligue des Francophones au Cuba.
