My mother always told me to not talk to strangers, but I deemed it necessary when I started traveling solo this year. Within the past year I have gone on two long trips--six and twelve hours each way. That’s quite a long time to keep to yourself. After my two travels across both the Atlantic and Pacific Ocean to see Prague and Hawaii, I finally understood the meaning of the phrase, “half the fun is getting there.”
Just as some people learn to make friends at school, I learned how to make short acquaintances with diverse people who were coming from and going to places all over the country and world. I met these “friends” sitting in the terminal, next to me on the plane ride and waiting in line at my connector airport to receive a new ticket for my delayed flight.
These bonds are short; you pack a lot of conversation and knowledge into them and before you know it, the person who intrigued you has left--you’re likely never to meet again.
On my first trip to Europe, I talked to a U.S. marine who sat next to me on my flight from Philadelphia to Atlanta for the last 30 minutes of our two-hour flight. He was on his way to Afghanistan and I was on my way to Prague. I talked to him about wanting to be a foreign correspondent and reporting on war--he talked to me about being a marine and how soldiers felt about how news media reported on the war in the Middle East. He was not happy, of course, and I agreed on some thoughts. Then, without me asking, he opened up about his personal life and family to me. That, right there--a connection. Again, this was all in only 30 minutes. Our flight pulled in late and overlapped with my next one but he made sure I was alright getting to where I needed to go before we parted.
In Atlanta, I stood in line for a grueling three hours to get another flight. Atlanta International Airport was like a living nightmare which I was stuck in for the entire night, trying to get assistance for my pushed-back flight that caused me to miss my next one to Europe. Every 10 minutes I would move one step forward towards the customer service desk, which looked like it was conveniently located at the end of the world.
An elderly man, whose wife was resting in a nearby terminal while he stood in line, began chatting with me about the typical disappointing airline service that he’s constantly seen in this airport. He told me how “back in his day” airline service was different and how it has become a thankless job. When he found out how young I was and that I was traveling by myself, it seemed like he suddenly took over that fatherly--or in this case, grandfatherly approach. He made sure I was being taken care of and getting help--just as the marine did. Similar to the marine, this older man reminisced with me about his life: what he used to do before retirement, and where his family and grandchildren live--which turns out is only 20 minutes away from my hometown of Bucks County, PA.
Not only have I seen this type of interaction, but so have some of my friends. After my trip back from Prague, the girl that I roomed with in Europe said she met a young man on her flight back to Philadelphia and found out that he’s a student at University of Pennsylvania--only a short car ride from our school, Temple University. They have been together ever since their plane ride home.
Next to me, on my flight to Hawaii, I talked to a man in his mid-forties. I told him I was going there for the summer to do a journalism internship. That sparked unique conversations since his brother was a main editor of a small newspaper company and taught journalism at a community college around my hometown. He gave me his business card so I could look up his brother’s work and company if I was interested in knowing more.
Just in this small window of time from traveling, I have learned that the person in the chair next to you on a flight might have something worth talking about and could be going to the same place you are going--starting a new relation, whether it’s for friendship, romance or business. I’m starting to believe that there’s a very good reason why people say “don’t judge a book by its cover,” and trust me, sometimes it’s worth an attempt to read.
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