The lounge was starting to fill up. I would board in another half hour perhaps. Tapping away at the keys on my tablet, a man appeared from behind the row of chairs and dropped into the seat next to me with some force. His dark sweatpants and shirt were decorated with pet hair and crumbs, his matted hair looking as if he rolled out of bed a moment before. He began to open a sandwich wrapped in paper. I stood and walked away to the flight display, pretending to look over the departures. Before being stuffed into the pressurized tube with several hundred others, I try to maximize the most alone time I can. I found a new seat several rows away, separate from the crowd. I fleshed out a few blog posts, looking up now and again. I enjoy people watching. I always loved street photography, and the idea of looking for images has never left me.
A man was approaching me from across the lounge. He wore a uniform, perhaps one of the airline personnel near the boarding area. Not the dress of a security officer, or pilot, but possibly a gate official. Around his neck was a identification badge on a lanyard. I couldn’t make it out.
We exchanged greetings. He was of average height and build, salt and pepper hair, trimmed neatly but not perfect. He spoke casually, not smiling, but in a disinterested way.
” Have you enjoyed Barcelona?”
“I have only arrived” I replied. I spoke plainly and cordially keeping an even voice. “I’ve been cruising. We arrived in port today.”
He nodded.
“Where did you come from?”
“Italy.” I offered no more, waiting for his response.
“What was your favorite place?”
“Rome” I said. I was looking him in the eyes without breaking away. “I visited the city before, many years ago.”
“Where did you stay?”
“The Intercontinental, near the embassy.” I hesitated. “There’s a nice little restaurant just down the street.”
“What was the name of the restaurant?”
I smiled, shook my head. “I can’t remember.” In fact, I could not, but I had decided the interview was over. “The Carbonara was very good though.” I unlocked my gaze, looking past him, speaking more to myself. “I enjoyed my visit more this time.”
“Why is that? What changed?” He asked.
I smiled again and shrugged, looking directly at him. “Rome is the same. I’m older, I have a different perspective”
Perhaps his expression softened.
“Have a good flight home”, he said.
“Take care” I replied in return.
He drifted away behind and past my row of chairs. I rose. They would be calling my group number soon.
An Unmapped Route: A Hiker's Blog 