As I contemplate today, munching on a couple of Welsh cakes and drinking pear “hard” cider, I’m content. I’m at my familiar residence in Wales and settling in for the night in front of a wood burning stove.
I rediscovered why I don’t like the Kansas City airport for international travel. Besides having to walk, walk, walk, walk . . . walk just to get to the tram to get to Terminal 5 then walk, walk, walk again, but the signage was horrible. Terminal 5 would show up on one overhead sign, then not for 2 or 3 more, although the others would (3 and 4). I had to ask twice where to go.
When finally arriving at the international security line in Kansas City, I took note of not only the variety of nationalities represented (including a rather good-looking group of French men). I several it amusing that one TSA woman in a raised voice repeating what to do to a crowd of which half probably didn’t understand what she was saying given the puzzled looks, repeated corrections and mistakes made on the conveyor belt.
The flight was uneventful and I even got about 5 hours of sleep.
Delightful taxi driver to the ferry. We talked about Trump ( I expect more of this) and painting. He pulled out his “doodling.” He has a thing about horses. And he gave me several.
Got to go. Can’t keep my eyes open.