Yep, still here.

At the Dulles International Airport in Washington DC, that is. I woke with a splitting headache in the small hours of the morning, so I nibbled on some sesame sticks and a couple pieces of dried ginger before popping a Tylenol pill and washing it down with bottled water. Fortunately, the airport has plenty of water fountains, of which I’ve been taking advantage. Not to mention a large and frequently cleaned restroom.

Anyway, after the painkiller, I settled back down—sitting in one seat and with my backpack and mirrorwork bag (or very large purse) on the seat next to it. My jacket was draped over the luggage and I leaned against it all, resting my head on my arms and coat. That’s the position I was in most of the time, and with my hiking boots off of course.

At 5:50 I woke up and was aware that the dead and silent airport had come to life, even though the sky, highly visible in the gigantic windows, was still pitch black. People were clop-clopping past, some in a hurry. Cart or suitcase wheels rattled past. Ticket counters were opening, and so perhaps were the little food places. I went back to sleep, saw six zero zero on the clock, went back to sleep, saw that it was 7:12 and decided I should get myself together. I went to the bathroom, washed my face and put lotion on my hands before I approached the United ticketing counter and asked where I should go for Qatar Airlines—they said it was way far at the other end, and that was a great relief, that it was in this floor and this building and I wouldn’t have to take an escalator or another shuttle and get lost. I did some wandering but was enticed by the food place called Cinnabon, with big hot cinnamon rolls topped with whole pecans, and with a fridge containing bright orange rows of fruit juice. I bought “Mango Tango” smoothie and a cup containing a mixture of blueberries, strawberries, and yogurt, topped with a plastic dome full of granola to mix with the yogurt and berries. It looked (and was) yummy and I figured that especially under the circumstances I should eat something more nutritious than a cinnamon roll. I got into conversation with the African boy behind the counter. He noticed my near-empty big bottle of water—I had gotten it at the KC airport but it was the brand he sold—and asked if I was paying for that.

I said, “Oh, this is from yesterday.”

“You’ve been here since yesterday?”

“Yes!” I briefly explained the situation with my flights. He also, while ringing me up, asked where my passport bag was from, and I said, “Nepal. I ordered it online.” I didn’t think to say that I’ve been to Nepal and am about to go back, but I don’t usually do that sort of thing. Boasting. Yuck.

During the day, this is an interesting place to people watch, even though the time is moving slowly. It’s only 10:47 in the morning! Even seeing people at the shoeshine stand is kind of interesting. They’re getting a steady business.

It will probably be a while till someone is at the Qatar Airlines ticket counter, since they only get one flight a day—at least, I’m thinking they only get one flight a day given that my flight is twenty-four hours later than originally planned. Gee, not many Americans want to go to that tiny Middle Eastern country, which has about the same population as the city of San Francisco. Oil-hungry businessmen might be interested, or people who originally came from Qatar, or whose ancestors came from Qatar.

I’ve read the introduction to Women in Tibet (an anthology of essays) and The Life of Milarepa, and I’m thinking that in just a moment I’ll start reading the issue of Tricycle that appeared in my mailbox a week ago. Right there on the front cover is a picture of Gandhi! On the day this magazine arrived, I had earlier looked up “Gandhi Smriti” on the Internet to see if it’s the ashram we visited before, and sure enough, it is; it’s no longer called Birla House. Anyway, I thought Shantum would like the front cover. The issue—perhaps this is stating the obvious—is focused on ahimsa.