Before I get into t the posts about Uganda, I figured I’d say a few things about the flight here.

My flight was fairly uneventful as flights go. No real problems at all, just a lot of sitting in the same seat for about 24 hours punctuated by brief stints in various airports. For those not familiar with the Dicker philosophy of flying, my family tends to get to the airport with enough time to go back to the house, unpack the suitcase, watch the previous night’s Daily Show rerun, have breakfast, repack, and then get to the airport with 30 minutes before boarding. Needless to say, I got there early.

The man who checked me in at Logan seemed too old to be working for an airline. His hands were weathered and his coke-bottle glasses magnified his eyes to the size of small grapefruits. As I stood there while he resentfully checked my luggage all the way through to Entebbe, I guessed that he wanted to retire several years ago when his son got out of college but was forced to keep his job when his son came home for Thanksgiving senior year and said that he wanted to be an actor. The man behind the counter was not happy about his son’s decision and tried to convince him to pursue another career path. The son’s mind could not be changed and so the man sends his son money every month so that the son can support himself as a actor in the local community theater.

After creating that whole narrative in my head, the man behind the counter gave me my ticket. My mother waved teary-eyed as her first-born son disappeared in the security line on his way to Africa for a second summer in a row.

I managed to drift in an out of consciousness waiting for and then on the flight to New York. It was all I could do at that point. I wanted to conserve the batteries on my iPod and I didn’t feel like starting any of the six books I brought with me. I’m not sure whether I had just woken up or just the design of the airport, but I had no idea where to go once I got to JFK. After a few minutes of walking around the terminal, I determined that I would have to go to another building to catch my next flight. I finally found a map of the airport and hopped on the Jetsons-inspired train that took people from one terminal to the next. Terminal number 4 at JFK was heavily populated with what I’m pretty sure were kids about to go on Birthright. There were Jews of every shape and size there, enough so that there should have been a Dr. Seuss book written about it. I couldn’t really imagine myself in the middle of that without at least knowing one person already. As I passed through the terminal, I had a deja vu of years at Camp Tel Noar.

The nostalgia ended quickly as I stood waiting for an hour for the KLM agents to show up. I stood in line with half the population of Amsterdam all the while trying to listen to them speaking Dutch. I know it’s culturally insensitive, but Dutch sounds a lot like Swedish and I am always disappointed when a person speaking Swedish is not a blond woman named Olga or a Muppet chef. There were two American girls who looked around my age clearly going to Amsterdam as a graduation present to themselves to smoke a lot of weed, drink, party, hook up with European men, and visit the occasional museum they learned about when they took that Art History class sophomore year.

The flight from New York to Amsterdam was long but bearable. I sat next to a man who looked like the guy in Dave Matthews Band who plays the fiddle. I slept, started Seven Types of Ambiguity, and watched American Gangster and National Treasure: Book of Secrets. I thought about pursuing careers in heroine dealing and treasure hunter if being a doctor/public health person didn’t work out.

The Amsterdam airport was a blur. My sleeping pattern was all off after the flight. What I do remember is Jenny the Peace Corps volunteer. For those who know me, and if you’re reading this you probably do know me, I probably wouldn’t have started to talk with Jenny the Peace Corps volunteer had sleep deprivation not knocked out my ability to reason. We got to talking and I discovered that she was in fact, in the Peace Corps and was on her way back to her primary school for orphaned children in Uganda. I asked her about her experience and what the application and training was like and she asked me about what I hoped to do working for Soft Power. It was generally pleasant and helped to pass the time until we got on the flight.

I was not, unfortunately, sitting next to Jenny the Peace Corps volunteer on the plane. I read and played Reversi on my little TV. That game is addicting. There was a long time to think about what the trip was going to be like and how I’d get along with my host family and how I was going to put together a project and implement it in nine weeks.

By the time we got to Entebbe, I was ready to lay down. I breezed through customs only to wait for an hour for my one checked bag. Between the moments of panic that my bag was sitting on the Amsterdam airport runway next to two pot-smoking Dutchmen, I talked with Jenny the Peace Corps volunteer and friend of Jenny the Peace Corps volunteer. They said good-bye and I got my bag a few minutes later. There was a man waiting to take me to my hotel so I hopped in his minibus van and we sped off into the Ugandan night. I was exhausted and very glad to get to bed once at the hotel.

So that was my trip to the airport. I hope everyone is doing well. I’ll try to put up more stories soon. Until then…

Dan