The departure marquee in the Amsterdam International Airport reads like a world map: Istanbul, Madrid, Nairobi--all the places in the world, just a plane ticket, a departure gate away. The intercom system makes announcements for KLM, Air France, Thai Airlines.
I sit at the internet connection kiosk/table and the woman across, less than three feet away, speaks in Dutch.
We are tired, Tony and me; it's 1:38 a.m. at home, we have a nine hour flight behind us and a three hour delay before we board for another three hour flight to Athens.
Curled up in my economy seat with annually shrinking legroom, I have doubts and regrets for international travel. I just want to be home in bed.
Yet strangely, once we land and step into the international airport, that old thrill returns much too quickly. It's true there is no place like home, but even more true, there's no place like unexplored territory--which eventually leads one to the conclusion that there is indeed no place like home.