Gosh, arriving in the US is a pain, isn't it? I spent three-quarters of an hour in a queue, worriedly awaiting my turn to reveal why I was visiting, what I did for a living, and how much cash I'd brought with me. Bright spots were the very handsome sniffer dogs on patrol (German Shepherd, black Labrador, and beagle), and the security lady who saw my Vespa bag and told me her brother had had one of those in the late '60s.
By the time I emerged, clutching my suitcase, I was a little anxious about locating someone I'd met in person once, in a huge airport. Rick, however, had been following the live flight information and was waiting and waving. Soon I was ensconced in his pickup truck and heading down the darkened interstate, thrilled by the American-ness of the road signs, the huge, shiny lorries, and the exits for places called Buckeystown and [Don't Go Back To] Rockville.
An hour later I was welcomed by Rick's wife Lori, Sugar the whippet and Alf the hairless Sphynx cat ("And when Mr Bigglesworth gets upset, PEOPLE DIE!"). I was fed, I sent a couple of emails reporting my safe arrival, and I went to bed at what would have been 4:30 in the morning at home, but was a perfectly reasonable half past eleven in Maryland.
Things I Ate
Assorted airline cuisine (including a main course of hot pasta with a starter of cold pasta, well done guys). Homemade soup and pineapple upside-down cake.