9am.

9am.

9am.

9 am was burned into my brain.

It had to be.

It was important.

Because I should be at the airport at 9am.

For a 11am flight to Nome.

Not at the airport at 720am

For a 9am flight.

At least it gave me plenty of time to turn the heel of my Creamsicle socks…

and people watch…

and talk to my Mum for an hour…

and enjoy each and every sip of my pumpkin spice latte…

and my egg nog latte, both while sitting in an extremely comfy leather chair at Starbucks…

and find a toilet so I could get rid of said lattes…

and drink water…

and, of course, blog.

And now I shall go to my gate.

Despite having another hour until boarding.

Because this is the Anchorage airport and despite being the Ted Stevens International Airport, there is only one concourse and it is shorter than a football field…

and I’ve already walked it 5 times before posting.

Edit:

Flight delayed 1.5 hours due to pilots being stuck in Fairbanks.

And now I am sitting at a restaurant and enjoying a lovely bowl of soup and a much loved margarita.

Yes, it is only 11:15am.

Why do you ask?

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