PSA: Go to America via Longship.
Don’t fly to America, if you have the time and resources, get a boat. How marvellous it would have been to see a distant shore on the horizon, to get up from my dank cabin and see the promised land stretched before me. That singular moment of sighting land, passed down from Leif Errikson, to Columbus, to the 12 million that arrived at Ellis Island, and finally to me. Instead I was greeted by the strange shuttles at Washington Dulles airport. These behemoths are not the brazen colossi promised me by Emma Lazarus, a label which aptly describes some of the natives barging past me. As you press your nose against the plane glass three rumble towards you, looking like the bastard spawn of the space shuttle and dustman’s lorry, tottering and lurching in defiance of all that is holy. They press their suckers against the belly of the plane, and in you shuffle. The intended name for these creatures were “mobile lounges”. The absence of anything resembling leisure within has led to the more commo