Joan, Its Coach.

Get this, we are in Chicago and this man's flight gets delayed. So he is yelling across the airport to his wife and has the audacity to shout in frustration, "JOAN, ITS COACH!" Poor Joan, has to fly coach. Send first class my regards & make sure your iPad is turned off and stowed before take off dear...

Oh boy, oh boy. Where to begin... Well, I'll tell you where it began. Good ol' SLC Airport at 5 this morning only to discover our flight had been delayed 6 hours. As it turns out the whole Chicago airport has a hissy fit whenever the white flurries begin to fall. But I'll let it slide since I'm watching the sunrise in Brussels while we wait for our connecting flight to Entebbe. Europe (which so far has been nothing but numerous checkpoints, security lines, and dark and dusky hallways leading to terminal T) is a dream. There is about a 99% chance that I never want to come back to the United States. I guess the Brussels airport just does that to you... Eden and I are definitely a minority in the T-terminal-- which as far as I can conclude is the terminal that handles all flights to Africa. We are not in Kansas anymore.

On the plane ride over here--well let me be more specific--on the 4 hour plane ride to Chicago I slept for lack of a better activity-- the 7 hour plane ride from Chicago is where I really had some solid inspiration. I will learn to and be fluent in speaking the following languages: French, Italian, and any and all other languages offered by Rosetta Stone. But really, the first 2 are genuine goals. My mouth dropped every time the stewardess spoke. It was magical.

Eden is trying to convince me to spend her Euros. She loves Euros, but hates to carry them around. Anyways, I’ve been force fed nothing but airplane food and protein bars ← (give it up for mom) for essentially the last 24 hours so I’m going on an adventure to find food.