Held Hostage in Atlanta Airport

Monday, Nov. 2. Missed my connection to Houston. Killing time in Atlanta Airport.
Below is a story I wrote last week when I was stranded here coming through.

The River of Life flows through Hartsfield Airport

They say Atlanta is the world busiest airport* (the Southern saying: “Whether you’re going to heaven or hell, you’ll have to go through Atlanta.”) Airport is packed as usual. Everyone hurrying from gate to gate. I have three hours to wait and walk, so I “hike” along the concourse.

I see it all. A young marine in dress blues. I wonder where he’s going. The sad girl beside him with her head on his shoulder convinces me he’s on his way away.

A man with a large mountain backpack, shorts, and hiking boots strolls amongst the well-dressed businessmen. I stop him. His face is red and windburned, and his kneecaps are covered in large scabs. He is a wild man. When he speaks, I know he’s from Australia.

He’s returning from the South American Andes and tells of climbing to 18,000 feet. His knees as well as leg muscles attest to his story of biking 2000 kilometers in the two months he’s been down south.

He moves on and I watch a preteen boy led along by a stewardess. He’s evidently traveling alone, and she’s escorting him to his next flight. I know there are parents (and probably grandparents) sitting worriedly someone as their son moves from point A to B.

The river of life pours and overflows all around my spot at Gate C-7. Everyone going somewhere. Every one of them with a story to tell.

* Chicago O’Hare and Atlanta annually vie for this title. My understanding is that London Heathrow is slightly behind them.