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An outsider's look at an airport in my beloved state of New Hampshire. |
| It’s the beginning of spring and the snow has yet to finish melting. I still don’t know how exactly I’ve ended up here in New Hampshire, but I know that I’m not so fond of this mud covered snow and the salt covered cars. Everything here looks dirty and out of place. My tan has long since faded and I’ve become adjusted to this biting cold. This airport is now my link from hell to salvation. I’ve never been a fan of the country. I love the warm sandy beaches and the rollerblades across the sidewalks. I was far from San Diego here. This place, Manchester, was anything but a fantasy. I had fallen into hell frozen over. The people here are equally as out of place. Magazines such as Allure or Glamour, they are for entertainment instead of the fashion bibles of my peers. Comfort is in fashion, and the comfort lies in blue jeans and salt covered sneakers and Ugg boots. They don’t smile as much, they tend to keep to themselves here in the granite state. The women aren’t wearing make up and the men are reading books as opposed to blackberries. They said it was busy here today, but I can only count about thirty people here in front of me. If this was busy I’d be horrified to see how it is when it’s slow. I’m watching a girl, she sits quietly at her lap top typing away. Her hair is shoulder length, unkempt but with beautiful blonde curls. She looks mid twenties, maybe late adolescence. She has a book spread open in front of her with highlights streaked across. I label her as a college student, her fingers racing across the keyboard with nearly dizzying speeds. Her small fingers decorated with chunky silver jewelry with semi precious stones embedded within. Her fingernail polish a dark red but chipped all around. I can’t tell you why she stuck out to me. She was gorgeous in her own down to earth and laid back way. She wore clothes that were was very bohemian. She was sitting like a lady as opposed to the girl across the way with her thong hanging out and her boyfriend’s hand resting between her knees. I turned my attention from this girl, in California it feels like it’s okay to stare but this place was completely different. New Hampshire is not a place for people watching and she was certainly looking as though she was enjoying the privacy this quiet space was offering her. I think that this place is just the hiding place for every anti social person in the United States. If you’d like your privacy, come to New Hampshire. There are plenty of trees, frost heaves and ice covered roads to keep people away from visiting. She twirls the largest ring around her finger. Damn. I’m staring at her again. As she looks up, she spots me. Nothing remarkable, not like I was busted, just caught a glimpse of the sweeping lashes hidden behind the dark rimmed glasses. As her head dips down, I begin to wonder what she’s typing. She’s probably typing with some friend through some instant messenger or writing on some blog. Blogs. Do people in New Hampshire know what a blog is? As I glance around at the men with thick beards and women with speckled grey hair…I wonder if they know what CNN is even. No, these people surely can’t blog. These people are of some sort of primitive subculture, stuck with canned goods and venison for their daily nutrition. I can only wish I was just joking, business had brought me here by chance and at first I was eager to go. I was anticipating the rocky shores and picturesque snow capped mountains that I had seen when I googled the location prior to my trip. The place promised me beautiful white churches, stone chimneys and warm fires. It all sounded quaint, but appealing. They were all lies. All I got from this trip was that everything was cold, slippery and broken down. I clearly didn’t visit the right place in New Hampshire. The announcement came over the speaker that it was finally time to board the plane to California. The young girl sprang to her feet with all her belongings. She swept past me as if I were nothing. I shrugged it off as I took my place in the A-section for my flight. I always felt like I was cattle about to be herded through. Never before have I felt so out of place. The gentleman before me was already in his celebratory mood for his vacation with his Hawaiian shirt tucked into his stained blue jeans. I couldn’t help but wonder what exactly made these people live in this state to begin with. As I boarded the plane I finally decided to forget about New Hampshire and it’s people as soon as I could. I sank into my seat with my own lap top and finally tuned out for the next few hours until the plane could take me safely back to where I clearly belonged. |
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