We landed in Boston at around 7 a.m. Or rather at 2 a.m. Eastern Standard Time. Which was instant jet lag, my body insisting that it should be morning, when it was still the middle of the night.
I’d set an alarm for an hour before landing, which had given me time to shower, but I still stumbled off the plane like a drunkard who’d partied too hard.
I couldn’t tell if it was only in my brain or the inherent sameness of airports but it didn’t really feel as if I’d flown across the world or that I was in another country.
At least not until I had to talk to people who sounded like they’d left their r’s in seventeenth-century England. And then the realness of it all slap me in the face.
Once my passport had been checked, luggage retrieved, and I’d been welcomed to the USA, I was whisked al
