“I loved the hills and all of the reddish-orange roofs… the small winding streets. I loved seeing how similar life is over there yet also so different. But, it was really just the people like you, and the pure kindness and willingness to take care of someone you didn’t even know. And… just the history and the culture. I love it so much.”
I struggled to come up with the first word, much less the first sentence or even the first paragraph I wanted to write about my time in Istanbul. Then I remembered a conversation I had only hours earlier with someone who has quickly become so dear to me, just like a sister.
I typed to her as I floated through the clouds 32,000 feet above the Atlantic Ocean… I told her that I could not stop crying. I felt a pain and a sadness about leaving a place I had fallen in love with – it was unlike anything I’d ever felt before.
She asked me what led to my attachment with the city of Istanbul and the country of Turkey. I responded with those opening words above. You see, I left on this trip with a plan, I had a mission… but what I planned for and what actually happened were two very different things.
I’m so excited and I just can’t hide it… but should I be scared?
I found out only about a week and a half in advance of my trip that I’d have the opportunity to cover a Turkish Airlines event for Airways Magazine… I was so over the moon that I couldn’t even comprehend the adventure that was to be had.
I told my family. I told my friends. I told my coworkers. While everyone was thrilled for me, some expressed concern over whether or not Turkey was in fact a safe place to travel to.
I get it. The U.S. Department of State is warning people to carefully consider whether or not they actually need to travel to Turkey, but the heaviest restrictions are on the Southeastern portion of the country. This comes after several terrorist attacks occurred in the country over the past few years, many in and around Istanbul, the very city in which I was going to travel to.
Attack at Atatürk
In June 2016, 45 people died and more than 230 others were injured at Istanbul’s Atatürk Airport in a terrorist attack involving shootings and suicide bombers. Turkish officials said the attackers were affiliated with the Islamic State of Iraq and Levant (ISIL), but no one claimed credit for the event.
Post-trip update: Last week I spent significant time at Atatürk Airport on two separate occasions. While the airport itself will permanently close in roughly a year and a half (it is being replaced by what will become Europe’s largest airport), Atatürk was by far one of the neatest airports I’ve ever been to. It was beautiful and bustling.
Bombings at Vodafone Arena
In December 2016, car bombings and suicide bombings outside Istanbul’s Vodafone Arena killed 48 people and injured more than 150 others. Most of the casualties were police officers and the Kurdistan Freedom Hawks claimed responsibility for the attacks.
Post-trip update: The arena was less than two miles from the hotel I stayed in. And if there would have been a football game that I was able to get tickets to, you can bet I would have been there… happy as a clam.
On the first of this year, Abdulkadir Masharipov shot and killed at least 39 people in an Istanbul nightclub. More than 70 others were injured. ISIL claimed credit for the gunman’s actions.
Post-trip update: On Friday night I ate dinner directly across the Bosphorus Strait from where this occurred. The view was breathtaking and I wouldn’t trade that experience for anything in the world. The nightclub has since permanently closed.
I knew it would be humbling to put myself in the middle of an unfamiliar city, surrounded by unfamiliar people who speak an unfamiliar language. I knew it might be a little bit scary, but I knew that more than anything, it would be humbling.
I wanted it though. And even more than that, I needed that experience. I was ready.
The night before I left, I couldn’t sleep. I was so incredibly excited and still didn’t quite understand how or why of all people it was me who was chosen to do this. My aviation journalism career is in its infancy, so naturally I felt as though I didn’t deserve this. Surely I didn’t.
I woke up the next morning, tired from the lack of sleep, but still with a spring in my step, knowing I was about to travel further from home than I had ever been in my life, and I was doing it alone.
Widening my world
My dad happened to be in town visiting from his home in Florida, so he, my mom and my husband were able to see me off at the airport. My first flight would bring me to Washington-Dulles, and from there I’d board a Turkish Airlines Airbus A330 to Atatürk Airport in Istanbul – a 5,500-mile journey in total.
This flight would mark my first time flying business class (a perk that came along with attending this event). Anything above and beyond standard economy is a luxury that I simply never thought I’d be able to experience… as it is something I just could never afford, at least not in a practical sense. It was amazing and the crewmembers were so genuinely kind. I was pampered like a princess. I felt like I must have been dreaming.
The view coming in to land in Istanbul was unlike anything I had ever seen. The crisp blue sky and the deep blue ocean sandwiched hills filled with beautiful red-roofed buildings… the Mediterranean color palate has always been so pleasing to my eyes, and it was even more so in real life.
After deplaning, I easily found my way to where I needed to board a bus to my hotel. While the traffic was awful, the commute seemed quick… probably due to the complete and utter newness of every single thing we passed.
When I entered my hotel in Istanbul’s Bomonti neighborhood, I first noticed a distinct floral-like aroma. It was a very particular scent that I couldn’t quite place my finger (or better yet, my nose) on. Check-in was also a lengthy process, but that too seemed to fly by as I made conversation with other conference-goers from around the globe.
Upon entering my room, I knew that after 21 hours of traveling I wouldn’t be good for much more than changing into my pajamas, ordering room service, snuggling into my bed and falling asleep to the quiet murmur of the television. But when I first drew my blinds, the sun hadn’t yet set, and the view before me was nothing short of breathtaking.
I should have known I’d be a bit awestruck, as I was staying on the 18th floor of a hotel in a densely populated neighborhood in a densely populated city. But the view was so gorgeous that I had to just stand there and look out the floor to ceiling windows that overlooked this picturesque city. I was in love. But alas, I was tired, and within two hours I was out.
I awoke sometime between 6 and 7 the next morning, and I wasn’t feeling too hot. I had an unusually painful stomachache, but I’d say I tend to have more tummy troubles than the average person, so I wasn’t terribly alarmed.
After an hour or so, the pain hadn’t subsided. I really didn’t know what to do. I had woken up alone in a strange place, and to make matters worse, it was the middle of the night back home in Minnesota… I wasn’t about to wake my husband or parents just to whine to them.
But after awhile, I just couldn’t take it anymore. I was scared.
I tried to reach my husband, Scott, knowing he has his phone set to ring if one of his close contacts calls in the middle of the night.
He didn’t answer though.
I tried calling again…
I called my mom, knowing she was merely two to three hours from waking up for work. I knew she would answer, and she did.
“I’m sick,” I told her.
By this point I had polished off three of the four bottles of water in my room, and I lay in bed curled in the fetal position, pouting to my mom whenever the pain subsided enough that I felt I could bring myself to speak.
I was convinced I had food poisoning. How I got it from the grilled vegetable sandwich and french fries I had eaten the night before, I wasn’t sure, but my mom agreed with my self diagnosis.
And then it happened. “I think I’m going to throw up,” I said to her as she tried her best to console me. And the funny thing was, I was so incredibly excited to throw up. I just wanted this to end. I sat cross legged in front of the toilet, with my phone and a bottle of water sitting next to me.
I knew it was coming. And it did.
I cried. And then I cried more. I was soaking wet and freezing cold all at once, a combination I knew couldn’t be good.
I wished my mom was there with me, rubbing my neck and holding back my hair, but instead she was just a voice coming out of my phone’s speaker. She talked me through it though.
The next time I had to throw up, she talked me through it again. And all the times thereafter. At that point it really was as if she was sitting right there with me.
I felt better. I thanked my mom, we said our goodbyes and we hung up our phones. I knew she needed sleep, and I knew I needed rest. My gut told me I was unfortunately not going to be able to partake in the Bosphorus Tour that afternoon, no pun intended.
Maybe 30 minutes later, I realized I wasn’t in the clear. The pain was back and this time it was worse. I called my mom and she told me to call the front desk and ask if the hotel had a doctor on hand. I did that, and the gentleman’s answer was unfortunately “No.” He did tell me, however, that he could call an ambulance.
I couldn’t afford that. And, quite frankly, I didn’t really think I needed that.
I had been given contact information for a local Turkish Airlines communications team member, whom I had already connected with via text the night before. I asked him if he knew of any nearby doctor’s offices or urgent care clinics. And to be perfectly honest, that’s when the whirlwind began.
I kept thinking to myself… “Why me?”
Selfishly I felt like this was my trip… this was my time to shine. I didn’t even know what was happening, or what would come of all of this, but I knew it wouldn’t be good.
I was having trouble walking and I nearly passed out twice. I was almost folded in two when I answered the door to grab the extra waters I had requested from guest services.
I already had Lira, but only huge bills. “Do you even tip someone who delivers bottled water to your room?” I thought to myself. I gave the woman American money… three bucks. She looked at me like I was crazy and said, “Water is free.” I thanked her and shut the door.
I somehow made it downstairs to the lobby with the help of hotel staff. I was donning my airplane patterned leggings and a bright pink T-shirt. I had bedhead. I was in too much pain to be embarrassed about how I looked though.
As I lay pathetically limp on the lobby sofa, I could tell all of the Turkish Airlines conference workers were looking at me, and I figured they were talking about me too. After all, I did stand out like a sore thumb amongst the other vacationers around me, but I didn’t even care.
Before I knew it, a cab had arrived. Two gentlemen and I got into the “Taksi” with one sitting up front and the other in back with me – both worked for Turkish Airlines.
My head fell back onto the headrest behind me, I opened my window and shut my eyes. I could feel the cab driver hastily speeding up and down Istanbul’s steep, narrow hills, but the breeze felt nice.
Hastanesi: The first Turkish word I learned
After what felt like a lifetime, we arrived at the hospital – more specifically, the Emergency Room entrance of Amerikan Hastanesi. I was helped into a wheelchair, brought into a room and placed on a bed.
A doctor soon visited me and asked about my symptoms. She poked, pressed and prodded… trying to remember those moments is difficult as it was all such a blur. Shortly thereafter, a nurse came in and inserted an IV to administer pain medication. It helped. It helped a lot.
By that time, there were several Turkish Airlines staff either outside my hospital room or sitting inside the room by my bedside. The nurse returned shortly to draw blood, and while I anxiously awaited the results, I expected they’d find nothing, since I was certain I was suffering from food poisoning.
While I so much appreciated the kindness of everyone who was present at the hospital even for just a few minutes, one special person, who I now consider my sister, spent upwards of 10 hours with me.
She held my hand and told me everything would be OK. She was with me when I had my IV put in, she was with me when my blood was drawn, she was with me when I was wheeled into the imaging room and she was with me when the radiologist performed my ultrasound and said, “Aha… you have appendicitis.”
And that was it, I knew what appendicitis meant. I knew I was going to have surgery and I knew I was going to have surgery in that very hospital in Istanbul on that very same day.
Ready to go under the knife
Seriously… I couldn’t even comprehend that this was happening to me. “How? Why?” I asked myself.
Back in my room, the nurse and my sweet new friend helped the highly-medicated me to change into a hospital gown. Of course, during that process, I accidentally ripped out my IV – spraying blood all over the place and setting off a chain reaction of panicked hospital staff.
Soon a surgeon came in to examine me and explain to me in more detail the radiologist’s findings and what they would need to do. I remember feeling tired and weak. I had mustered up enough energy to send a text message to my mom, telling her that I had been diagnosed with appendicitis. I asked her to tell my dad, and to also tell Scott, who at this point still was not answering his phone.
I didn’t want to be alone. Of course it was so nice to be in the presence of such kind hospital staff and such caring people from Turkish Airlines, but it still would be nice to see a familiar face at such a scary time.
After countless attempts, Scott finally woke up and returned our calls. I knew he would be scared and I hated knowing he would awaken to such a flurry of missed calls, voicemails and text messages. Hearing his voice was so comforting. And before I knew it, he was working with the staff at Turkish Airlines to fly out (for free) that very night.
My immediate family and friends were in the loop. My sweet family at Airways Magazine was in the loop. Now all that was left to do was to loop me up and put me under.
My sweet friend held my hand all the way as hospital staff wheeled me into the prep room. She prayed for me at my bedside and I felt those prayers… they filled the room and they filled my soul. I knew I would be OK.
I left my appendix in Istanbul
“All done,” I heard a voice say. I squinted, looking up at the bright lights… I couldn’t see anything clearly without my glasses, but I could make out a sea of people in blue scrubs moving about the room.
A women propped open my mouth and stuck something inside. I realized it was a lozenge of some sort, and until my pain medication first started to wear off, I didn’t know why she had given me that lozenge. My breathing tube must have really done a number on me… my throat felt raw and my top lip was swollen.
I noticed that my right shoulder hurt, and found out later it was due to the process of pumping air into my stomach pre-surgery. My stomach was stiff and puffy for hours following the operation.
I was rolled into a new room where I was greeted by familiar faces. The room was beautiful… state of the art. I was in a comfy bed and a few feet away sat a couch in front of a big window that let in lots of natural light. There was a large television in front of me turned to a news channel.
A number of people surrounding my bed, both hospital and Turkish Airlines staff, asked me how I was doing. It was then that I met for the first time the sweet guy who I had texted with earlier in my hotel room… the local Turkish Airlines contact who had helped facilitate my being brought to the hospital in the first place.
I was told that he’d be staying the night with me in my room. I felt incredibly lucky to be surrounded by such love and comfort in this strange new place. I was able to eat a little broth and drink some juice later that evening before turning in for the night.
I felt so thankful to have someone staying with me. I felt so much less scared. The evening seemed to last for a very long time. I couldn’t pass on much news to family and friends back in the states, as it was the middle of the night their time. And before I knew it, it was bedtime for me as well.
The night was odd, as I drifted in and out of sleep and received frequent visits from hospital staff to check my vitals and assist me to the restroom. It was difficult and painful to walk, but the nurses did all that they could to make it as painless as possible.
There was one period of time where I had several hours of uninterrupted sleep… and when I awoke from that, it was morning. My sweet roommate helped me as I was waking up. He poured me some water and made some tea too. I can’t explain what a difference it made to have a friend by my side.
When I was ready to eat, he helped to prop me up and brought me the food that the hospital staff had delivered to the room. It was a traditional Turkish breakfast consisting of a couple pieces of cheese, some olives and sliced cucumber. It tasted great.
When lunchtime rolled around, I was able to eat a few bites of tomato soup and some noodles. It felt good to be able to nourish my body as I hadn’t really eaten since I had my room service dinner the night before this all began.
During the early afternoon hours I heard some talking outside the door of my room… I even heard someone say my name. Shortly thereafter the door slowly creaked open and a sweet gentleman accompanied by a woman and an older man entered. He explained that he was a friend of Enrique’s (the Editor-in-Chief of Airways).
He came to wish me well and also to deliver two model aircraft to me, both Turkish Airlines planes. I was speechless and I smiled so big… we took photos together, holding my new prized possessions, and he invited me to visit his model aircraft museum later in the week – an invite that I quickly accepted.
Before I knew it, the plane that Scott was on was only a few hundred miles from where I was. That brought me great comfort. The surgeon visited me one last time before letting me know he thought I was ready to be released.
Even though I was moving at a snail’s pace, I packed my things, changed into a loose-fitting dress and began the journey back to the hotel.
Turkish Airlines had a car sent to the hospital to pick me up, and when I arrived at the hotel, I found my husband standing next to my new Turkish sister. There were lots of (gentle) hugs, and there was a whole lot of relief and happiness.
Three days after arriving, I finally saw the city
Thanks especially to my amazing friends at Turkish Airlines and Airways, I was able to extend my trip a bit, both so that I could have extra time to recover before such a long flight home and also so that I could actually see a bit of the city that I had looked so forward to exploring.
I moved slowly, but walking felt good. It was amazing and humbling to walk the streets of a city with so much diversity, history and culture. The language is beautiful and the people are beautiful. So much about Turkey was so different, yet so much was the same.
The streets are all narrow and the hills are steep. There are textile shops and cafes lining the sidewalks, and the car horns echo in and around the buildings. Shop owners stand outside and greet you and smile warmly at you. You’ll find at least one bowl of cat food on every block as hundreds of “kediler” fill the streets and the parks. These are not your typical feral stray cats either, they are happy street cats who get love and attention from the good people of Istanbul.
We saw some lovely sights in old Istanbul, like the Hagia Sophia, Blue Mosque, Topkapi Palace and the cistern – all so beautiful, each in their own way. Though the soreness of my stomach made it difficult to do as much walking as I’d have liked to, it was still so magical to be able to get out into the middle of this beautiful city and take in at least some of its history.
Now I was even more glad that I had gone
It makes me sad to think that some people will never visit the beautiful and idyllic city of Istanbul, and they’ll never see the rolling hills and gorgeous scenery of Turkey. But that sadness is slowly turning to frustration, because so many people will never make that trip, not because they can’t, but because they don’t want to. They’re scared.
Let me tell you something… terrorism doesn’t discriminate by country. Terrorism doesn’t happen in “this type of city” or “that type of state.” Terrorism doesn’t happen at a certain time of year and it doesn’t only occur at large, widely-attended events like sports games and concerts.
At the same time, terrorists don’t all dress alike and they come in all shapes, sizes and colors. They identify with a wide array of religions, political parties and/or militant groups. Sometimes they don’t identify with any group at all. They act alone and they act in groups. Sometimes they’re sick with a mental illness, other times they’re perfectly sane and healthy.
Here in the U.S. we’ve seen our fair share of horrifying and unspeakable acts of terrorism in all corners of our country and everywhere inbetween. They’ve been committed by terrorist groups from other countries and by mentally ill or purely evil U.S. citizens of all colors.
Just this past Sunday night, at least 59 people were killed and another 500-plus injured in our country’s largest mass shooting in modern history. It’s unfathomable. These concert goers were expecting nothing more than a fun evening of rocking out to country music… instead, they saw a completely different type of show.
Despite the sadness and grief, let me ask you this:
Why isn’t there a travel warning to the U.S.?
Should I never attend a sporting event or concert again? Should I constantly spin in circles surveying what’s going on around and above me? Maybe I could bring my binoculars with me everywhere I go so that I could see into all the windows of nearby buildings and possibly spot a gunman before he opens fire… would that work?
Seriously. This is awful and depressing and has most of us wondering what in the world our dear planet Earth and its people are coming to… but, as tough as it is to come to terms with, life must go on. We need to love and support one another, and put our prejudices aside for good… for the greater good. Easier said than done, right?
We are all in this together. Let’s start behaving that way. I feel like the events that transpired over the last week so perfectly serve as an example of why not to succumb to fear… I travel to Turkey, despite the U.S. Department of State explicitly warning me not to, I come back home and within one day the Las Vegas massacre happens. So where would I have been in greater danger? Istanbul or Las Vegas?
There is beauty all across the globe, and at the same time, there is evil. Of course there are countries and cities that are known to be more dangerous than others, that’s fine. But do yourself a favor, before completely writing off a potential travel destination, learn a little more about its people and its history, and if you must read about all of the awful things that have ever happened there, at least do some reading on the same type of awful things that have taken place right here on U.S. soil – you may be surprised.
Inspired to learn, love and give back
I have fallen so deeply in love with the city of Istanbul and the country of Turkey… I wouldn’t trade what happened to me for anything. I was supposed to be there exactly when I was. My appendix was supposed to start failing me at the very moment that it began to… because if it hadn’t, I would not have formed the special, magical, lifelong relationships and friendships that I did.
I have never met people more kind, selfless and welcoming than the people of Turkey. When I boarded my last Turkish Airlines flight with my husband, a big Boeing 777 headed to Chicago, I felt a sense of loss. I didn’t want to leave. And as soon as the wheels left the ground, I lost it.
I cried for so long and I cried so hard. I have never felt an attachment to a city and its people in the way I feel attached to Istanbul. I know that I will be back. I hope that it’s soon and I hope that it’s for more than just a vacation. Because I left more than just my appendix there, I left my heart there too.
I seriously feel like my hometown airport, and the place I like to call my second home, is recognized for something nearly every week.
Most recently, Airports Council International – North America (ACI-NA) recognized the Metropolitan Airports Commission (MAC) for its work on carbon emissions.
MAC recently developed a carbon management plan, which is the second step of the official carbon accreditation process. MSP achieved the first step in accreditation by mapping its carbon emissions in 2014 and 2015.
The Airport Carbon Accreditation program is aimed at reducing emissions at airports by encouraging efficient heating and lighting technologies, more eco-friendly vehicles like EVs and hybrids, and public transportation, among other tactics.
The plan MSP developed for the second step includes a carbon metric and reduction target (along with the necessary actions and projects to reach that target), and implementation plans to continually reduce emissions, year after year.
The entire process involves four steps, and thus far 27 North American airports have been recognized for attaining accreditation. MSP is one of six that upgraded to the next level of accreditation this year.
Minneapolis is all about going green… and I love it. Our public transportation options are endless, we have bountiful bike paths and a lot of hybrid or electric vehicles on our roads.
It just makes me so happy to know that as airplanes themselves are getting more eco-friendly… so are the hubs that receive and send off those big beautiful beasts.
We’re one step closer to a cleaner, greener world!
I’m pretty sure I was 10 or 11 years old the last time I was in Los Angeles. Back then, I knew my parents met as flight attendants and I knew my dad was in the Air Force, but I didn’t have even an ounce of interest in aviation. I do remember falling in love with the brightly colored glass pylons and the massive “LAX” outside the airport though – you know, the things a preteen girl should appreciate.
Now, roughly 20 years later – I’m going back. And I am FLIPPING OUT. As the second-busiest airport in the country, LAX is TEEMING with heavies. Of course I know this from following dozens of Los Angeles-based plane spotters on social media, but, as one might expect, I also enjoy a good LAX air traffic control tower listening session – that stuff really hits the spot and soothes me after a hard day’s work.
While I love the heck out of the Twin Cities, you just don’t get the diversity here at MSP that you get at LAX or JFK or any of those biggies… you just don’t. Anytime I’m ANYWHERE close to planes, someone says to me, “You’re just like a kid in a candy store, aren’t you?” And I just stare back at them stupidly agape with an ear-to-ear grin and nod. But this is going to take the cake… I just know it. This will be me if the world suddenly crumbled into a pile of raisinets and I was sitting on top of it. This will be huge. Yuge.
I should mention, the real reason my husband and I are traveling to Los Angeles this weekend is to celebrate our third wedding anniversary. Yet somehow, all I can do is imagine what it will be like the first time I set eyes on an A380 (sorry Scott…). He understands though. And I appreciate his patience with me more than he’ll ever know.
BUT, I should mention, we do have lots of romantic things planned, like Scott getting In-N-Out Burger while I photograph planes from the fast food restaurant that just happens to be a prime-spotting location – I’m a vegetarian… what can I say? Or what about our possible trip out to one of the two aircraft “boneyards” in the area – I mean… incapacitated British Airways 747s and FedEx 727s SCREAM “Romance!” to me… AMIRIGHT?
All in all, I think this is going to be one heck of a trip. I really can’t wait to share it with you all through photos and stories. Until then…
On Tuesday night, I arrived all giddy at MSP Airport. I had a typical “kid in a candy store” expression plastered on my face, but this time it was amplified – my face legitimately hurt from smiling.
I wasn’t going to the dog park or the viewing area or the cemetery or the gold ramp, no… I was going to the Air Traffic Control tower. ATC has ALWAYS fascinated me… one of the first pieces I wrote for Aviation Queen was about the inner workings of air traffic control. And more recently I got to write a piece on the privatization debate for Airways.
Lucky me, one of the many connections I’ve made through Instagram was with an incredibly nice guy named Joe. He works as a controller in the MSP tower, and invited me to shadow him this past Tuesday evening. It was UNREAL. Seriously guys… unreal. Side note: Joe also loves cats – further proof that he’s a good guy.
He told me in advance that he would “put me to work” and I didn’t quite know what that meant. But one of the first things I did upon arrival was plop down in a chair in front of a computer and a machine that was cranking out flight strips. I placed the strips into their holders, went through the flights on the computer to send clearances and then went through them all again to record their gate numbers. Best part? I got to KEEP the strips from the Air France A340 and the Condor 767 – pretty sweet, huh?
We then went over to a different station and worked “ground” – I had a headset on and just listened to Joe interact with the pilots… clearing them for pushback or directing them to their runway for departure or to their gate for arrival. It was boatloads of fun. I wish I was back there right now.
THEN… I had the opportunity to go out on the “catwalk” – a full 360 deck that circles the tower. I got some amazing photos from up there and the view was just stunning. It was fairly close to sunset, so the lighting was beautiful. It was the cat’s meow. See what I did there?
Following my photo session, I got to hang around inside the cab for a bit more before we made our way down to TRACON.
I first learned about TRACON (terminal radar approach control) when I interviewed Jennah Perry earlier this year for my ATC story on Aviation Queen. Jenna is the Program Chair and Assistant Professor of Air Traffic Management at Embry-Riddle Aeronautical University.
TRACON is located in the lower level of the MSP tower and looked to me like something out of a movie. It was dark and a little eerie – with a number of computer screens displaying the radar. The screens were divided into 5-mile “rings” of the area surrounding MSP – really bringing to life the whole “invisible highways in the sky” concept.
Joe told me that back in the “old days” the controllers at the top would actually send the flight strips down to TRACON in a contraption similar to those bank tubes that go between the drive-thru lanes and the tellers inside the building. That’d sure be a sight to see, huh?
After the visit down to TRACON, my time was up. Two hours really *flies* by when you’re having fun. Before I knew it, my husband was pulling back into the parking lot to pick me up. I talked his ears off about how much fun I had for no less than two hours straight. It was perfect.
All in all, my visit Tuesday was an exciting, eye-opening experience. As always, I feel incredibly thankful to have been able to meet such a diverse group of aviation enthusiasts through social media… from pilots to mechanics, spotters to photographers, and now even a controller.
So, here’s to you Joe! Thanks for an AWESOME time.