Layover at DWF

Beatrice Lebreton's

Beatrice Lebreton’s “Celebration.”

You can’t get to Alabama by standing still.  Unless you live there.  In our case, we took a morning flight from Phoenix to the state capital in Montgomery.  That required a layover at the Dallas/Fort Worth airport.  DFW for short.  It was a long day.  A long day made shorter by wandering this, the second largest airport in the U.S. behind Denver.  Believe it, 30 square miles.

Although the actual flight time to Montgomery is only three hours, it took twice that to reach our destination.  That’s counting the layover and taxing time from gate to lift-off.   You have to make the best of it.  Even if it means trying to find stuff to do during the layover in DFW.

Utitled.  Viola Delgado.

Utitled. Viola Delgado.

Not long after we arrived and got settled at our Gate in one of the two E terminals, I set out with my camera while Nebra guarded our carry-on bags and dealt with her email.  By the way, all major airports now have Wi-Fi and free charging stations for electronic gadgets.  At DFW, I’ll add, there was a constant tug and pull for rights to the stations.  Drop a bomb near one of them and there’d be plenty of seats on all those sold-out flights.

You’d think at such a large airport, you’d spend most of your time traveling the elevated rail called Skylink to get to your destination.  Not true.  A very efficient transport system it is.  Or stumbling over fellow-passengers.  After all DFW is the third busiest in the world.  Only Chicago’s O’Hare and Atlanta’s Hartsfield-Jackson see more plane traffic.  The fast-changing digital Arrival and Departure boards can send you into a swoon.

But there I was finally, shuffling along looking for unique stuff.  It didn’t take long.

Failed to catch the artist's name.

Failed to catch the artist’s name.

I soon discovered colorful circles of floor art in the long hallways.  Each design was different, each had a different artist.  My favorite, “Celebration,” was done by a 60-year-old French woman by the name of Beatrice Lebreton who now lives in Texas.

The sad thing is that many walked over these little masterpieces without looking at them, heads buried in smart phones or eyeballing the little screens.  A minor disappointment.

Soon, I went back to the gate and continued reading Thom Hartmann’s depressing “The Crash of 2016,” while Nebra took off for a while.  By then I was ready for the next lap, the flight to Montgomery on a little regional airline plane, American Eagle.

Come on, Dixieland.


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