Cedric in the South

We have been sitting on the tarmac for about twenty minutes now. There is a constant stream of people shuffling on board, but I'm barely noticing them as they walk by. I'm staring out the small, thick plane window, thinking about what's in store for me at the other end of this flight. The future has never felt more open-ended. My heart is racing.

The plane just moved. We're finally starting to roll out onto the runway. In 11 hours and 5,309 miles I will be in Buenos Aires. I will be stepping foot onto the southern hemisphere for the first time in my life. It feels like I'm standing on the edge of a cliff, toes protruding over the edge and a dizzying drop below, and all I can do is close my eyes, swallow my fear and jump.

I woke up about a half hour ago. I slept pretty much the whole flight. The man next to me mentioned earlier that we are somewhere over Uruguay. Outside my window I can see the early morning haze settling across a vast expanse of farm land. Different plots are stamped onto the landscape in neat geometrical patterns. It is curious to consider how these shapes seem so arbitrarily scattered, yet so precisely placed. I wonder if my travels will take me to the land I'm seeing below. Will I make it to Uruguay at all? Will I head south to Patagonia? What's in store for me down there?

The plane is set to land in about an hour at the Ministro Pistarini International Airport in Buenos Aires. I'll do some last minute Spanish cramming before we get there.