Like so many other students, I chose to flee the cold late-winter days in the northeast in order to find some warmth and some sun in the Bahamas. Unlike so many others on the plane with me though, I was there for a job interview -- not just a vacation! Mixing business and pleasure certainly is a wonderful experience and I would recommend it to all.
Leaving Newark International just after dawn meant arriving at the airport at times of day best reserved for the imagination and though Sunday mornings at 3am seem like a great time to travel around the empty streets of Manhattan, as it turns out that's a time too early even for many of the public transportation options to function. Arriving in Penn Station before the gates were open and at the Newark International train stop before they had the AirTran running meant standing around with other eager and anxious travelers and constantly checking our watches (read: phones!) to see if we were "on time." Over the course of my trip I experienced at least four separately identifiable paces of ɶcological time and decided to take on the role of observer in order to try and decipher the patterns of each.
Sunday, Pre-Dawn, Manhattan, Vacationer Time:
Empty subway stations and trains, long waits between one train and the next, unoccupied station offices, an eerie quiet throughout until the subway cars whistle by. Without express options the train doors open at each and every stop along the route and because of nighttime and weekend work hours for the mole-people construction crews, the pace is slow and steady. There are four other people in the center car with me with a similar smattering throughout the 10-car behemoth rolling down the tracks. One is asleep, two and three -- an apparent couple -- seem to be returning from a night out and totally engrossed in themselves, and four -- seemingly another traveler given the size of his suitcase -- makes eye contact with me and smiles knowingly at my bags, thinking the same thing I am "it will be nice to get away for a few days." Moving down the tracks from station to station and having the doors open onto empty platforms along the way my mind begins to wander and I think about how different this trip on the #1 is different than any other time of day or week. I glance at my phone to check the time and recalculate to make sure I will make it to Newark International early enough that I won't have to rush. Music plays in my headphones and I look around the other faces sharing this quiet moment with me. When we get to my stop -- 34th St / Penn Station -- I load up my bags and head to my train, my fellow traveler in tow. At this point we are comrades and though we haven't spoken a word to one another, people around us may see us as friends.
Finding the gates to the trains locked because it is too early is a novel experience in New York. Rarely, in the "city that never sleeps" is the time on the clock or the time by the sun seen as a reason to disrupt the normal flow. Here though, we join the throng of other travelers who have taken up position before the gates and slowly pace in front of the security officers, silently willing them to let us in just a minute or two early. The buzz of this waiting area brings us all back to our "New York Minute" mindsets and people jockey to be first in line and a step ahead of those around them. The more people you are surrounded by, apparently, the more you want to be first in line. It is certainly true that there are those who naturally buck this trend but for the masses, the mass mentality takes over and even though the train will not leave any sooner if I am on it first I must admit to having a noticeable desire to get through gates closed off to me by the clock. If a door is locked to access then I am content but if it is locked only intermittently then I find myself wanting to get through it. Having timed this trip in such a way that hours matter but seconds don't there is no reason for me to care that I get on the train first ... but I care nonetheless!
We are on the train and soon at the airport stop. The AirTran, which normally runs every 4 minutes, is not open yet and we need to wait for a bus. Again, because the normal pace we are all used to is not available we are antsy -- it is not because we need those seconds and minutes but rather because they would be available in an hour and so we want them now. As the morning begins to color the surrounding sky and the number of people I am surrounded by grows, the pace of life and propensity for people to check their watches and phones to see minutes ticking by grows.
|Newark International with a sunrise over Manhattan|
Whether at Newark International before dawn on a Sunday, Nassau Airport at noon during Spring Break week, or Rock Sound Airport at any time, "airport time" seems to be a thing consistent to most travelers in most airports. Like a casino the job of the airport is to separate travelers from the outside world with high security, formulaic procedures to get from point A to point B, and people everywhere wearing costumes to designate their level of authority of assistance-potential. Unlike casinos though, airports have clocks EVERYWHERE!!! Time is counted and displayed on almost any surface large enough to show the dials or digits. It may ebb and flow in a way that would make a scientist go into apoplexy -- with delays and early arrivals -- but it is apparent to everyone that they should be somewhere at somewhen. Like a good traveler, I arrived at the airport for my international flight about two and one-half hours prior to the scheduled departure. And like a good traveler I got annoyed at those who had not given themselves enough lead time and were ushered to the front of every line because they were "late." Turning to my fellow travelers as we got passed by time and again, I say "it sort of makes you wonder why you should be on time!" Scattered grumbles and chuckles are evidence of the pre-travel annoyance that we all share ... we want to be on vacation already but we keep getting reminded that we are on clock time for a while longer.
Lines are long but move quickly, an efficient beast slowly yawning to life as a new day of departures and arrivals greets the small city that is Newark International. Beyond the sterility of the ticket counter and the security line (perhaps "sterile" is the wrong word given everyone walking around with no shoes!) the promise of stores and food stalls and endless opportunities to spend more money await. The hustle and bustle of those who rush to their gate and the impatient foot-tapping of those who want their row number to be called. Whether I was going or coming this was the same feeling at every airport. Surprising though was the fact that there was no difference between Newark International with three terminals and thousands of people, and Rock Sound Airport with only about twenty people and one plane. Regardless of where you are, when people are at an airport they are focused on the clock and they are impatient because of the feeling of "wasting time."
|A meditative bench overlooking the ocean|
Arriving at Rock Sound Airport I am immediately inundated by island time. The opposite of hustle and bustle, I gather my bags and step outside to see folks milling about and awaiting rides that had been scheduled but had not yet arrived. Myself, I was expecting a pickup from the school at which I was to interview and expected them to be there when my plane landed (especially considering that the plane landed about 30 minutes later than scheduled). Without a contact number or way of traveling the sixty kilometers to my final destination, there was little I could do but wait. Striking up conversation with the baggage handlers who found themselves on break between flights and sharing the dried mangoes I had brought with me from New York, I found myself relaxing into the space and soon took off my bags and relaxed. The stress of travel and the impending interview oozed out of my body and I felt myself grow calm and serene -- more than that though, I could see the same feeling in those around me everywhere I looked. It didn't matter if they were transient vacationers or locals, everyone I saw was calm and relaxed and moving slower here in Eleuthera. I did not even see a watch on anyone's wrist (though to say that I never saw a person check their phone would be stretching the truth a bit).
|Sunrise over Eleuthera Island|
My ride arrived two hours later and rather than being annoyed by the delay, I was overjoyed at the time I had had to make some new friends and relax into this new place. Like my times in Bulgaria, Bhutan, Australia, or South Africa, the prevailing feeling seemed to be that schedules and plans were more akin to guidelines and were never considered hard and fast. This was particularly interesting to see in operation at the school I was visiting because at school schedules matter. Though that was true (there was a time to be eating, a time for class, a time to swim with sharks and dolphins and sea turtles, etc.), it was also true that things blended together much more freely than they do here in Manhattan and that when someone tells you to meet at 1:15 they mean "sometime before 2" rather than "1:14." Fewer people seems to mean less strict adherence to clock time and more general acceptance of what the world is telling you. Perhaps, also, the heat and propensity to be outside makes it easier to schedule your day by the sun and the stars than by clocks hanging on walls -- which can only be seen while inside?
Thursday, rush-hour, Manhattan, Post-Vacation Time:
|Transit Police keep order in a busy Penn Station|
Walking off the train in Penn Station though, it was impossible for me to maintain any semblance of "Island Time" as I would have never made it from the platform to the subway. With what seemed like millions of people in the same small room all going opposite directions I had to put my head down and just walk. Ignore the fact that I'm bumping into people and heading the wrong direction, I just need to look like I'm not a tourist. Sure I got lost and walked the entirety of the station more times than I needed to, what mattered was that I was moving and moving with intentionality! By the time I got to the subway I was fully back into my "Commuter Time" mode and avoided eye contact with fellow travelers. Looking around everyone is staring straight ahead, standing and packed tight into the cattle-car that is the rush hour subway, plugged into private electronic entertainment, and resigned to the pace and comfort of their commute. My bags were huge and awkward in the space but rather than apologizing I just had to close off and shut down like everyone else.
One more, Post-Vacationer Time:
I arrived back in my apartment exhausted from the trip (Newark International to Manhattan was much more trying than Eleuthera to Newark!) and literally fell on my bed with my backpack still on to wake up five hours later in the middle of the night. I'm not sure if that counts as a sense of time or not but for those five hours I was separate from any time at all and though the lines in my face and sore back evidenced the passage of some clock time, I was certainly not aware of it!
Transitions between various ɶcological times are tough, especially when couched in the language of "vacation" or "commute" and though we often find ourselves moving at the pace of those around us -- even when we want to be moving faster or slower! -- I think my travels have shown me it is the transitions between that are uncomfortable more than the different time senses themselves.
- James Eberhart
- James Eberhart