Coming home by Rod Serling

Our return trip was one of the strangest ones I've ever had in decades of flying. The small plane (30 seats or so) was 1/3 filled and the flight itself was fine. It didn't get weird -- and I mean Twilight Zone weird -- until we landed at JFK. We were shuttled to another gate and met by the most confused passport control group I've ever seen. They were surprised to see us, completely disorganized and as it turns out had no idea this plane was landing. To a person everyone said that they weren't expecting the flight. Eerie, particularly since it suggests that air traffic might have been unaware of us as well. The confusion spread to immigration, baggage (lost and not returned till the next day) and every other interaction in the airport as we tried (and mostly succeeded) in staying calm, getting our stuff and getting the hell out of Kennedy. Odd, odd, odd.

Next time: Moncton (New Brunswick)

Now the best traveler among us -- Holly -- maintained her stride. Never whined, never messed, never made a peep until we were in the taxi. Ah, to be a Jack Russell. She was extremely happy to get home where she has run of the house (as opposed to the PEI house where I am preserving the rugs and furniture and therefore barring her from much of the place.)

Photos to come; will post this weekend.