In “A Thousand Clowns,” the unemployed writer Murray Burns often goes to the docks in Manhattan to shout “Bon voyage!” at the people leaving on ocean liners. I loved this about Murray, one of my favorite literary characters in high school, but I’ve learned over the years that it’s more fun to watch people arriving.
So I don’t really mind when I have to pick up friends at MIA (as I did last night). I get to the International Arrivals Hall early and wander about, trying to guess the provenances of the people filing out or, sidling up to small groups, the languages being spoken. The last time I was there I got a nice photo of a little girl sitting with her father under a cluster of “Welcome Home” balloons. And then of course there are all the emotional reunions, the lovers’ kisses and the inter-generational, no-holds-barred bear hugs.
Last night, to my dismay, the hall was quiet and there was little to see. When our friends finally emerged, they said their flight from Paris was practically empty. I felt a little cheated.
