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GUEST BLOG: Cynthia Drescher, Notes from a 757

September 27, 2011
Filed in: Travel

Cynthia Drescher is the Managing Editor of Conde Nast’s Jaunted.com. At any given time, you can bet that Cynthia is on the road or in the air, awaiting her next adventure around the globe. She fittingly lives by the motto, “If I can do it, I’m going to do it.” In her contribution to Filson Life, Cynthia goes into detail about her travels to Sin City. Not one her favorite destinations, but one that is not uncommon in her everyday travels. She gives us an inside look at what it’s like in her ‘temporary home.’

40,000 feet above the Kansas/Colorado border. This is flyover country, albeit the western edge of it. It’s also a temporary home for the next few milliseconds, as this 757 tin can continues on at 500mph.

It’s dusk up here, but full night below the clouds, those clouds doing an excellent impersonation of tasty, tasty cappuccino foam. Out in this area of the country, the cities–their sodium vapor orange lights burning in the dark–appear here and there, like the brief, round smolder of a cigarette inhaled in a darkened room.

“Peanuts, pretzels or cookies?”

“Cookies, please.”

I’ve already downed a can of ginger ale, a meager attempt to calm my stomach as it churned with the heat and the taxi’s rush hour rally through Queens. I won’t miss this flight; I didn’t miss this flight. I win this week, with the last 72 hours a blur which included, but is not limited to, packing a hurricane “Go Bag,” dining alone at a restaurant after my date’s flights were cancelled by said hurricane, and repacking to condense the next three weeks–three different world cities–into one 18″ wheeled carryon and a Filson Travel Bag.

This first stop is–I confess–one of my least favorite destinations, a place where the concept of “cool” has been skewed, squished and squeezed, where men like Criss Angel are the ideal. My excuse for touching down here? Work. And it’s true; over the course of the next three days I’ll not see a pool lounger or a buffet, but I will sneak onto an abandoned hotel rooftop surrounded by the neon of Fremont Street, have a close encounter with Carrot Top’s ‘fro and interrogate a man on the assortment of chopsticks in the utensils drawer of a high roller villa, all the while concealing a magnum of Belvedere in said Filson bag.

All in a day’s work, with one day never like the rest and–so long as I want to keep the Earth moving below–never allowing for rest.

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