In January I set off to the United States, not once, but two times within two weeks. The conference venue was Las Vegas. Friends and acquaintances were tremendously impressed.
“Wow, you really get to see the world” or “I would love to travel as much as you do” are just some of the comments an interpreter hears from just about everyone. In reality such assignments are less glamorous than they seem. You get up early, drive to the airport, sit in an airplane for 17 hours. Splendid. Then you dart around the airports of Philadelphia (or Charlotte, depending on your connection) at what seems to be speed of light, because after the entry under the US Visa Waiver Programme which in certain instances takes up to 90 minutes, you really do not wish to miss your connecting flight. You arrive late at night, you drag yourself to the hotel, check in and try to get some sleep, because the program starts early next morning. You spend your day in the interpreting booth, in the evening you are available for small talk over dinner, and that is the end of the day. On the day after, the taxi waits early in the morning, and off you go/drive/fly/fly/drive to Germany.