Monday, March 12, 2012

Killing Time In Charles De Ghastly

(Note, this was written earlier in the day)
Being a crisis prone, clumsy, “eternally causing a problem where there is the vague possibility of one appearing” person, I over-prepared for today. Instead of taking a train to arrive two hours before my flight, I caught one SIX hours beforehand. Having arrived on the only train in the history of French “arriving on time is over-achieving” Trains which got there EARLY (yes, two minutes early. I shook my fist at the conductor, don’t you worry), am now bored to tears sitting at my gate waiting for the flight to actually show up on the screen.
Speaking of tears, I’ve had a few of those. Having presumably freaked out a friend (brazilian, for those of you in the know) with a floodgate (fourth time in the last fourteen months, my weeping habit is nearly non-existent), yesterday, I still can’t quite get my head around saying goodbye (best friends anyone could ask for, well and truly).
Yes, I realize more of that phrase is in parentheses than out of them.
Such flood of emotion has shocked my anglo soul.
I joke (this is a direct translation from french, “je déconne.” Sounds better in the original version). Being the most enthusiastic person in the nordic capital of the United States, and embarrassing my british cousins with my self-expression (“M, you can’t love everything, and for heaven’s sake quit shouting about it”) doesn’t make me a stranger to my feelings (Remains of the Day, never eva).
Still, there is something special about the people in Nantes. My host family was DIVINE, and each of my friends were truly special, intelligent, kind and generous people. Darlings, PLEASE come visit, and should you be amenable, I will return the favor. 
CRYING BABIES ARE ALL AROUND ME. I count five. The parents must see me and think “wow, that girl looks un-traumatized and in need of some wailing cacophony about her peaceful self.” I’ve also made friends with a two year old who was so mal-nourished he attempted to eat my boot. Being rather short of shoes at the moment (I’m down to two pairs...), I gently shook my foot from his iron grasp before he could puncture the leather. He moved on to his own foot, and is now howling in pain (but still chomping down... this child is clearly exceptionally clever. Time for a joke about putting your foot in your mouth...). Babies two through five are still screaming their small bright red heads off, to the disregard of their parents.
I’m fairly certain my parents did a similar thing with me when I was a young warthog, usually to convince the people around them to do something (“waiter, serve us quickly” “can we please exchange seats on this flight?” etc). I wonder what these parental units want of me. Whatever it is, YOU CAN’T HAVE IT and I will prevail in a bad tempered way.
Stubborness, my friends, in the most pointless way.
Now, for some actual news, and not just griping about miniature demons.
Tomorrow I fly to Delhi, with my BESTIE AND SISTER AND CO-BLOGGER (who has been absentee on the blog, but still adventuring, never fear) to go work for KHEL charities. After the most complicated formation of flights, we will meet up (should all go well) in the aerodrome tomorrow (my grandfather called the airport this the other day*. No one since World War Two has called the airport an aerodrome, until now!). Once again, another parenthetically heavy sentence.
We will then have a night in Dehli, and catch a train a day later for the north of India to begin the adventures. Internet will be sketchy and probably involve chai coffees (I don’t like coffee, Cosette, so you’re on duty) and super fun cafés. I have no idea what to expect honestly. Everyone who knows the least thing about it tells me things change in the blink of an eye in the Tiger Country. My third world experience has been African and Central American countries as of today (tomorrow tomorrow tomorrow). Given that I get stressed out by crowded Barcelonen/Barcelonan/Barcelona/HOWDOESONESPELLTHIS? bars, I am in for a shock. Though my reaction was exacerbated by having wine spilled on me by a lady (a piece of work I would’ve liked to dump oily patatas bravas on) and my friend snapping her fingers at the bartender and insulting him. But India is probably on another level, so it is good I have Jax to hold hands with.
Those who know me, please take note of how I am now, and be sure to let me know whether I have devolved or improved post-India. In a flattering way.
The babies are now wailing in perfect harmony. I suspect a plot.
Miss you Thi.
*1P, note the CORRECT use of “the other day” in this sentence.

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