to begin, i apologize for the abundance in posts! prepare yourself for a dumping ground of four days’ worth of thoughts. this is my first visit to the internet cafe! but i am safe and sound and full to the brim with stories to share!
Thoughts from the Journey: Plane Ride Edition
Plane to Bruxelles, 10:47 PM EST (Wednesday)
May I simply say that all romantic comedies wherein the plot centers around the central character trying to uphold a lie really, really annoy me. Currently playing on the enormous television screen on my airplane is some Adam Sandler masterpiece where, as far as I can tell, he wore a wedding ring (despite being unwed) to attract women but now that he’d found “the one” he’s faking a divorce with his fictional wife, played by a beautiful coworker. Really? I mean, I understand that these movies are not meant to be factual, but nevertheless I find the whole premise completely ridiculous. As someone who prizes honesty above all other virtues, this tale is incredibly foolish to me. If he’d been honest right away, this whole mess need not occur.
Akin to this view is the main character in the Sarah Dessen I brought to keep me company on this flight to Belgium (thank you, Brenna!). This particular high school romance tale is called Just Listen and, while not my normal taste in fiction (where are the dragons?! Or time-travelling paradoxes?! Or dashing Jane Austen men carrying Marriane in from the downpour?) I’m quite taken with it. Owen, the male subject of desire, wears combat boots (win), has his own radio show (double-win), and never lies as a personal policy of highly prizing honesty (triple-win). The storyline, true to Sarah Dessen fashion, takes place in my hometown (she grew up in the house adjacent to my friend’s!) and is abundant in high school melodrama mixed with just enough realism to be compelling.
In any case, the book is far more relatable and interesting than whatever the hell US Air is playing. Now the woman of desire is walking around in a cropped top. Do people actually do that in every day life? With people like Adam Sandler? Whatever. Back to my book.
current jam: “misery” warblers cover (thanks nora! listening to my husband’s voice is ever so soothing)
best thing in my life right now: darren supermegafoxyawesomehot criss. singing in my ear.
Brussels Airport, Gate A/T 68, 3:07 AM EST//9:07AM…Brussels time? (Thursday)
So I’m running on two hours sleep at this point, so I must beg your indulgences as I writes. After a harrowing journey from my last plane, back through security (thank God for my six years of French to get me through that), through the first SIXTY gates of the terminal I came to learn was “B,” I clambered down two flights of unsettlingly unpopulated stairs into a makeshift hanger where, I was informed, I was to wait for the next bus that would take me across the yard to Terminal “T,” which was also known as Terminal “A.”
A and T being one in the same was quite confusing, especially when garbled in my sleep-deprived, coffee-less terrible French state. But, praise all divine things, I made it to yet another surprisingly and somewhat eerily empty staircase. This staircase, though, I was able to brave with the motley crew I’d joined on the bus ride over. There was a family of Mennonites (whom, I have a sneaking suspicion, I might be seeing again as I’m working for the Mennonite Central Committee), a family conversing very loudly in what I inferred to be Thai, two college girls, a boy who (by the name embroidered on his Adidas sweatpants) was named Josh, and my own bedraggled self. We arrived in the large building, shaped like and oval with walls seemingly made entirely of glass. In this glass-walled building I, at long last, found (singing angels chorusing in my head) my gate. But the gate, I confess, then became priority number two.
Priority number one was my rank breath and full bladder, so nonviolent peaceable guns a-blazing I plunged into “la toilette” for “les femmes” with much gratitude. The bathroom, unlike any bathroom in any other airports I have previously encountered, was completely empty when I walked in.
Whatever. My teeth. My gross, slimy, smelly TEETH.
With gusto I started the age-old rite of cleaning my dental arena when, thinking how John Green had recently been in Belgium, I had a fit of inspiration. For those of you who are unaware, John Green is a super-famous YouTuber (search vlogbrothers on YT) and is famous for including himself brushing his teeth in all his thoughts from places/travel vlogs. But John, unlike myself, most likely thinks this through more than I did.
In my eagerness (and, need I remind you, bleary-eyed state) to pay homage to my favorite YouTuber, I rummaged around for my camera in my bag, toothbrush sticking out of my mouth and the automatic-motion-detecting faucet and soap spewing their contents all over the sink. After my digging and subsequent splaying of all my toiletries all over the counter (which in turn prompted sink number two to start gurgling out soap and water everywhere) I found my camera… disassembled. Now with soap and toothpaste all over me, I assemble the damn thing (which takes far longer than it should).
After wrangling with the lens, I proceed to spend five minutes trying to get my picture in focus. Jubilant that, at last, a clear picture is coming through the lens, I start filming myself brushing my teeth in true John Green fashion. Despite the fact that by now my teeth are puh-lenty clean.
Now, John Green has taught me many things; how to aspire to vlog, that the truth resists simplicity, that Warner Chilcott is a captital-A corporate Ass- among other profound giraffe-related things. What I never learned from John Green: that filming yourself brushing your teeth is really, really hard. So after all the drama in getting myself set up, I think I managed ten seconds of filming. Which, in reality, is all I needed, but still.
However, of all ten seconds I spent in the bathroom, the utilities man had to pick these ten to walk in. So there I am, two sinks going nuts trying to be eco-friendly and dually splash water all over me, my toothbrush hanging out of my mouth, and me filming my reflection in the mirror. Needless to say, my garbled- FRENCH- explanation (toothbrush in my mouth) was only covered up by his profuse apologies (and obvious mortification) for intruding on such a scene.
Welcome to Belgium, Lizzie.
So I quickly wrapped up my business and then headed back to the gate where I now sit, writing this and desperately hoping not to be found by said utilities man here. The sweatpants boy and Mennonite family are here two. Kindred spirits. Well, spirits who don’t make complete fools of themselves in Belgium bathrooms.
current jam: “i’m the man who loves you” wilco (thanks again, nora! third time though the mix)
Plane to Entebbe (Thursday) 11:46 AM EST//5:46 PM…Entebbe time?
I am a genius. A loopy, now awake for nearly thirty hours straight (ish) genius.
Would you, dearest reader, care to know why?
Because, in my foresight and wisdom, I did not merely watch Season 5 of Doctor Who on Netlfix like every other poor chap. Ohhhh no, I bought season 5 for my computer. And while recently I’ve had to procure my third hard drive in order to hold the entire season (among other things) this purchase is the gift that keeps on giving. Because here on the plane, which now is playing re-runs of some Belgian show I can’t understand because its in Dutch, I’ve occupied myself by re-watching Vincent and the Doctor. My absolute favorite Doctor Who of all time (despite the fact that Tennant is hands-down the best Doctor, in my humble opinion).
One hour, killed. Now to occupy the remaining FOUR.
La la late December in sixty-three, what a very special time for me, as I remember, what a nighttttttttt. (what a lady, what a nightttt)
I’ve done laps around the plane, finished the aforementioned Sarah Dessen book, mourned over my stupid iPod dying, and now am using what little battery I have left on this old girl to write this.
Oh I’ve got a funny feeling when she walks in the moonlight…as I recall it ended much too soon OH WHAT A NIGHTTTTTT.
What’s a girl to do for the remaining four plus hours? With my book done, computer dying, and iPod apparently not turning on?
Current jam: do i really need to explain? But it just switched toooo… “just what i needed” the cars (seriously nora bond, this mix is keeping me sane in my depraved of rest state) I guess you’re just what I needED!