Day 1: I can see the Eiffel Tower from my house.
Better than being able to see Russia from my tearoom, I guess.
28th December:
10:30am -
Dear self, do you know why you feel like every mouthful of instant mi goreng is going to make you hurl violently? That is your stomach. It is saying to you, "The next time you go a day without eating anything, I shall devour you from within, beginning with your pancreas." Listen to the almighty stomach, for it is wise.
4:30 pm -
Inflight beer was nice.
4:10am (Austime) -
I HAVE DRUNK 4 CUPS OF COFFEE AND I HAVEN'T SLEPT AND I AM WATCHING THE DARK KNIGHT FOR THE THIRD TIME I AM SO HIGH
29th December:
2:45 pm (Paristime) -
Imagine there is a great black cloth, pure black and limitless, that stretches beyond the field of sight. Imagine that some genius - or madman - has now scattered across it thousands of multicoloured points of light. And then this mad creator has arranged these lights into mosaics, constellations of a reversed sky: as though a giant mirror had been placed under the sky, and someone had shuffled the stars.
Europe is pretty impressive from the air at night. That's all I'm saying.
I did not realise that I could get so sick of airplane food until I had eaten 4 mealtimes worth of it down, with nothing in between. When breakfast rolled towards me the sound of its wheels was like the tread of death. I am not joking when I say that I was literally forcing myself to keep from barfing each mouthful.
It was 7am when we started driving back to Jean-Yves's apartment, and at night, Paris looks a lot like Melbourne. There was a moment of blinding panic at the airport when Jean-Yves opened the front right car door, as though he was expecting me to drive. And then I realised that in Europe people drive on the right side of the road. CRISIS AVERTED.
We arrived at the apartment and I was really not looking forward to eating, damn airplane food traumatizing my stomach. But then I was given a large bowl and it was filled with tea and a chocolate croissant was put in front of me. So I ate it. It literally brought tears welling to my eyes. I can no longer eat the flavoured cardboard that passes for croissants in Melbourne without remembering this heavenly crescendo of flaky pastry and chocolate (with Queen playing majestically in the background. 'Bohemian Rhapsody'. Made this dairy product feel right at home. Followed by Freddie Mercury wailing 'I Want to Ride my Bicycle'; ah, memories, Reyicus. Do you remember how I used to molest your ears with that?)
After that I passed out on the floor for 4 hours and lay there being suitably comatose. Woke up in time for lunch. So. Good. My stomach has never been so well-treated. Anyone who has been subject to my whining about how underfed I am: I am going to come back from Europe fat, and now you can tell me to stfu and consume my own fat camel-style because I will be like a barrel on legs.
The airport in Paris is very stark. Lots of bare cement and ugly linoleum. French officials are very apathetic. We were delayed getting off the plane because there were no ground staff to operate the bridge at 5am. On the upside, listening to my fellow passengers is slowly helping me recover my French.
Goddamn plane, so dry, lips are now a mess of flayed meat and blood. Developed an epic nosebleed at 2am or thereabouts. The combination of insatiable hunger, cramped space and lack of sleep rendered me into a surly assface for the whole morning. Damn plane. Damn 9-hour-flight-followed-by-plane-delay-of-1-hour-followed-by-12-hour-flight. On the upside, I got 4 pages of writing done. (I watched Hellboy 2 on the plane. Why is the sight of 2 manly men drinking beer shirtless and singing 'I Can't Smile Without You' so hilarious?)
I can't smile without you.
Can't smile, without you
If you only knew
What I'm going through
I just caaaaan't smile withouuuuut you~