Home!

I'm back. I made it. I survived.

On the bus home back from the airport I kept looking around and feeling like I'd never seen this city before. Maybe it's because some stuff is actually new. Maybe it's because I'm still in tourist mode. Maybe it's because I'm usually in the driver's seat when we go that way, and so pay my attention to the other drivers on the highway than things around it. Maybe I don't know why, but everything looked so strange.

The Stinky Monkey ran out the door to greet me. He danced on me and around me and beside me for two hours straight. Aferwards, I walked up the street to collect my Beandog. He looked at me and then walked away. But now he's sitting at me feet, watching my every move. You know, in case I drop some food or something.

I'm going to go through the stuff I've written and start posting it. I'm also going to start adding photos to various posts, now that I've transferred them to my computer.

One more time

Two hours to go. I should be at the airport by nine, and it's just past seven now. This afternoon I'll be home. Not sure if I'll have anywhere to sleep when I get there. Sounds like we've got a full house right now. The guy I sublet my room to is still there, which is fine. By rights, I guess it's his 'til tomorrow. But we also have a guest in our living room on the spare bed.

Don't know where that leaves me. I'm not sure I'll care. I might just curl up with the Stinky Monkey on the bathroom floor and go to sleep.

My stomach's feeling better today. Not great, perhaps, but better. I probably won't be up to my usual caloric intake for a few days yet. Not sure. My congestion, on the other hand, is not sounding good. I'm coughing from pretty deep. I've got a doctor's appointment booked for a few days after I get back, which I think is a good thing.

Right now I'm obsessed with food. Everything I see, I want to eat. Well, not everything... But I keep fantasising about various things, like: cheese sandwiches, vegemite on toast, rhubarb yogurt. It's weird. I'm perpetually hungry and yet -- at the same time -- can't bear the thought of eating. So I just sit, daydreaming about all the food I'd love to have.

Back in London

Okay. I made it back to London all in one piece. I'm going out with a friend of mine tonight and I'm going to brave some more soup. We'll see how that goes.

The hostel I'm staying at this time is really posh and sterile. And I don't mean sterile in an overly clean way (although it may be that too). It seems pretty lifeless. But the front desk dude's name is Baggy. That's interesting, right?

On the bright side, I've lost some serious weight in the past four days! Oh, er... Wait. That's not actually good news, is it? That's, erm, precisely the opposite of good news.

I've got a whole whack of posts I've written but not put up yet. Guess I'll have to finish them from home.

Farewell Globetrotter

Okay. I went back to bed for an hour and a half. I feel somewhat better now. My stomach's still pretty displeased with me. Hopefully, before I get on the train, I can pick up some antacids or something. Maybe that will help.

My stuff is nearly packed and I've still got more than half an hour before the shuttle into the city leaves.

That's not good

If possible, I feel worse today than before. In spite of this, I have to somehow get myself from the hostel back into Edinburgh, from Edinburgh to Glasgow, from Glasgow train station to the airport, from there to London. In order to make my flight, I need to be on the 10.00 train to Glasgow, which means leaving the hostel by nine. I had originally planned to be on the eight o'clock bus, but there's just no way I'm going to make it.

Although I haven't slept well all night, maybe I should go back to bed until the last possible second.

Good ideas

Good news everybody! I had soup this afternoon. I'm not sure it was such a good idea, though.

What really wasn't a good idea was leaving all my stomach remedy stuff in India. There's none at the hostel here, and we're miles away from anything.

Still sick

Yup. Still sick. Still in Edinburgh. Now I'm really glad I cancelled my trip to Skye. Taking a ten-hour bus ride there, just to spend the day in bed and then another long bus ride while still sick just does not sound like fun.

I ate this morning. First time in about 46 hours. I had two pieces of toast. It was a struggle to finish them. I know, I know... I can't afford to lose any weight. Thanks for pointing that out.

I was supposed to leave for Glasgow today, but I've cancelled that as well. Tomorrow I fly from Glasgow to London, which I can't miss. I'll have to catch the bus first thing in the morning. Hopefully I'll be better by then.

I am feeling a bit better this morning, and I'm hoping that by tomorrow I'll be well enough to move on.

Blech

So now I'm sick. For real sick. Fever and chills. Aches and pains. Sinus pain and congestion. Lethargy and more lethargy. I'm going to take it easy for the day and just hang out at the hostel. Mostly in bed.

Right now I'm really glad I made the move from Highlander to Globetrotter.

(No) vacancy

I think I've just booked myself into the Edinburgh Globetrotter hostel for Friday and Saturday nights. I checked at Scotland's Top Hostels, which is where I was hoping to stay. All three were fully booked. This is a long weekend here.

Then I checked out Brodie's Hostel, named for the original Dr Jekell and Mr Hyde, Deacon Brodie. They were full and so was their other location. I came to an internet cafe and checked at hostelworld.com. According to it, all hostels in Edinburgh were fully booked, including Globetrotter. I stayed with Globetrotter in London and they were absolutely palatial in comparison with the Highlander Backpacker, which is where I'm staying now.

I decided to check Globetrotter's website, though. You know, just in case... Lo and behold, I found vacancies. I booked myself in.

I have also booked a highlands tour for tomorrow. It looks to be a lot of fun. And it involves spending much less than ten hours on a bus. And it means I get to see Castle Doune. Perhaps I can shout insults about people's parentage from the top of it. You know, in a bad French accent...

You don't know what I'm on about, do you? Well, never mind then.

Not sure what I'll do on Saturday. Perhaps another tour of some sort.

My internet time is nearly up, so I should head off to the Globetrotter to see if I really am booked in.

Thinking...

Thinking I might stick around Edinburgh for the next few days instead of going up to the Isle of Skye. Much as I want to see it, I'm just not sure ten hours on a bus is really what I need right now.

Definitely switching hostels, though...

My dad won't like this

25 May 2005
The Elephant House Cafe, Edinburgh

I bought a better pen, so I'm much happier now. Sadly, I've no concluded that it's not as good as the one I used up, but it's a good deal better than the one I was using in its place.

I'm waiting for two o'clock, as I'm going on a tour of Edinburgh's underground vaults. I've read about them, and I'm curious. Later on I'm going on a 'ghost' tour. It focuses on the city's macabre secrets. I should be good and tired by the time I make it to bed tonight.

The cafe I'm in now is famous. Once upon a time a certain woman came here every day, pen and paper in tow. She wrote a novel in this very room, a story destined to become an international bestseller.

She's too rich and famous to show her face in here these days, but the tourists flock here in droves, hoping to catch a bit of her magic.

If I were a better writer, I'd surely come up with a better way to end this post than by telling you that I'm thinking about getting my hair done.

But I'm not.

Or at least not now.

I guess there really is no magic here.

Running on empty

25 May 2005
Costa Coffee, Princes Street, Edinburgh

Woke up early this morning. Not surprising, since I got to bed shortly after ten last night. Nobody else was stirring, but the sun was up. Checked my clock: 7.00.

Got up. Showered. Dressed. Made breakfast. Wanted to check my e-mail, but the computer was shut off. The one other person up and about filled in the blank. They don't turn it on until 7.00.

What?

Looked --

Interruption: I have just used up the last of the ink in the pen I bought at the start of this trip. How sad.

-- at the clock on the wall: 6.20. Checked my clock again. Still said 7.00. It was stuck on 'set alarm' mode. [rolls eyes and shakes head]

Took my time getting ready. When I left the hostel I decided to walk back down --

Interruption: I really hate this pen. I'm going to have to get another one like the one I just used up.

-- to Princes Street in search of coffee. Instead spent an hour climbing and descending the streets of very pretty but dull parts of the city. Everybody in Edinburgh must have utterly fantastic calves.

Eventually retraced my steps and found where I'd gone wrong. Now I'm sitting in an over-priced chain coffee shop, drinking a decent enough latte, eating a mighty fine piece of shortbread and listening to 80s tunes.

The city outside is gradually waking up and it's time for me to get moving again.

Switching gears

from a few days back...

23 May 2005
Cafe Paris, Hammersmith, London

Guess I'm still on Calcutta time. I woke this morning at what would be just before six. Too bad it was quarter past one here. Read for a bit before drifting back to sleep. Got up for real at six local time.

Have several goals for today. Needed an all-zone tube pass to get everything in: £12! Eek. Price drops to £6, though, if I can hold off until 9.30. So I've strolled about the neighbourhood for a bit and now I'm sitting in a falafel shop trying to disguise itself as a French cafe.

The hostel I'm staying in is decidely posh in comparison with the fancy hotel we stayed at in Calcutta. It felt sort of strangely luxurious having my own bed. The beds even have privacy curtains around them and individual reading lamps. Hence the reading in the middle of the night without waking my dormmate.

Yup. Singular. Booked myself into a six-bed room, but there's just one other person. She's a quiet but friendly person visiting from China.

The hostel is relatively expensive, but worth the price for somebody wanting a clean, quiet place to relax and take it easy. It's clean, safe, huge and incredibly well equipped.

Hammersmith is... Hmm... Trying to think of a Toronto comparison. It's like High Park and Bloor West Village. It's trendy and stylish in an upper middle class sort of way. It's by no means downtown, but not really far enough out to qualify as suburban. It's right on one of the main tube lines, so it's an easy jump to the city centre.

Yeesh! This little shop has its radio set to a top forty station located somewhere in 1987. The walls are lined with the tackiest Native American art, all shimmery and 3-D.

So far I'm really enjoying London. I've got only two complaints. First, the recycling facilities: there aren't any. Second, the cigarette smoke: it's inescapable.

London is so much more fashionable than Toronto, in a dressed up sort of way. Just about all the men who've come in here have been in suit and tie. The women all put my work wear to shame. They can't all work for investment houses, can they? Why are they so dressed up?

Coming here from Calcutta's making my head spin. There, you don't even bother with clean clothes, never mind fashionable ones. I feel very under-dressed right now.

Time to get moving again. Almost 9.30.

Gibberish

I'm in Edinburgh and I'm at least part way alive. I've been advised to try the Tennant beer, but aside from that I have no plans as of yet. And no, I will not spend the next three days drinking Tennant beer. Or any beer. Or at least not much.

Old friends

An friend of mine moved to London a year and a half ago. She doesn't check her e-mail very often, so we haven't been able to keep in touch as much as I'd like. She was back in Toronto at Christmas and we went out then. I've e-mailed her a few times about getting together while I'm in London. No response.

This morning I went into the place where she worked and asked about her. The first girl I talked to said that she didn't work there anymore. As I was about to leave, she suggested I talk to one of the guys in the produce department as they might know how to get in touch with her. I did. The first guy I talked to said he'd run into her on the street a few weeks back and that her phone was still kicking around some place. He found it for me.

I called her and she didn't sound at all surprised to hear from me. I asked her about that. She said that she'd e-mailed me her mobile number several times and was surprised that I hadn't called her back yet.

Anyways, now I'm off again to go meet up with her.

Mental vacation

I've decided to give my brain a few days rest. I need to sift through and process everything that happened in India, but first my brain needs some time off. While I am exploring London, it will be staying at the hostel in my locker, catching up on some much needed rest.

Foggy-headed

Back in London. Made it in one piece. Barely.

There's been a nasty cold or flu going around the volunteers in Calcutta. A few of our team got it, and I managed to pick it up the day before flying out. It made the flight here distinctly unpleasant. Luckily, though, it seems to run its course in 24-48 hours. Or at least it has done with most other people who caught it. Here's hoping!

Palak paneer aloo muttar naan mango kulfi

Today was my last day at Prem Dan. Tomorrow I'm off to London and my vacation before I head back to work.

It was difficult. The women all wanted to say goodbye to me and wish me well and tell me complex, intricate stories in a language I cannot understand. Sonda, the woman I've spent most of my time with, was very emotional.

Earlier in the week she swiped an extra mango from the breakfast tray and gave it to me. I thanked her and then waited until she wasn't paying attention before I put it back on the tray. A few minutes later she patted my apron pocket and discovered what I'd done. She yelled at me before stealing two more and putting them in my pockets. Every 5 minutes or so she checked to make sure they were still there. I put them back in the kitchen once we'd left for the day.

Many of the patients have little packets of personal belongings, which they guard like the Stinkey Monkey with a used tissue. Sonda keeps hers in a plastic bag tucked under her dress in her armpit. Most patients have a few photos, newspaper clippings, letters... Sonda has food. Whenever she can, she nicks a bit extra and stashes it away for safe keeping. It's like an armpit compost.

Today she pulled out her packet, opened it and removed what was once a boiled potato. It was slightly orange. I think it may have been halfway to vodka. It was by far the ooziest, slimiest, reakingest thing I have seen in Calcutta. She looked at it. Looked at me. Looked back at it. I ducked out of the way and grabbed the closest Sister.

I explained that I thought she might be preparing to give it to me. She smiled sympathetically and said I should just thank her and accept it and then toss it in one of the bins in the next building. First off, I don't think she understood just how rotten this thing was. Secondly, the mango... I was not, no way, no how, about to carry that thing around with me for the next four hours.

The Sister took the potato from her and gawked at it for a bit. She showed all the other Sisters. The head Sister came and took the plastic bag away from Sonda. She threw a fit, but when the Sister assured her that they just wanted to rinse it out, she relented. The bag contained bits of partially composted food and a sealed, plastic package of biscuits.

Before I left Sonda tearfully and clumsily tore open the package of biscuits (all her worldly possessions) and gave me one. I thanked her and accepted. She got out of bed and followed me down the stairs and out through the building, not an easy task given her motor skills.

I gave the biscuit to a street child on the way back to the hotel.

There is also a Chinese woman in the home who speaks no Bengali, Hindi or English. She can't really speak much at all, but seems to understand Mandarin. She probably has the mental capacity of a 5-year-old. She looks confused and frightened all the time. Nobody seems to know anything about her history or how she came to be there. We only know that she understands Mandarin because one of our girls tried talking to her. She nods, shakes her head or whispers single syllables in response.

I've spent some time each day sitting with her. She looks at me when I do, but neither smiles nor shows any other sign that she cares whether I sit beside her or not. As I left to day she began to cry.

Two women told me this afternoon for about an hour. Their tale was elaborate and involved and I understood none of it except for the odd word. As with most languages I've come across, my vocabulary is limited to yes, no, you, me and the wide range of food words. Periodically throughout the story, I caught the words 'Bengali' and 'English'. I think the gist of it was you'd better learn Bengali because we can't speak English.

I need to get back to the hotel and pack up my stuff. I have to arrange for a cab to take me to the airport tomorrow morning at twenty past four.

Doggone crazy

Before I came here, I was warned about the dogs. They're stinky, skinny, scary and mean, everybody said. They're flea-ridden, mangy and insane, I was told. They will chase you and attack you, people insisted.

To all of you who told me such things, I say bah!

Well, okay... They are mangy, and they undoubtedly have fleas, but still... They about as well nourished as anybody else on the streets of Calcutta, and for the most part they seem pretty content with their exitence. They just walk, sit or lie about, looking all pleased with themselves.

For the most part, they're shy. They tend to run away from people.

But not me. They follow me. When I walk by, they get up and trot along beside me for a bit before strolling off in a different direction. There are a few puppies in the street across from our hotel, Piss Alley. One in particular jumps up and runs after me whenever she sees me. And, trust me on this McJen, she's not attacking me. The look on her face is pure, unadulterated affection and joy. She jumps up and tries to get me to play, much the same way my own dogs would. Well, not Beandog... He's far too dignified for such tomfoolery.

I got some great pictures of her. When I get to London, I'll upload them and show you.

Calcutta lesson

Everything costs more on Thursdays.

Redemption

The Americans have redeemed themselves.

Well, okay, so the Americans I mentioned previously are still every bit as irksome as before, but a new team started this morning. They're med students from Nebraska. They are pleasant, helpful, and generally able to carry on a conversation without bursting into spontaneous church-speak. I like them.

Oh gosh, y'all, we're going for dinner tonight with the Californians. They are not large. They're tan, blonde and beautiful. And perky. Did I mention perky?

I have a headache.

Emotional

18 May 2005
Prem Dan, Calcutta

I'm sitting with Sonda again. One of the American girls offered to take my place with her 'if I needed a break'. As if sitting here with her was some sort of necessary but unpleasant task, like cleaning the toilet...

She doesn't need company; she wants company. I don't sit here because it needs to be done; I do it because it feels important that I do.

On my first day I sat with her for a few minutes. On my second day there were a few more volunteers, and so less work to be done. I walked past her, and she reached out to take my arm. She giggled as she patted the bed for me to sit. I did.

For a while we sat in silence. I felt stupid just sitting there, not doing anything, but it felt important that I do.

After a bit, she began to laugh and then to talk. She babbled excitedly, giggling and gesticulating. As she spoke, her mood changed. She became much more emotional. Her eyes welled with tears, and she began to weep. She continued to speak as she cried, clearly telling a story. She lacks the motor skills to form words, though, so her story is known to her alone.

I'm sure there should be more here, but I've run out of words.

On the roof

18 May 2005
Hotel Astoria, Calcutta

Can't sleep. Again. I'm up on the roof of the hotel, listening to crows. A murder of crows, right? The sound is coming from every direction, though, so it must be a few murders.

Periodically, a dog will bark. Every other dog in Calcutta wakes up, hears the sound, and joins in the barking.

It's hard to write about the work we do. I'm used to writing the funny, and so much of what what we're doing just isn't. But then a lot of it is, too.

I've been working at Prem Dan in the mornings. It's a long-term care facility for chronically ill patients. Most of them are quite old, but there are a few as young as teenagers.

For the first two days there were only a few volunteers. There was a lot to be done: laundry, serving food, feeding those unable to feed themselves, washing dishes... Then a few teams of large Americans showed up. They're very eager. And perky. And very American*. They go to a private Christian college and just ooze Christian culture.

I try to stay out of their way.

I've spent the past few mornings sitting with a crazy lady. The crazy ones gravitate to me. Actually, I think I gravitate towards them.

At first I thought she was fully nuts, but now I doubt it. She can't speak, not that that stops her. She talks more than I do, but it all gibberish. I mean not my sort of gibberish, but the sort that's not even made up of words. I think she's in there. Like, she's stuck inside her head, perfectly sane, but unable to communicate anything more complex than a frown, a laugh, a slap.

And I think she understands English.

Most of the patients don't. They speak to us in Bengali and then laugh hysterically when we fail to understand. They think we are the stupidest thing ever.

One woman speaks to me, endlessly repeating the same sentences. Eventually, I repeat stuff back to her. She nods, clearly pleased with herself and with my progress. Then she'll ask me a question. When I smile and shrug, she turns to the other patients, laughing and shaking her head.

It's nearly five a.m., time to get ready for the day. I should go back down to my room.

The sun is up now. I wanted to take a picture of the sunrise, but there wasn't one. The world just gradually became lighter over the course of the last hour. I still can't tell which way is east.


* Why is it that if you meet one American, he/she'll be a sensible, rational person, but where there are teams of them they become loud, abrasive, opportunistic, naive idealists? Maybe it's just the mentality of those Americans who choose to travel in teams, 'doing good' all around the world...

Bargaining power

17 May 2005
Hotel Astoria, Calcutta

Bargaining. It's just like arguing. Well, okay... It is arguing. To win one must be more stubborn than one's opponent.

Ha! Finally, something I'm good at. I'm a natural at it. Sadly, though, I haven't got a clue what things ought to cost. Am I a tough bargainer? You betcha. Are the prices I'm insisting so doggedly on really all that low? No idea.

One man quoted me 375 rupees for a saree. I bargained him down to 250. Decent price? Not sure. It's more than half his original quote, but what does that prove?

Walked another block and saw a man selling sarees of similar quality, fabric and colour. He quoted me 2050. Not sure what to think.

A man on the street quoted me 120 for a shoulder bag. No matter how tough I was, he wouldn't go less than 90, which is less than anybody else in the group had paid. Since then he's hounded me every single time I've walked by. He wants me to send everybody else on the team to him. He's probably thinking something along the lines of Stupid white people are going to make me a rich man!

Calcutta paradox

The sweetest, freshest, coolest air in Calcutta is in the underground metro stations.

Name that movie...

14 May 2005
Hotel Astoria, Calcutta

We went to mass this morning. Not being Catholic, I found the whole thing rather perplexing. Stand. Kneel. Sit. Do a little dance. I don't get it.

Anyways... The priest dude gave a little sermony-type deal. He opened it up by saying that there were three theories about working towards Pulp Fiction*. I don't remember the second and third theories, but the first one was forty-two**.

Good ol' 42. It's the answer to everything, you know.



* Pulp Fiction = perfection
** forty-two = fortitude.

Rehydration

14 May 2005
Hotel Astoria, Calcutta

Seriously? How?

I got to bed last night just after nine. I slept all right, I suppose. I froze, though. I turned the air conditioning down before I went to bed. The room was coolish, but definitely not cold. My bed, however, is next to the AC unit.

I woke up at four and couldn't get back to sleep. I lay here and listened to music until it was time to get up at five.

We got dressed and walked to the Mother House for the six o'clock mass. I nearly passed out during it. And not just because Catholics are seriously weird, either...

I was dizzy and weak. I felt nauseated and head-achey. I couldn't stand at all the predetermined times.

As soon as the service was over, I told Mr Army Dude. He laughed and told me I was dehydrated. He gave me a packet of rehydration stuff to drink.

How? I drank 5 or 6 litres of water yesterday and had already had another 1.5 by seven that morning. So really, how could I be dehydrated?

Apparently, dehydration is more than just water. It's also about the salts and electrolytes that are being sweated out.

So I've been shipped back to the hotel to drink salty gatorade and sleep while everybody else is out doing the work we came here to do. Nice.

I should be well enough for the afternoon shift. The salty gatorade seems to work pretty quickly.

On the bright side, the guys were right: the Mother House does serve the best chai anywhere. Three cups of it and I've almost stopped craving coffe.

Sleep now.

In brief

Short post tonight. I wrote a longer one in my notebook today, but forgot it at the hotel.

We ducked into Netfreaks on our way home from Kalighat. We're going to be late for dinner. Oh well, had to get my fix.

Survived my first day of volunteering. Well, sort of. It was actually a half day for me. More on that later...

In other news, we've discovered Elven cakes. They're really good and very addictive. Will have to see if they're available anywhere else in the world.

My internet fix

13 May 2005
Netfreaks internet cafe, Calcutta

Finally made it to the internet cafe. Checked my e-mail. Pestered one of my partners in snark over e-mail. Posted four things in quick succession. I feel better now. I'm actually making this post up as I go along, instead of just reading it out of my journal. The cafe is spacious and compfortable, but the computers are ancient and funny. They keyboard's freaking me out, so if you find any typos, it's not because I can't spell. You know that, right?

Anyways, my hour's almost up. More tomorrow after my first day of volunteering. Should be interesting. Especially the part where I have to get up at five...

First impressions

13 May 2005
Hotel Astoria, Calcutta

Calcutta is nothing like I pictured. It's exactly what I'd expected. I don't know. I tried not to form any expectations, but they have a way of sneaking up on me.

The roads are insane. That much is certain. I love all the random honking. It's sort of like the Stinky Monkey sitting on top of my trunk and barking at the top of his stupid little lungs. At everything. At nothing. At the world. At himself. Whatever. Just barking. Like that. But honking.

Our cab driver really liked fourth gear. He used it for everything.

One girl asked me if we were on the highway. What a question! There's no way to answer that. It's a busy thoroughfare, packed with cars, three-wheeled beasts, bikes, motorbikes, pedestrians, goats, chickens, etc.

Somebody else asked me which side of the road they drive on here. The answer is simple: all sides. They'd drive on top of one another if they could.

The guys have assigned us to our rooms. They put me in with the two Girliest Girls in the bunch. Yes, yes, they're nice and all, but come on! They're just a little too, you know, femmanen. They're asleep now and I'm waiting for lunch.

It's Calcutta in May. Apparently there's a heat wave. It's hot enough to bake a human being. If anything, though, our room's too cold.

I so want to go check my e-mail and post all the stuff I've written, but I'll have to wait until after dinner. We're not allowed to leave the hotel on our own. Nobody else is about. Besides I haven't yet changed my money into rupees.

Are we there yet?

12 May 2005
Sitting on the runway at Heathrow Airport

I'm on a plane that will take me from London to Calcutta. We should be taking off soon. It's 15:16 GMT. This means that I haven't been online in 18 hours and change. I bought a notebook in London so I could ease the hypergraphic withdrawal somewhat.

I'm writing this entry with a small stick called a 'pen'. How novel.

Oh look. We're departing. Ah, yes, the safety video... The oxygen mask scene... How very Fight Club.

This is London

12 May 2005
Heathrow Airport, London

I'm in Heathrow. I'm drinking a fair-trade cappucino from AMT. It's the best cappucino on earth. Or at least it feels that way. I'm sitting in a tiny, 4-seat waiting area. I should be going through security, but coffee's not allowed in. I tried, but the ornery security dude sent me away.

I sat down here. I put my coffee on the vacant seat next to me so I could pull out my notebook. A woman promptly approached the seat and glared at me until I moved the coffee.

Now she's talking loudly and excitedly in Tagalog with her companions. She interject periodically with a loud belch and then excuses herself in English.

Well, my coffee's nearly done, so I should get going.

Incidentally, why are there no garbage bins in this place?

Almost perfect

12 May 2005
Flying from Toronto to London

Dear British Airways,

I love you. No, seriously. You're awesome. If airlines were living organisms, Air Canada wouldn't even be the same species as you. It's kind of like companing a human being to a Bush.

The free toothbrush. The free socks. The free booze. 18 different channels to choose from on my personal TV.

Wow. Air Canada hands out free peanuts (limit: one per person) and tap water. With a bad attitude.

So, really, you guys rock.

I do, however, have one complaint. Of course I do, right? I mean, how could I not?

The vegan dinner was great. You could maybe skip the salad next time, though. There's just no food in lettuce.

The vegan breakfast, on the other hand, wasn't quite up to par. It consisted of a little cup of fat-free yogurt and a pre-packaged, run-of-the-mill, made-with-eggs muffin. So, maybe you could look up the word before you go slapping that big green VEGAN sticker on any more packages.

Hint: It doesn't mean I'm on a diet.

Well...

It's just about time for me to get out of here.

See you around!

Bored now

I hate packing. It's not fun. Don't worry, Marcia, I am doing it. I just don't like it.

I'm too easily distracted for this. I pack a couple of things, check my e-mail, drink some tea, change my shoes, wash a dish, look for my tea, play with my iPod, pack a couple of things, flip through the pages of the book I bought to read on the plane (the Moon is a Harsh Mistress, in case you were wondering), check the time, ad nauseum...

But I am getting it done. Really. Just more slowly than I ought to...

So there!

Several of you will be extraordinarily pleased to know that I have now packed one bag. Go me.

It's green!

it's green

Look ma, I gots me a new toy!

People are strange

What the heck? Everybody keeps asking me if I'm finished packing. Seriously, what's up with that? I'm leaving tomorrow. I'll pack tomorrow. Duh!

Tulips in the yard

tulips in the yard

So, I got me a snazzy little camera. I like it. I'm going to use it to entertain you with endless photos of crap you don't care about from all around the world. While you're waiting, though, here's some crap from closer to home. These are tulips growing in my front yard.

One week

One week from now I will be on a plane from London to Calcutta.

St Elsewhere

I'm not ready for this trip. There are probably still a gazillion and a half things I need to buy, do, plan, or whatever. All the same... I so need to be elsewhere right now. Anywhere. Just somewhere different.

Can we leave this morning instead? Please...

I'm sorry; was I snoring?

I am soooooooooo exhausted. I have been running around like a Beandog on chocolate for the past two or three weeks.

Art show: check
Art show funds rounded up: check
Passport: check
Indian visa: check
Monster house party: check
Vaccinations and various medications collected, injected, and/or swallowed: check
Forms signed: mostly check
Paperwork turned in: check
Insurance obtained: check
Bedroom cleaned and subletter moved in: check
A whole bunch of other crap: check

I think I'm finally done with most of the prep work. Mostly. I'm exhausted. I want to sleep for about a week. But I can't. I still have too much to do before I leave. Beandog has to go to the vet tonight. Tomorrow I'm going to see Hitchhiker. Wednesday I have a thing I can't really duck out of. I still need to buy running shoes, an electrical adapter, an iPod, assorted crap...

I've decided to spend Saturday asleep. I will hang a 'Do Not Disturb' sign around my neck. In fact, I might wear it all week.

Now please turn the lights off on your way out.