To move again has been a blessing and curse. I boarded my Aeroflot flight on Monday morning from the vacuum of China into a ghoulish, alien world where everyone speaks English and most faces are Caucasian. Not one soul who resembles me any longer? Tells me I’m stunning? The real world sucks. I realized being stationary was good medicine for the soul, but brutal on my adventurous side. Ultimately it’s been productive to spread my wings again. Fire my nerves and absorb new scenes.
London was a quick jaunt, fast and furious. I passed through three time zones and was wobbly with jet lag hell. Everything was foggy, I never knew where I was half the time and was highly suggestible under alcohol.
No matter, I still got up to a few things.
Discovering that Frenchmen like to sleep on the floor of the Moscow airport. I nearly joined them.
Using my Oyster card again at the tube.