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.
Stuffing my face with croissants at Palmer’s Lodge Swiss Cottage.
Gazing at their ceiling bling.
Finally getting curry that I’ve been craving for months. Malai kofta with raita and spinach naan was eaten with gusto at Bangalore by the Waterloo tube station.
We make a lovely pair and hopefully we stay that way (bulls horns stay away).
London closed quickly, for it was time to use my Eurail Global Pass, re-immersing myself in train travel. Paris was seducing me, whispering promises and hot kisses. It was time to go.