“Why are you eating that?”
I ask Zach, as he bites into the third of four croquettes. They are extremely disappointing, as far as croquettes go. There is absolutely no chorizo in these chorizo-advertised croquettes. What a waste of 26,435 calories. To be fair we’re sitting in an airport, eating airport food, my paté has been confiscated, Z is asking me what the board says en anglaise every 5 minutes, in case it has changed, which it never does. The nearest power outlet is 10 ft. away. My power cord is 9 ft long.
We have been in Toulouse for at least 5 days, though my phone swears it’s been less than 8 hours. The airport delays are endless and numerous. We’re returning from a family vacation from Barcelona and SE France and it’s been hot. So hot my brain is now a liquid, yet for some reason did not require a special plastic bag to get through security. I will admit some beers were had by the time of this writing, anything to numb the pain of no air conditioning in SW France in July. Water probably would have been the better choice.
I am still waiting for the adrenaline of the Security Checkpoint Experience to fade away. Even though I have dutifully separated my liquids from my solids from my academic material from my heavy machinery in my baggage, both* my bags are sent to the Special Screening Area for the Special Swabbing. This is never as much fun as it sounds like.
*yes both. I like to live dangerously and push the carry-on luggage limits.
Things were going ok, until the Korean face cream is pulled out of the liquids bag. To be fair, it is akin to a Neutonian fluid and who knows how those are supposed to be organized? They never appear on the 3-1 infographics. Sephora did not have a specific bag for those.
After some suspicion, and the attempt to determine the mysterious special ingredient (snail slime), the cream is given a pass. All liquids are now removed from their original clear, 1-liter large bag and transferred to another clear, 1-liter large bag. This special security procedure satisfies the agent, until she looks at the screen, and there nestled safely in the dirty laundry bag (which I had hoped would be a deterrent) were the two innocent cans of homemade paté, lovingly prepared by my high school French teacher, whom we had visited a few days prior.
I attempt to explain the paté was harmless and sealed in its original containter, but the cans are sternly lectured and removed to the tip jar for the French version of the TSA (le Tay Es Ah).
I took another bite of the croquette, perhaps they’ve aged and matured in the last 20 minutes we’ve had them. They have not.
A woman is now yelling complicated French at us, having completely swallowed the microphone and speaking unintelligently to all expect those from Occitane*. Something about a plane leaving for somewhere at sometime, no one knows exactly. A family nearby has setup camp in an abandoned restaurant, they clearly intend to be here for a few days.
At this point Z has pulled out a Snickers from the depths of his baggage. I am hurt, how could he hide such a treasure from me?
“Where did you get that?” I demand indignantly, as if I have ownership over his snackfood purchases.
“From the dispensers in the bathroom, it was that or a condom.” This makes me reflect on the sexism of bathroom dispensers, I have never seen Snickers in the tampon dispensers. But I acknowledge his wisdom in his choice.
*The region, not the store.
“Passport please.” I love random checks which are totally random, especially when they happen to the same person every time there’s a security checkpoint. Random bits of my personal life fly out of my baggage as I dig for my passport. She looks at the cover and hands it back it me. Z’s passport is ignored.
We are now seated. The pilot announces we are taking a longer route than normal due to a storm in the region. We should expect to see England out our windows before we reach Frankfurt. I contemplate that geography for a moment; I’ve yet to really get a feel for North in Europe, but I feel England might be a bit out of the direct route. However, this plane has air conditioning, my home does not, therefore I am willing to accept this exciting route change.
Arrival in FRA. Later than planned, which means we have to rethink our train home. We’ll take one of the later ones. Oh wait, there isn’t one tonight for some reason, time to sprint to just above the Earth’s core to where the SBahn train station is. Check the train app, we just made it with 4 minutes to spare, strangely the arrivals board doesn’t have anything written on it.
The dreaded announcement chime sounds; tonight all SBahn trains are rerouted to the main platform of the airport train station, the schedule will remain the same. Z’s face tells me what I need to know: that main platform is nowhere near where we are.
As one mass of humanity, everyone on the platform surges upward and out to find this new platform. We, for some reason, take this at a run, like we are going to reach the new platform in 4 minutes, until after the 11th escalator I call it quits and tell Z to go on without me. As he’s carrying both our bags, he’s actually behind me and so it’s really me who left him behind.
We reach the new platform. I think it was somewhere near Stuttgart, probably would have been faster to call a cab to get us there. Train board has no information on the SBahn trains for the next hour, as the ICE trains are much more important (and comfortable).
Days later, S8 appears. It is the least desirable of all the SBahns, but we get on. We arrive at WI HBF, the bus is 30 minutes away, F-it we’re calling a cab and treating ourselves. Arrive at home to find dead houseplants and stifling heat. But it’s ok, because we have a fan. Mallie is singing the joyous return song of her people.
Everything about vacation is fun; the anticipation leading up to it, the events and activities during it, and the returning to home and the familiar. I generally already start planning out my next trip at the end of the current one I’m on, and on this particular trip I avoided doing that to stay in the moment. I am going to stay in this habit to live more in the now and experience the present. Cheesy, but actually pretty difficult for me to do, so that’s my challenge for the next year.
Mallie has left a welcome home hairball on my side of the bed. Back to the familiar.
