I prefer trains.

Posted on September 18, 2008 by Hails

An hour. A whole sodding hour I spent packing and repacking my bag before I left Vienna to catch my flight from Bratislava. I really don’t understand how I have exactly the same amount of stuff before every flight, and yet each time it seems to take up more and more space in my bag no matter how much squishing and squashing and rolling up I do.

Still, I got it all in (and, you see, part of the problem is that I can’t just be content with that if I’m to get it on as hand luggage – it needs not only to fit, but to fit with room to spare. Not bulging at the sides, as on the rather disastrous flight from Eindhoven to Stansted, which saw me removing items in a fluster whilst on the plane, being watched by a disapproving flight attendant and several middle-aged Cockney geezers who felt the need to tut at me, as I attempted to make the bag go into the overhead lockers). And then I put on all my extra jumpers, jackets etc. to go through security. Waddling along like a plump little barrel, I deposited my bag and outer jacket on the conveyor belt.

Sadly, it seems that the fatness of my face does not quite match the fatness of my body when I’m wearing 10 layers of clothing, and the Slovakian security woman, suspecting that my body was actually a long way beneath my clothes, indicated that I should remove more jackets. Sweating unpleasantly, I struggled out of a few more items and added them to the heap before going through to collect everything at the other side.

But no. Open, said the next security woman, indicating my bag. I groaned inwardly, realising what was about to happen. And yes – she went through all my stuff in a very half-hearted, disinterested manner, pulling all my tightly-crammed items of clothing loose, and then said OK. It’s not even like there was anything in there that shouldn’t have been (and once again I think of the Eindhoven incident, where I ended up flinging my shampoo etc. at someone and saying Take it! Keep it! Throw it away, I don’t care – I’m going to miss my flight!). She just fancied a nosey.

Fuming, I stared hopelessly at my bag, once so meticulously organised, now in a state of disarray. There was nothing for it but to try to cram everything in again. And now, as I sit at the gate waiting for my flight, I realise to my dismay that the bag is once again bulging at the sides, so I’ve another battle with an overhead locker to get through before I can relax for an hour.

I hate flying.

Filed under: airport, anger, flying, packing, tiredness, travel | 4 Comments »

The swan, the ugly duckling, and the donkey

Posted on September 8, 2008 by Hails

What, asks the Swiss girl, pausing from her hair-straightening operations to stare openly at my bag, is that?

I freeze guiltily in my attempt to squish Eeyore more tightly into my bag in order to make room for the towel that once fitted in but now seems to have doubled in size and be reluctant to return to captivity. The Swiss girl is cool – funky, short bobbed blonde hair, perfect skin, perfect figure, and wearer of clothes I could never afford and those little crocheted beret hats I so desperately want to be able to wear but can’t, owing to the fact that they make me look more grandma than chic. She smokes weed as if it is mild tobacco, sips drinks I’ve never even heard of, is always surrounded by admiring men, and has graceful poise and elegance that make me think of a beautiful, magnificent swan when I look at her.

I guess that makes me the ugly duckling. However, there the analogy ends, as we are about the same age, and let’s face it, I am unlikely to discover at this point that I am actually a swan, and that it’ll just take a bit of time before I suddenly and spectaculary shed my geekiness and transform into something breathtaking and generally less awkward.

The Swiss girl continues to stare at Eeyore, who is staring gloomily up at her from between a sock-stuffed trainer and a bag of plastic forks. Eeyore’s presence in my bag, and indeed in my life, knocks at least another 10 Cool Points off my already quite dismal score, and yet I can’t quite seem to resolve this by just getting rid of him. When I moved away, I left the Eeyore decision until the very last minute. I even put him into the suitcase of Things I Can’t Bear To Throw Away, to be stored by The Parents. He looked sadly up at me, and I firmly closed the lid and walked away to do something else. I only made it about four steps away before I turned and retrieved him from the case, in much the same way that I lifted Teddy down from the wardrobe all those years ago.

And so Eeyore is my only travelling companion. I sneak him out of the bag at night when the lights in the hostel dorm are out, and hide him underneath the sheets so that no one will see that I am a 26-year-old Eeyore cuddler. In the morning, I throw a t-shirt over him and furtively escort him back to the bag. It is embarrassing to realise just how attached I am to something that is really nothing more than some fluff wrapped in ragged material. But there’s something so comforting, when I’m feeling tired and maybe a bit frightened and lonely in a new city, about being able to clutch the familiar little figure and bury my nose in his threadbare “fur”.

Eeyore has only been a part of my life for about 8 years, but he’s put up with a lot in that time. He was with me when I moved away from home for the first time – 18 and all grown up, I smiled bravely as my emotional parents left me all alone in my tiny, bare room in the halls of residence, and then burst into tears as I watched them walk away. Eeyore was a silent source of comfort, and has been ever since. He absorbed countless homesick tears in Glasgow before I became accustomed to being away from home. He was subjected to hours of mockery by Red and Dougal, who made him play air guitar and set him in silly poses for “amusing” photos. He survived a vicious attack by Penny, my dog, who mistook him for a chew toy. He soaked up even more tears when Red and I broke up and I adjusted once again to being alone. He was with me when I shakily but determinedly started out again on my own, renting a dismal little house in Cullybackey and lying in bed that night staring uncertainly at the bare walls, wondering what the next step would be. He put up with countless clawings from a jealous Kat the Cat. He sat in on all the late night talks between The Sister and me. He has been clutched tightly as I’ve lain awake in new city after new city, grateful for his familiar presence in the darkness, surrounded by unfamiliar sounds.

The Swiss girl repeats her question. What is it? she asks, a tinge of disdain in her voice. Flushing, I push the towel down on top of Eeyore and force the zip closed with a great deal of effort.

Oh, erm, nothing, I say breezily. Just a gift for a friend’s kid.

The Swiss girl would never understand the Eeyore thing. I don’t want her super-cool gaze pitying me or turning into a sneer. But tonight, when I open my bag, I’ll feel inexplicably guilty when I remove that uncomplaining little squished-up figure from underneath the towel…

Filed under: changes, contemplation, Eeyore, family, irrational behaviour, life, memories, nerdiness, packing, parents, pets, tears, teddy bear, travel, uncertainty | 12 Comments »

In the summer when it sizzles, in the winter when it drizzles…

Posted on July 26, 2008 by Hails

I’m off to Paris in the morning.

I don’t know what my access to the internet will be like until I get to where I’m staying in Belgium, so I may disappear for a few days. Rest assured, I’ll be back with tales of travels, mishaps, book readings and new friends, and of course the obligatory photo of me pretending to hold the distant Eiffel Tower between my thumb and index finger.

For now, everything I own is once again packed up in a far-too-heavy rucksack, although I will note that for the second time now I have ditched a lot of unnecessary stuff. By Christmas, I’ll be travelling with nothing but a change of underwear and a clean t-shirt in a carrier bag. Oddly, though, despite having jettisoned a reasonable amount of clothing in Tallinn, and now again in Lyon, my belongings still seem to take up exactly the same amount of space in my bag. Is there some kind of mathematical theory that applies here?

Lyon has been fantastic experience, computer problems and pickpockets aside. I think it was the perfect introduction to France, for me – I got to find my feet in a city that’s not too scarily metropolitan and is actually very quaint and traditional in places, with a flatmate who spoke good English. Note to self: plan on taking French refresher course upon return to France.

Paris is shaping up to be fun, too: I’m couchsurfing for the first time, which could either be nightmarish or a great opportunity to make new friends. I’m hopeful for the latter, as it might be nice to have someone show me around rather than spending most of my time just trying to find my way out of the Metro station. There’s sightseeing to be done, a book reading to attend, a dinner invite to accept, and more bad French to be spoken, no doubt. Then off to “my” new house (for a month, anyway!) in Belgium! Le Flatmate is unspeakably amused by this, and keeps grinning to himself when he thinks about it. He says that if I’m struggling to keep up with the accents in Lyon, I’ll have no hope of understanding Belgians.

Ah, well. I’m from Ballymena. I’m used to complex dialects.

Filed under: Ballymena, book release, changes, conversations, culture, French, friends, fun, Lyon, packing, Paris, travel | 4 Comments »

Heading off

Posted on June 30, 2008 by Hails

I find heat difficult to cope with. I’m not even talking about the sunburn factor – just the wamth itself is enough to make me spend my days groaning miserably and fanning myself ineffectually with a magazine. When I was in Nashville a few years ago I had to be rushed from air-conditioned building to air-conditioned car in the fastest possible time, lest I dehydrate and/or collapse, landing in an overheated heap on the melting tarmac, where my body would instantly sizzle and evaporate into the hazy air.

Anyway. With this in mind, I don’t know what possessed me to opt for the south of France as my chosen destination for the month of July.

I’m actually having panic attacks about it, as I sit once again in a sea of unpacked clothes and general disorganisation. Tallinn has been pretty hot, but temperatures have never gone above what I might reasonably be expected to endure in Northern Ireland. It distresses me terribly, therefore, to observe that the temperature upon my arrival in Lyon promises to be 32°C.

There’s only one thing for it, I decided yesterday, as I returned from a mild stroll in even milder temperatures and spent ten minutes gulping down water and pushing sweat-soaked locks of Mad Hair out of my eyes, the Mad Hair has got to go. And so it was that this afternoon I located an English-speaking hairdresser’s salon and marched resolutely towards it. Having less hair on my head is, let’s face it, probably my only hope of survival in 32°C. All intentions of growing it into a chic, sleek bob have been abandoned: this is an emergency situation, and it is time to return to the insane spikey look. It is a matter of life and death.

Alas! I am too late, for the hairdresser had no appointments available today. I leave tomorrow morning, with the hair equivalent of a 15-tog duvet on my head.

Woe is me. Woe.

Filed under: contemplation, decisions, disorganisation, Estonia, Fear, hair, packing, sun, weather, woe, worry | 6 Comments »

Stuff What I Have Found

Posted on May 6, 2008 by Hails

1 – Teddy Ruxpin. Teddy Ruxpin used to sing me to sleep every night, thanks to the new-fangled technology that was a tape player in his back. This song instantly transports me to the times when I lay in bed cuddling him and feeling all safe and secure in his company. That was at least a year ago, though. I guess I’ve grown up a bit now.

2 – Essays. Lots and lots of essays. It does not bode well for the future that I can’t seem to understand large chunks of the French essays I wrote for my A Level French Literature coursework (and of the parts I do understand, I suspect that the phrases there won’t come in especially handy during my travels. “Mersault a tué an Arabe” is not something that’s likely to come up in conversation at the supermarket). I’m even more disturbed to look at my university essays and realise that not only do I not remember writing any of them , but in the case of a large number of them I have no recollection of studying the book in question, or even taking the class. University was clearly an utter waste of time.

3 – Video footage of myself as a teenager. This is alarming on several fronts. Firstly, it seems that my idea of fun was sitting around making pointless videos of myself and my friends talking utter rubbish. Secondly, it is difficult, if not impossible, to reach into the TV and slap a 16-year old, size 12 me for moaning about being fat. And thirdly, there is nothing quite like hearing a younger version of yourself casually saying “if I’m watching this in years to come, when I’m really old. Like 30.” when you’re now rapidly approaching that point, to make you want to move into a retirement village.

4 – Photographs. Hundreds and hundreds of photographs. Photos from school, photos of family, photos of holidays, photos of long since deceased pets, photos of concerts, photos of parties, photos of special occasions. Photos that make me cringe, photos that bring tears to my eyes, photos that make me laugh, photos that chart My Life So Far. It’s difficult to choose a select few to take with me.

5 – Music cassettes. Remember those?

6 – More clothes than anyone can ever possibly have owned before. It is truly amazing. It seems that I gained a lot of weight, stored all my too-small clothes in the hope that one day they’d fit me again, bought bigger clothes, lost a lot of weight, bought smaller clothes (forgetting existence of previously stored ones), gained a lot of weight, bought bigger clothes, and continued with this behaviour for about 8 years. As a result, I am about to provide a charity shop with enough stock to carry it through to next year.

7 – 15 Odd Socks.

8 – No passport. Not a single one. Anywhere. This one was slightly traumatic, as I distinctly remembered checking that I knew where it was when I booked my flight – you know, the flight that leaves in 5 days from now. The fact that I had just returned from throwing a carload of binbags in skips at the dump meant that the sudden absence of a passport was decidedly alarming. Thankfully it turned up after some panic-stricken unpacking of several “to be stored” bags. I could have cried. I know I definitely kissed it.

It is a very stressful time.

Filed under: disorganisation, freak-out, life, memories, Moving house, packing, sentimentality, stress, Uncategorized | 4 Comments »

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