*With apologies to Ralph Waldo Emerson
I can hold myself back no longer. Travel spam incoming. Perhaps starting with my getting-there snafus will make this series on my French odyssey a less insufferable. Here goes. I’m rewinding us back to 30th June so I can start from the very beginning.
Snafu 1. Choosing to take my new, untested backpack with wheels
The new backpack required some assembly when I received it, and its mean little screw did not inspire confidence, but with idiotic hubris I jammed it full of all the things. “It’s a research trip,” I said to myself as I added four books, three Oracle card packs, several notebooks, five different types of journals and on and on. “This backpack fits MUCH more than my usual backpack. And think of those stair-climbing wheels on the backpack! They’ll be ace!”
On the morning of my departure, the fifth time I re-did my suitcase and backpack, I noted that the action of leaning over to undo and re-do zips elevated my core temperature to fever levels. Sweating despite the winter chill, I began to ponder if perhaps I’d bought a little too much with me. It’s like I’ve never travelled before.
Too late, the Uber to to the airport was on its way. As I waited by the postbox, I spotted one of the backpack’s straining zips coming apart. As the Uber turned the corner into my road, I yanked the zip back and forth over the gap and that seemed to work. I threw it in the Uber boot and prayed. But there would be more, much more unzipping to be done.
Snafu 2. My decision to pack ankle weights
I decided that to make sure I could keep up with my new weights regime during my five-week French trip, I should definitely chuck in my ankle weights. I have never used these ankle weights.
There were not one but two separate screening processes 750 metres apart in the same airport for me to undergo, because I don’t know why (but annoying, Qantas). Also, the second lot of baggage handlers need you to take out laptops and tablets. Why? It’s the same damn airport.
Anyhoo, I watched as my backpack was diverted down the aisle of shame and the baggage handlers called me over. They searched in vain for the source of the strange Xray image of an item resembling machine gun cartridges. I had to disgorge every last item to reach the offending ankle weights. This happened both times.
On the plus side the straining zip seemed to be managing all the doing and undoing. I, on the other hand was hotter than ever. Released from the second bag check, I kept the ankle weights in my hand. The nearest bin was close, and the sound they made as they hit the bottom was incredibly gratifying.
Snafu 3. My inability to drink a coffee
Still buoyed by the loud thunk the weights had made and the release of their absence, I presented at the coffee shop. It was 11.30am and I’d done all of the above without coffee. I ordered the largest size I could get and sat on a table which was very wobbly, but I was sure I could manage this. I could not, and half of this newly purchased coffee threw itself across the table and in an impressive arc around me. Luckily no-one was sitting nearby. The staff cleaned it up, gave me another coffee and then removed the offending table as if to reinforce that I was not a monumental klutz.
And then, just like that, my luck changed
When boarding to flight from Singapore to Paris, my initial flight companion was a man seated separately from his family. The three seats in front of them were empty, so the stewardess offered him to swap. He sat down briefly in his new position, then realised that none of the TV screens were working. He opted to return to his original seat. And then my good fortune was there to be snatched.
“I’ll sit there,” I offered. Movies, schmovies. I would be able to lie down for the next monotonous 13 plus hours. AND my Paris Airbnb let me check in straight away, even though I touched down at 5.30am.
I have never understood Ralph Waldo Emerson’s take on arriving versus getting there. Give me an arrival any day.
