I awoke at 10:30 and showered and packed my bags and checked out of the hotel and headed off to the airport terminal to check in for the flight. On the way I got caught up in a conversation with a man with an obvious mental disorder who was from Belgium and I envisioned Guilhem having a field day. I got to my terminal, checked in and went to the gate and waited til it was time to board.
As the plane took off, I couldn't help but feel, as the sun smoothed my face, that it was the last time I'd feel French sun for a while.
As we landed, the cloud cover was heavier and I made it out of the airport as the sun set and took the bus and tram and walked to my hostel. I checked in - noticing the workers were all South American or Australian - and dropped my things in a locker. I was starving, so I left the hostel in search of food. I hit the small pub at the end of Mountjoy St (the hostel's st) and asked if they did food. They did not. So, I did the thing that any self-respecting person would do - I ordered a pint of Guiness and a packed of peanuts, enjoying the atmosphere in the pub as people watched the football (soccer) to cheers of "come on" and "you bastards!"
By the time I left there, I was stumbling as I walked and slowly made my way back to the hostel to ask for a good place to eat. I ended up getting a kebab from a nearby shop. I got back to the hostel and, bored, went to bed at 9pm, only to be awoken repeatedly by the Israelis - who snored like fucking DEMONS and caused me much unrest - and the thoughtless black guy, from Nigeria, turning on lights and banging locker doors.
- from the Journal, Dec. 26th 2008
Thursday, March 26, 2009
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