Delhish (the airport) then home!
10.12.2008 - 11.12.2008
Oh god it’s the end! Well no, not quite. I book myself a late flight up to Delhi. It’s the most expensive extra flight I have to pay for on the entire trip, but I do it last minute so it’s my own fault. I’m in denial about going home. It arrives in Delhi the evening before my BA flight leaves at 3.30am bound for London, Heathrow T5. I’m down to my last rupees. Once I’ve paid for the taxi to the Goan Airport I have no money unless I can pay for stuff on credit card. I finally get to Delhi, it’s dark and cold. Oh my god. I’m freezing? I land at the domestic terminal. So have to schlep get to the international one. Walking isn’t an option and I have no rupees… The taxi's don’t take credit cards. Fuck! I end up bribing a taxi official with $4 in notes I have. He gets me a taxi for the dollars! I love India. At the new terminal I’m annoyed to discover that I can’t actually check in till midnight. It’s 8pm, bollocks. I’m stuck sitting in a café across the way, but with no money to buy anything. They don’t accept cards. Four hours of insane boredom, freaking out about going home. I really miss company now, I can’t be bothered to speak with anyone I don’t know, I want a good mate to natter with. Instead I just sit there on my own, doing this whole thing on my own, I feel so alone. Eventually I can check in. I go though security and find a café that accepts credit cards. I then make myself comfortable on some uncomfortable chairs and wait. I watch a whole flight of Russians flying home to Moscow. What a sight. A queue, of what looks like hookers and pimps?! All in fur or shiny metallic puffa jackets, heals, belted jeans at the waist, polo necks and bottle blond hair with dark roots. Then at least two men in full knee length leather coats. They look like the Russian mafia. I’m bored waiting, there aren’t really any good shops and it feels like time has stopped. In some ways I wish time could stop, and I could rush back to Salt and Pepper and the beach and helmet-less motorbike riding. I’m missing Goa so much, I’m going to miss India so much. Shit I’m going home!
E will be waiting for me at Heathrow with Pet in his new blacked out Range Rover Vogue. I have lost all my capitalist, London bullshit – so it won’t impress me. Finally after what seems an eternity we can finally board. Ok flight with nothing exciting to add. I arrive in London on a crisp December morning. It’s still dark 7am, but not raining! As the sun rises I’m treated to a wonderful red and orange sky and Jack frost has visited, and outlined all the trees and objects into focus.
I’m quite nervous about seeing E when I step out of arrivals. I psyche myself up. My bag appears on the belt, I grab it and head through the nothing to declare channel. I step through the automatic doors and a sea of eyes is directed toward me. I follow them along the line as I push my trolley. Any moment I will see E. I have tears built up waiting to burst out. I don’t find him. I follow the entire long length of the arrivals walkway and no bloody E! By the time I reach the end of the line the tears have snuck back in. I’m completely deflated and all of a sudden feel totally lost. Then I spot a familiar gait, and a familiar crop of strawberry blond hair. Making a bee-line for the coffee stall. I head over, and am spotted. N is here too, and do I want a coffee?! It’s brilliant to see them both, I’m home! We head back to the car where there is an expectant Pet waiting. E opens the door and he jumps out, completely ignoring me. He’s all over N and E. I get a quick sniff. We pile in the Range Rover. It’s so luxi, and the plushest vehicle I’ve been in for a whole year. I sit in the front with Pet on my lap. Then all of a sudden Pet realises who I am! I get totally smothered in licking dog breath. Yes Pet it’s Godmotherfucker Esther back! She, who pulled a red rubber band out of your arse, outside Starbucks on the Fulham Road, in front of all the yummy mummies. I love that dog so much.
I fill E and N in on my latest news. We’re pretty much all up to date by the time we get to Heston services. How ridiculous? It doesn’t feel like I’ve been away at all. Well maybe a month or so, but not eleven months. It’s so strange. We’re all feeling it though.
I will be staying with S in Barnes for the next week, until I head home to Brussels for Christmas. I can’t wait to see her and her baby boy, whom will now be 16 months old. It’s too weird being back. But everything slips back into exactly how it was and it’s as if I’ve never been away. I think I'm glad to be back.
My grand thoughts at the end of my trip:
Has it all been worth it?
Have I lost my want, want, want, capitalist tendencies?
Have I realised what’s important again?
Have I discovered where I might like to live in the world?
Have I found love?
Have I met life long friends?
Have I found peace with myself?
Can I now tackle anything thrown at me?
(Answer is YES to all the above, but still not entirely sure of what it all means, we’ll see, time will tell, I LOVE THE range rover, shit)
Why does it all feel like a dream?
But I can almost remember every single detail.
Loving being back in my flat with my laptop and just chilling. Have BIG decisions to make but they will come naturally. Going to keep up my Blog as a kind of diary, well not really sure how it will work?
Bye for now, but watch this spacebooth xxxx