Broads abroad 1

Arlo Guthrie was playing overhead in the terminal, singing City of New Orleans as we caught our connection to Toronto. Huh, that’s funny, my mom and I listened to that song all the time when I was a kid, I thought.

Two flights and 10 hours later, we finally rolled up to our flat and the next door neighbor was hammering his roof, listening to Led Zeppelin. I started laughing.

Me: help help, universe, I need a sign!

Universe: 

We showered, changed into clothes that didn’t stink, ran around opening all the cupboards and finding all the extra blankets, then I peeled the girl off the bed where she was trying to pass out and we hit the streets to find some food. (Three flights, ZERO MEALS. We ate protein bars and beef sticks for 16 hours.) I didn’t recognize anything, the stores are all different, but it smelled just the same as I left it - wet leaves, something baking somewhere, salt in the air. Our phones didn’t work, so we wandered around until something smelled good and ducked inside: India-Newfie fusion that kind of blew our socks off. Zenny went from a limp rag doll to prancing back up the hill to our apartment. We crashed out on the couch watching King the Land (Korean rom-com) and drinking chamomile. There should be sleep tonight.

It’s good to be back. Even if we did have to spend the flight from Toronto to St John’s sitting in front of the two worst people in the world having a meet-cute and developing the start of a finance-asshole romance which will have them both divorced and splitting all the assets they spent two hours bragging about. The guy’s red flags were in a race against hers, they were so excited to interrupt each other to talk about themselves. It was kind of sweet, in a way that made me wish there was an airlock to cycle them out of. I hope in the movie of their love story, their spouses connect with each other over discovering the affair and live happily with all their combined kids on a Christmas tree farm while those two suck down martinis in a casino and turn into tanning-bed mummies, complaining that child support payments should come with receipts for expenditures.

Anyway, I’m home!

She has had it with airports

Her bones grew back as soon as she got some sugar into her

Whoa, pork belly and masala fish & chips

Our dear little walk-up flat, with practically room to swing a cat

St John’s wins for best airport vending machines

Cat reporting for duty