14 December 2005
Well, we’re back. I wish I could say I’m glad to be back here in Kigali, but it is what it is. There is a lot of work to be done, so I’m looking forward to jumping right into it.
The trip to New York was too short but fabulous, other than sending my passport on a wild ride through the spin cycle. A trip to Connecticut and almost $200 later, everything was fine.
The new passport photo has engendered more discussion than is probably necessary, and has divided people into two camps. One, led by Rebecca, says it looks like a model’s headshot, complete with the scruffy beginnings of facial hair and a mischievous half-smile. The other camp, with my Mom at its head, says I look like a mass murderer. I’m not sure which I fall into, or which I would prefer.
The trip back was uneventful. It was, however, a flying metallic pill filled with freaks and weirdoes. There were Hassids going to Belgium who arrived late for the flight and caused us to leave almost an hour late and then refused to sit down or follow the instructions of the cabin crew. Somehow the lunatic fringe of my own religious and ethnic group is far more annoying than other loons.
And then there was the person sitting to my right.
Bec and I were stuck in the center row on the way from New York to Brussels. I knew we were sort of in trouble when the third member of our row, an American NATO employee, showed up with framed pictures that didn’t fit anywhere on the plane. She got someone to wedge them in. “Are you American?” she asked when she sat down.
“Yes.”
“I don’t fly very well,” she said. “But don’t worry, I’ll take a Valium and be out for the whole flight.”
Why did my nationality matter? Would she have divulged this important piece of information to someone other than an American? How bad a flier must one be to drop a Valium on the plane?
She continued: “The Valium makes me talk in my sleep, so don’t worry about it.”
Note taken.
Anyway, she snored but didn’t talk in her sleep, which disappointed Bec. I spent much of the flight pushing her out of my space. And she stuck her leg out into the aisle. When the flight crew bashed into her and demanded that she move it, my neighbor replied, “Oh, I thought it was a puppy.”
The Brussels-Kigali leg was easy, and Bec and I had the window-aisle combination, so no weirdo neighbors.
And now we’re in Kigali, where the geniuses who replaced our cooking gas tank forgot to put the valve onto the new tank. So we can’t cook. It’s good to be back and see that little has changed. The Congo earthquake that happened while we were away left our house untouched.
It’s time to get back to work, and I’ll post again soon.
Well, we’re back. I wish I could say I’m glad to be back here in Kigali, but it is what it is. There is a lot of work to be done, so I’m looking forward to jumping right into it.
The trip to New York was too short but fabulous, other than sending my passport on a wild ride through the spin cycle. A trip to Connecticut and almost $200 later, everything was fine.
The new passport photo has engendered more discussion than is probably necessary, and has divided people into two camps. One, led by Rebecca, says it looks like a model’s headshot, complete with the scruffy beginnings of facial hair and a mischievous half-smile. The other camp, with my Mom at its head, says I look like a mass murderer. I’m not sure which I fall into, or which I would prefer.
The trip back was uneventful. It was, however, a flying metallic pill filled with freaks and weirdoes. There were Hassids going to Belgium who arrived late for the flight and caused us to leave almost an hour late and then refused to sit down or follow the instructions of the cabin crew. Somehow the lunatic fringe of my own religious and ethnic group is far more annoying than other loons.
And then there was the person sitting to my right.
Bec and I were stuck in the center row on the way from New York to Brussels. I knew we were sort of in trouble when the third member of our row, an American NATO employee, showed up with framed pictures that didn’t fit anywhere on the plane. She got someone to wedge them in. “Are you American?” she asked when she sat down.
“Yes.”
“I don’t fly very well,” she said. “But don’t worry, I’ll take a Valium and be out for the whole flight.”
Why did my nationality matter? Would she have divulged this important piece of information to someone other than an American? How bad a flier must one be to drop a Valium on the plane?
She continued: “The Valium makes me talk in my sleep, so don’t worry about it.”
Note taken.
Anyway, she snored but didn’t talk in her sleep, which disappointed Bec. I spent much of the flight pushing her out of my space. And she stuck her leg out into the aisle. When the flight crew bashed into her and demanded that she move it, my neighbor replied, “Oh, I thought it was a puppy.”
The Brussels-Kigali leg was easy, and Bec and I had the window-aisle combination, so no weirdo neighbors.
And now we’re in Kigali, where the geniuses who replaced our cooking gas tank forgot to put the valve onto the new tank. So we can’t cook. It’s good to be back and see that little has changed. The Congo earthquake that happened while we were away left our house untouched.
It’s time to get back to work, and I’ll post again soon.
posted by Evan Weinberger at 2:21 AM
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