UP!

Sunday, some (unknown large number) ft in the air

I like take off. It feels like we’re flying. Which, of course, we are. VVVVOOOOOOMMMMWOOSHH. Woo. And now I’m off. Off on an ADVENTURE (“Adventure is out there!” says UP’s Ellie. And am I ever drawing inspiration from that charming picture today. I hear they’re calling it “En-Haut” in French. Though somehow that diminishes the two letter-one syllable novelty of it all). There’s something incredible refreshing about blank notebooks – in an encouraging and not mouth watering kind of way. Actually I almost didn’t get this on since we went over the weight limit (I will never scoff at heavy packers ever again. I’m telling you, I NEEDED all that stuff. And this is before mum threw out my pocket Anglais-Francais ­dictionary – my one last communication lifeline; leaving me to have to make do with my own wit and memory. Ha) but  we were really sneaky with carrying the bags (THINK LIGHT! LIGHT AS A FEATHER! LIGHT AS AIR!) so they looked like they were no effort at all. I thought the way I kept dropping them every fifteen or so metres would’ve given us away, but apparently not. Yippee.

Feeling like everything’s completely surreal – “Yep, I’ll have a glass of that tasty looking orange juice,” “Oh hello stranger I’ve never met before; yes how are you enjoying the flight? Yes, it’s pretty rad how we get pillows and blankets to mummify ourselves in everything...” But it’s cool. Drastically, indescribably cool. Especially since I’VE GOT THE WINDOW SEAT CHYEAH!!!!!!!!!!! The view flying through and above the clouds is absolutely amazing. Even I, one of the world’s least accomplished photographers couldn’t fail to capture at least some of its splendour. The fluffy puffy clouds like oversized bleached meringues and water like teeny diamonds. The last time I was on a flight I was too busy trying to sneak goes on my brother’s DS while he was snoozing to care about the fine weather. That and the fact that we were flying at some obnoxiously dark hour. 

Well I won’t be seeing anybody I know for a while, but as the nice lady at church whose name I’ve forgotten said: “Don’t waste time being homesick because you’ll be back home sooner than you know!” Or something like that. Of course it was far more impactful in her words but my memory fails like watery scrambled eggs. Bleugh. Well luckily I’ve got a super plane buddy with the coolest grin, clothes, ability to comprehend French and infectiously kind and friendly personality. Her name’s Schlink. Schlinky Schlinky Schlink :) Well, that’s my favourite part of her posh but really awesome name, anyway. Oooh, the menu’s here – now do I want chicken casserole or lamb curry? Hmm... I think I’m going to go with the first one so if I spill it I’ll only look like a walking cheese snowman and not a smelly orangutan. 

Hours later minus the 7 hour difference in which we might actually have travelled back in time. Which is pretty cool.

Really awake. So it turns out that switching time zones hasn’t cured my sucky ability to sleep on cue. Though how I’m supposed to sleep when the airplane is going WHHHHHHHHSSSSSHHHH beats me. Poking the little aeroplane icon on the screen in front isn’t going to make it go any faster and neither is staring enviously at Miss Schlink who’s slumbering peacefully, like Sleeping Beauty – blanket neatly tucked in, pillow dead centre, arms resting symmetrically by her side. I’d swear she was faking it, NO ONE sleeps that well, only she’s been at it for the last three or so hours and doesn’t respond to anything much and is breathing really deeply and – yeah, I’m bored. Though it’s actually good to have a TV that works this time after accidentally snapping the remote and somehow detaching it from its wire on the last flight. Not sure how that happened.

Well, on the other hand, the first landing was actually really cool. Minus the ear imploding, head splitting sick feeling I always get when we’re descending. But as we’re officially “unaccompanied minors” Miss Schlinky and I have been escorted around like VIPs all day, jumped pretty much every queue... and we got to sit in first class seats for the last half hour of the flight! But despite being considerably more comfortable in the luxurious reclining seats of the rich and famous who aren’t rich and famous enough to afford private jets; it was actually pretty isolated and weird. But no doubt t’was an experience to behold!

No window seat on this second flight but I’ve got another really nice plane buddy from Adelaide instead – Lovisa. Seriously. What is with everyone I sit next to today having ridiculously cool names?! Maybe I should really, officially change my name to Oblong McWicket just so one day I can have someone else going “woah...that’s neat” rather than “bah, only the hundredth one I’ve met.” But, hey, I guess Sarah’s not too bad. At least I can go incognito :) Lovisa and I had our own little celebration at the midpoint – 6 and a half hours – of the flight. You know a draining 13 hour flight is a real bonding experience when you find yourself madly partying (well, as much as you can in the confined seat area of economy class) and head banging like a freaky guitarist with someone you’ve known for less than the average school day... We even made peanut butter (oh yeah, try chopping salted plane – or is it plain? – nuts and adding them to the butter. Et voila, peanut butter!) and a song:

I THROW MY PEANUTS IN THE AIR SOMETIMES

SAYING YUMMO

FLY TO MY TUMMO

Come to think of it, Schlinky and I tried to write a rap about Russia during a tiny interval from her blissful sleep. Exactly how big is Russia anyway?? Every time I checked the flight details we were STILL flying over it, even though we were just skimming the edge and weren’t even flying through the fat part of the country. Actually I’ve wanted to visit Russia since I saw Anastasia when I was little. It’d be interesting. Only two awful lines into the attempted poetry, Miss Schlinky fell peacefully asleep again, leaving me in the dark oblivion of being seated between two sleeping plane buddies and not wanting to switch my light on to read for fear of waking one of them up with the RRRRAYYYYS. So instead I’m just squinting like a squid. Bloop, bloop, bloop. What sound does a squid make anyway? And where do watermelons grow? Never seen a watermelon tree before and I’m pretty sure they don’t grow underground so...?

I wonder how cold it’s going to be in dear Paris. Maybe, for once in my life, I’ll get to wear a humungous coat and not look like a sweating moron. Three and a half hours to go until landing. Now to find a means of occupation-ising oneself. LA LA LA.