Anicha
Well the last day of home life is wrapping up for a while. The cats sniff open suitcases suspiciously as I pace around the house leaving nothing undone. Plane to Paris tomorrow, a couple days to loitter under the Eiffel Tower and through the Louvre, then on to Italy for a month. The excitement is mounting. For some reason when I travel out of country, I always feel slightly apprehensive about the plane ride. I suppose this comes from a deep-seated primal fear of the intrinsic vulnerability that accompanies spending ten hours in the air, contained in something that takes half an hour to land (that is, without oxygen masks and shitty pants). I am generally fine for the trip though. To assure my utmost equanimity for tomorrow's ride, I have asked my partner to turn off the documentary he was watching on airplane crashes. My experiences on planes have generally been good. The only time that warranted any concern occurred during the flight back from Nepal in '92. My frie...