Managing two or more journals sometimes can be hard when you feel you have to stick to certain information in each of them, so "breaching" that lable can prove being difficult. However, as I was telling a friend of mine today, the more people can free themselves from lables, the happier and fuller they can live. So here comes something I would usually write in Hókisasszony, but which I will write down here so some of my non-Hungarian speaking friends can read it as well.
«(_.^._)»
To say that my trip home was "rocky" it would be a crass understatement. A harrassing boss, months of anguis upon the cruel uncertainty about my actual chance to go, the money matter both at purchasing the ticket and then the Saturday right before my departure... I was ready to snap. I was going crazy! Of course, the extra 3Kg of baggage wasn't for fun either! The uncertainty about whether the boxes of disfruta would be squeezed and fload my luggage in pineapple and guava juice wasn't very reassuring. It's fairly safe to say I was nervous when I've got to the airport. So much, I couldn't even remember the way to the Gate from which I would depart, even so the plane departs always from the same gate. LR 631, SJO-CCS, 10:30, Gate 2. They write "Gate 4" but it's always Gate 2. Since I couldn't go smoking (fucking asthma), I walked around and ended up at a foodcourt with my stomach revolted from all the foul smells of pizza and burgers, trying to imagine how people was able to down that crap. I wanted to write. Write a letter, my journal... something, and I had to score a breakfast, since, really, breakfast was in place. So I went for a "liquid breakfast". consisting on:
1 Heineken can
1 Adrenalina can
1 pack of Doritos
Okay, maybe the Doritos was out of place and not as healthy and fortifying as the rest, but it was the only non-liquid thing I felt I could down. I made a few calls, and did try to write something. I couldn't get through with the letters, so I fished out my journal and wrote a few things. My handwriting was shaky and very erratic. I was carrying a pink gift bag (HUGE)
with my winter coat, a big pink ballet-bag with Omi and a pink ballet purse. How do I manage? Oh, it wasn't that hard.Near the Gate were I had to board my flight there's this jewelry store. I wasn't looking at it since it has a lost of stuff that's not my style. Too "native" or too big, too flashy, to "old lady with money". Then there was this collection of amber, which is a personal call, and I saw this magnificent necklace with an amber peacock. Had to take a picture of it. ^_^ Two of my favorite things together.
Once up in the Taca flight, I was finally relaxing and truly entering "vacations" attitude. Perhaps up to that point I was afraid the asshole of my boss would call me with some idiotic demand or just a new, invented problem made exclusively to fuck up with my peace of mind. Really, his sole work is to viciously concentrate in selected members of the team to sistematically fuck up with out peace of mind so he can feel powerful. Now I was the lucky. Well, someone should have told the s.o.b. that this bitch has:
- A psychological problem
- Bad temper
- Short fuse
- Tendency to involve Unions and Labour Relations.
Caracas was a slight set back. There was no post office at the place, where I wanted to send a few postcards to my friends and colleagues, then everything looked so fucking expensive I almost had a heart attack. I decided to lunch some sushi, and so I went to this place where I took a nice table, sat down my journal, ordered alaska rolls and wrote while waited for my food. I had an allergic fit at the middle of a piece of sushi. My eyes watered and I coughed and heaved until my throat was raw and my tongue hurt like a bitch. I then tried to finish the sushi, but couldn't. So I went to pay. It was 36000 bolívares. At 2500 bolívares per USD, it was like $14.4. They didn't tell me that if I paid in USD, I would get bolívares back, so after a lot of mambo-yambo, I've got back 5600 bolívares. In other words, $2.24. Would I not be recovering from the fit, I would I told them it was sad that either they were robbing passangers or that they couldn't do the maths. Not like I mind some lousy $4. P-Lease! But it was the shameless way in which they did it. I mean, FUCK, my friend Jules knows I'm usually a generous tipper. I mean, You could charge me 20€ for some little lunch and I would slip you a 10€ or at least a 5€ instead of the customary 10%. I would have left the rest of the change with them if they would have been more decent, more honest, Like this, they just made sure I would never return to that place.
And actually, for everybody to know, the place it's a quite sweetlooking restaurant in front of the entrace of the Gate 16. It's all surrounded by glass, and separated from the foodcourt that rolls behind it. Don't go there: they will cheat the pennies out of your pocket!After thatm and with some bolívares I had to spend, I went to look for postcards I intended to send from CDG, the airport in Paris. I found some very beautiful postcards, and them walked slowly to my Gate (14), to be close for the boarding. Close to it was this place you can see in the photo. They sell magazines and postcards and some books, but they also have a cyber. The price was cheap: 400 Bolívares for 30 minutes, 800 for an hour. The place is incredibly nice and the guy working there is a honey! I was thinking in actually using up my bolívares to check on my mail and perhaps write a few lines here, when I noticed the HUGE line for the plane. Whadda... it was still almost 2 hours before take off! Well, they were boarding. I went to the line, as as I looked back at the cyber, I noticed they had made a huge "at" in front of it. I found it so cute and so creative that I had to take a picture of it. It's a simple and creative way to express an idea.
The boarding took some time since we were checked three times. Really, what in the hell am I supposed to smuggle in from the entrance of the "sleeve" to the middle of the "sleeve" that takes you to the plane? Since I was planning spend ten hours in Paris, I checked the news papers offered at the plane (actually a few feet away from it in the sleeve), looking for Le Figaro. There was the chance of a strike, so I wanted to read news on that regard. There was no Le Figaro, only Le Monde and some Le Journal de Dimanche. I do asked the flight attendant lady if there was, by any chance Le Figaro, but there was not.
Flight AF461. Oh, I know it already.
My seat was the 42C. Such a big number freightened me, asi t meant it should be in the rear or near the rear of the plane. However I would have never guessed it's actual location: next to the kitchen. I stared down at the seat in horror. It was narrower than usual and crampy. Oh boy. I managed in somehow, and then had a father and daughter seated next to me, who proved to be upthight and obnoxious as hell. The passanger in front of me was an s.o.b. who reclined her seat almost into my lap, regardless of it being lunch or whatever time. So I placed the journals, unfolded the table and started finally writing my letter to Jules. (Attempt 10.) I was doing well, then suddenly came a flight attendant and gave me an Elle. I looked at him and smiled, thanked him and paged through it a little. Naturally, as he was turning, I checked out his ass. It was so nice I smiled for myself. One thing you can count on with Air France are the hot flight attendants.
However, once his firm, pert ass was out of my sight, I was somewhat annoyed, since I wanted to keep writing, but felt it would be unpolite to just stash the magazines away. There was something in being given Elle magazines that I took, at that moment, as "offending". It's not offending per se, but it was a bit "offending" in the labeling way that "women read and are interested in women magazines". Then, the guy appeared again and gave me an Elle Decoration. I smiled again and took the magazine. Okay. That was for the letter-writing. I stashed away the letter and pages through both the magazines. It wasn't bad, since there were advertizings with very hot guys with towels wrapped low around their hips and stuff like that.
When I finished paging through them, I went for my papers, and started scanning headlines and so. The guy appeared then again, now asking me if I had found the magazines interesting. I don't recall the conversatin precisely but it was something like:
"Oh yes, there are interesting things in them."
"So you liked it?"
"I actually would prefer to read Le Figaro."
I know, that was very mean, unpolite and uncalled for. If I have a problem, that poor guy has nothing to do with it, so he should not be the receiver of my frustraton. He smiled and went away. I was feeling really bad. That was really uncalled for. So I decided that the next time I saw him I would apologize. I then took in hand again the magazines and scanned them carefully, finding an interesting article abour Ingrid Betancourt. I wanted to be truthful to the guy and show I do have liked and I do have read the magazines. To further understand this, all conversations and all reading were entirely in French.
"I'm sorry! I would like to thank you for the magazines! It has been so nice from you!"
He smiled a huge smile and asked me what did I like to read. He actually took the time to listen to me as I explained him that being an economist working at a telcos, I was interesed in economical topics and telecommunications. He was gone and little after he offered me two magazines related to business, politics and telecommunications. These were Challenges and Le Nouvel Observateur. Naturally, all in French. Air France flight attendants are normally very friendly, and very out-for-the-customer. They do make the extra mile to please you and make you thing they are giving you a priviledged treatmen nobody else is receiving. I'm a sucker for those things, so I was happy, he was taking such a good care of me. Little after he was paying me sweet compliments, telling me about my "jolie sourire" that made me blush and smile further. He did made me laugh when he pulled on some black bloved which had skeleton hands printed on the back with neon paint that glows in the dark. I just found that so sweet and character-full. He laughed with me, made all kinds of "scary moves", which kept me laughing so loud people in first class should have noticed. He then took of the gloves and offered them to me. I put them on and flexed my fingers. It was so much fun!!!
"Come on! Work in the kitchen!" he joked with me, since these where the kitchen gloves. I wonder if people would have eaten their food if they knew skeleton hands prepared them. I took off the gloves and gave them back.
He was so nice and such a nice sport all the time, I was off my feet. He wished me bon appetite for the lunch (which was half unsavoury) and then spoke to me as if I were a child.
"That's it? You won't eat it all?"
Little after, as the Ass-Pain father and daughter fell asleep, I stood up and walked into the kitchen for a drink. He was there and we started talking. For a moment he was called by a colleague, so I finally went to the drinks and a very nice passanger fixed me a Mimosa. I'll keep drinking mimosas from now on. We kept talking and got along quite nice. It turned out that he's Basque or however you write that in English. He was born the same year I was, 1976, but he's a May child, a Taurus. We talked loads and loads and he did all these fun questions of which I took to be "expected flirting". Even asked me if I was married, to which I answered that I would never do that, and the proceeded to explain him how the most humanitarian behavior was to share your love with as many people as possible instead of selfishly giving it to one person only. He laughed and found it fun. We kept on with some fun remarks in are real camaraderie environment. At one point he asked me if I had plans in Paris. Oh, I told him I wanted to see the city a little.
"Are you meeting someone?"
"Oh no, all by my own."
"Would it bother you if I invite you to lunch? I know a good place."
"Oh, that would be great!" I bounced.
He smiled and asked me the next question.
"What kind of food do you prefer?"
Well, I stood in silence trying to figure it out. Perhaps, if my stomach were not as revolted, I could have answered that, but honestly, I have no idea if I have a favorite cuisine. I mean, I like the French cuisine, I like the Hindu cuisine and then, of course, I'm a sucker for Hungarian ciusine, but also like Caribbean. It's not a matter of what I like, but more like what do I feel like, and right then I felt like I didn't want to eat, or perhaps only something light or something to drink. I was taking longer than it should and I tried to explain that it was a difficult question because I'm really not so food centered...
"I mean, what you like to eat, something other than men." he joked.
"Oh hell, men are not in the menu?" I followed the joke.
"There's a restaurant at the hotel..." he offered with a sassy, mischievous smile.
"There's room service..." I added.
"I think only you will be doing the eating." he said.
After that, there was no mistaking of the matter. His smile and my mind racing with "I HOOKED UP A FLIGHT ATTENDANT!!!" put all things on track. As I returned to my seat, he was on my way attending a passanger or a fellow flight attendant, so I placed my hands on his waist to move him. He turned slowly at me and growled on Spanish:
"Don't touch me... it makes me react."
He did his rounds, or whatever they do in the plane, and then came to my seat, leaned/squated and whispered close to my face:
"Gara go sleep. Will be back in an hour and a half."
Then he rubbed his nose against my lips and cheek, his mouth brushing close to mine. May I ask my dear readers if anyone could sleep after something like that? I do id my best. After that, he was back and it was casually rubbing against each other, pressing chest to chest in tight places, kissing and then some heavier frottage in a bathroom stall. His idea, not mine. I have such a high aversion to risk I would have not entered if I didn't have my exit covered. Our exit wasn't covered. One of his coworkers found out. For a moment I was worried I would be scolded, but then I thought that, honestly, I'm the client, and if they, as much, as say something, I would give them a piece of my mind about if that was a no-no, they should instruct their personal to avoid such situations. It is not my fault I took advantage of... well, such a good opportunity.
He asked me if I had an European passport, which I have, me being Hungarian, and he said that was great, since then I could exit the airport. I was surprised. I had no idea the migration laws have changed. We made arrangements to meet outside the airport, exchanged phone numbers (his number and my Hungarian number), and then we met. It was the first time my phone worked with the roaming sistem on France. If you must know, it hooked on Orange. ^_^
We met neat the 2F Terminal. He hugged me, we kissed and he called me "mi novia", as a little flattery or "pet name". Due to it's meaning (girlfriend/bride) it freaked the hell out of me, but then he explained me he meant it as a little... "kedvesség".... how do you say that? A galantry, a sweet thing, a nice nick name. The no-string-attached policy was firmly drawn at that moment. Oh, he wouldn't have it otherways either, so I was safe. He then told me that there was another flight attendant, a darker one (not really someone I would call black, but for him he is), who also thought I was pretty, and who told him that I was his fiancée. The Basque teased him that he should go and talk to me then, but the darker one wouldn't, yet warned him to stay away from me.
"He fancied me?"
"Yes." he said with a smile.
"Call him! Quickly! Let's bring him with us!"
"WHAT????"
I laughed hard. I so caught him in the joke. Yet, he took it well, as I explained him it was a joke.
As we went for the bus that would take us to the hotel, he told me he had offered me the magazines because he saw me with the French papers and he was glad to find someone who spoke French. He thought I was nice and sweet. ^_^
"What did you thought about me?"
There was no pretention in his question, but rather something closer to genuine interest and a bit of aprehension that he might be intrusive.
"I tilted my head as you turned and checked out your ass. I thought you have a great ass."
His eyes widened and I noticed, for the first time, they are green. His cheeks tensed with blush, but he did not became red.
"You checked out my ass??"
"Yeah..."
He was flabbergasted. For a good while he kept saying he couldn't believe I checked out his ass. Well, women do that. We check out asses and baskets. I'm more of an ass-checker since the groin can be deceiving.
We got to the hotel, put the room, and then it was clothes off and finding out that he has a body that looks better naked than dressed. Firm, toned, tall, perfect, hard... and, really, he's the size of Italy. I felt like the luckiest person in the world... dead and living included. It proved to be that I AM the luckiest person in the world. Great sex, jokes, and quoting of Sartre in bed. And all of this on a No-Strings-Attached basis.
Sex-Sleeping-Sex-Sleeping (he did the sleeping. I do was tired, but I only slept 30 minutes affraid of breaking my time-zone adjusting), and then he took me back to the airport, where a more relaxed me, with a goofy smile and a "I didn't see Paris, but I do climbed the Tower" pasted all over my face, got in, back thought the customs (who spotted me because they had never seen a Hungarian passport before and wanted to take their time to admire it --- really, the French are all so nice!!--), out to the gate.
I made a round and ended up in a store, which I shouldn't have, and purchased a silvery charm bracelet and a scarf. Really beautiful, but I'm not supposed to be around spending money!!! Oh, it worth it big time.Then it was off to my next flight, with Malév, where I was informed that my ticket got upgraded, and therefore I would be flying on Business Class.
"Why?"
"The system said so."
Who am I to argue with the system? ^_^ I had my wintercoat hung in the guardrobe, was offered champagne, aperitif and had my dinner served in real china china and metal cuttlery. Add to it, the flight attendant talked to me on nice Hungarian and laid out a perfect, spotless little white tablecloth on my table for my dinner. I think I want to continue flying on Business... well, taken that I do will have the chance to hook up with more Flight Attendants! ^_^
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