L’appel Téléphonique


My attempt to heat the little info centre while I’m working, isn’t working. It’s a cloudy day, it looks like it could rain though the weather site says it won’t (update: it lied). Around me are sounds that shake foundations and make to think the world is in the process of splitting in two. It’s thunder unlike anything I’ve ever heard anywhere before but it reminds me I’m alive.

A week ago I had the pleasure of once again going to Paris. On my way back to the hotel I received a welcome phone call from Cheri. Something was bothering her and she needed to air out the laundry. She is off in New Zealand fending for herself, much like I am and so I very much understand talking to the familiar voices from home. Sometimes I long to hear all your voices so badly that I will agonize through whatever situation just to hang on one more minute. This was no exception.

When she called I was en route back to my hotel to pick up my bags I left at the front desk while I wandered, through the walk back to the metro, across three train transfers, through one wrong airport terminal, race-walking to the other one hung up only for a brief moment while I checked in and passed security. Her timing so impeccable that my phone was ringing coming off the security conveyor and we talked as I agonized through putting my boots back on, during my tastiest airport meal (trying not to chew too loud), as I walked the catwalk, threw my bags overhead and even as the airplane began to taxi down the runway before I finally had to let her go for my 90 minute flight.

It’s true, I will hang on the extra moment because I have the greatest friends a girl could ever ask for.

This also marked the first trip I finally got to see the beauty of Nice from the air, at last a seat that gave me a view of just what a stunning place I currently call home.

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