An Irish friend told me “you are going to Ireland after St. Patrick’s day! Everyone will be hangover!!” Fair enough, I thought, I am sure I’ll find something to do anyways.
I left Oxford at quarter to six am. I fell asleep on the bus to the airport. The early morning, light blue light with its pink shades (dawn in sight!) relaxed me a bit too much.
Well, once I got off the bus I realized that I had to wait at least two hours before boarding. The airport was quite small and I got bored quickly. So I bought a newspaper. There was not a single encouraging or positive news within the first ten pages: “..soldiers killed in bomb blast..” , “.. more that 1 in 4 adults are not working..”, “..cut of fundings for universities..” , “ legal drug mephedrone kills teenagers..” : what a picture of the UK now! I decided not to read further.. quite depressing!
Eventually “my time came” and got on the plane.
MY JOURNAL : impressions from a plane
“Ireland: a patchwork of fields. Trees are the sewing thread. Few minutes before landing currents of air teased the plane and tickled it making it move roughly from left to right, up and down. Unsteady staggering, leaving empty spaces in my stomach. Will I land safely?”
It remembered me of my flight to Brisbane. It happened the same.
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