"Africa is, indeed, coming into fashion." - Horace Walpole (1774)


london calling

London is gray and chilly, because it’s August, and because it’s London. I’m only here for two hours because my flight from Nairobi arrived 45 minutes late. But it’s just enough time for what is becoming a re-entry routine: a stop at the drugstore to buy all the things you can’t buy in the states (Sudafed with no ID scan! The world’s best after-sun lotion – on sale at buy one get one free!), and then over to the Starbucks. Nevermind that I never but never go to Starbucks at home. Here they have paninis and fruit blends, and it’s the only decent food in Terminal Four. Starbucks Heathrow also has the distinct advantage of being directly across from the only public power outlet in Terminal Four. Miraculously, no one else was using it today, so I’ve got time to recharge my laptop. Ah, Western civilization.

The flight from Nairobi was long, as flights from Africa always are. I was at the airport at ten to six, my water was wrongfully confiscated (the gate agent said that yes, you’re allowed to bring in sealed water bottles, but by then it was too late). The flight left late. I watched 300 (oh, my gosh, Worst Movie Ever. It was So. Bad.), finished my syllabus and my lecture for Thursday, listened to the excellent new White Stripes album, and played Tetris over and over and over again.

The flight to New York will be long too, but as my system will believe we are arriving at JFK at 4am, I should be able to sleep for the bulk of it. Tonight I will be in America. Tomorrow night I will sleep in my own bed. Woo-hoo!


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