This is a magical place to me.
32 hours of travel, 10 hours on freeways over 5 days. Family, friends, rain and mosquitoes.
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There’s always apprehension before a long ass flight across half the planet.
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And yet it really feels like the bus to me. As I said before, same folks, same gates, same planes.
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I end up having 3 seats to myself while being on the window side. Bliss.
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Always a treat to look outside and see the US ground.
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Then it’s Canada at night and then it’s Europe in the morning, with its rugs of clouds. You can’t see the ground, most of the time.
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I land in the rain. Not sure why I’m disappointed and annoyed, this is on-brand.
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Still, it’s July and I wanted to land in the sun, goddamn. It was 35°C/95°F for the past 3 weeks.
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Jetlag, chocolate croissant and coffee, hello y’all!
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Not cooking and having constant great food in my mouth is the vacation.
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It’s raining in the afternoon. Not all the time, but not a little bit either. It is pouring. Orages.
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I catch up with my friend A. who I haven’t seen in 10+ years. Dining at my favorite brasserie.
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I take public transportation and giggle at how I’m not missing that shit at all. So much waiting.
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People either smell good (perfume) or bad (sweat) in Paris. In LA it’s more like neutral (clean).
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We take off the next day for family reunion, taking turns on the freeway.
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Our AirBnB is cool af, we’ve been there before. So good to see my sister.
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We eat. We drink. We laugh. They go to bed. I stay up.
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Rum shots with my cousins. I walk back to the AirBnB with the stars and an immense dark sky.
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Amber lights in the background from the little village out there. We need to get back to those in America. The high security prison “public” lights have to go.
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Next day we’re partying, tongues are unknotting, and some mild passive aggressiveness shows up.
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Nothing beats 60 years of marriage though. We’re all happy to be there and hugs and smiles are flying left and right.
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It’s the next day already and I have to leave to rejoin my foster family, my second family, the first one timeline-wise.
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Freeway, fast, Playboy Carti, on repeat.
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I see my foster mom who’s been in bad shape this year. Well, she’s not too bad! 88. Her smile, her voice and her laughter are still as contagious and strong as before. She has pictures of all her kids, grandkids, and I on top of her furniture in the dining room.
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I can’t stay long as I have a few more hours to drive to my parents’ new home they’re building.
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I arrive in the super dark, stormy weather that makes you frown unconsciously.
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My sister gives me my birthday present from a couple years ago: a custom skateboard! She made the art. It is absolutely gorgeous. I’m not sure I want to tailslide it.
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We leave the next morning to get back to our Parisian suburbs. The pastries are hitting hard.
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Tiger mosquitoes as well. Fuck those! In 20mn I get 3 bites, kill one on my dad’s ankle and a couple trying to land on me. They’re relentless, active during the day. Wtf.
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Andouillette for lunch (smells like armpits, doesn’t taste like armpits). So happy.
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I drive to the store to get all the goodies: French salt, French cookies. I forget mustard.
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Time to go back home. Dad’s doing great at 75. I cherish our eyes making contact while we smile confidently when he drops me off. See you soon, tall fella.
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I transition back to being an American at the airport. After 5 days, it feels good not to have to translate nothin’ in my head.
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My driver back to the crib is using a Tesla car. Those cars are terrible inside. My ’99 Suzuki has seats more comfortable than this pretentious BS.
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I chop it up real quick with my brother and the dream vibe starts.
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I’m in the gorgeous, L.A. backyard setting with diverse plants and hummingbirds. I’m on the swing, recharging my batteries with the sun on my naked back and some sirens in the distant background.
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I’m sad. I’m happy. I’m thankful. I’m frustrated. I’m impatient. Did I dream all of this? I know there are photos.
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It’s been a couple days and my suitcase is still 50% full, laying on the floor.
Back to work.