My own person hell...

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...is the connecting flights area for international arrivals in JFK. After a 7 1/2 hour uneventful flight from Heathrow, I found myself in a small, sweaty, crowded room that had everything but the padded white walls. It was a zoo, simply put. This was the place where the "problem" people go. I gathered from my recon that it specialized in missed flights and families of unusual size. There were at least three or four huge Arab families who had missed their connecting and now threatened to make everyone else miss theirs. 20 pieces of luggage, plus 6 children or more, plus various defeated looking adults, per family. I kid you not. And unfortunately, the stellar communication skills of the JFK check-in staff didn't help much that day. "Imma need to speak to my manager" was not getting us anywhere. Kids were running amok and popping empty bags of potato chips like balloons as mountains of luggage on trolleys crumbled to the floor--I had the distinguished privilege of hangin' wit dis motley crew for close to an hour before receiving my golden ticket out of that hole.

As you have gathered I am back in the US for a spell. A combination of lack of funds, a wedding, and a desire to see friends and family drove me back. I put myself through agony making a relatively simple decision, but I'm glad to be here now. It was just time for me to leave, quite frankly. I'm leaving for DC on Friday to forge some semblance of a life...if only until my next trip.

As one final kick ass good-bye to the land of frogs, I decided to go "paraponting" (akin to parasailing) in a desperate move to prove to prove my undying love for the great country of France (or something like that). We drove up a mountain and walked up to the edge of a cliff where people were setting up the parachutes. I had expected the "set-up" to be a little more carefully and meticulously well, set up, but it seemed to me they just plopped it all down, unrolled it, and were ready to go. It didn't inspire much confidence, but I ignored the nagging voice telling me "have fun falling to your death." After we get harnessed up, my partner, Simon (pronounced see-MOAN), tells me in French: "So, I count 1 2 3 and then we start going and when the parachute inflates, we run off the cliff." That's it. That's my training. No further instructions.

And then we jumped. And even though I was already feeling woozy from the ride up, I managed not to lose my lunch. And the ride was a spectacular event. Even though later I had welts in my hand from holding the straps in a death grip, the sense of freedom and limitlessness was unlike anything I've ever experienced. Truly. Simon's instructions for landing were even vaguer ("so, when we land, you might want to run a bit"), and I crashed gloriously, but without injury. No pics from the air, I'm afraid, but I can tell you it was one of my favorite experiences from this trip, if only for the fact that I jumped off a goddamn cliff.

So, it looks like I'll retire this little journal for the time being, or at least suspend it. I may try to post a few times, but as this was meant to record my travels, I'd feel a little weird posting things like: "Today I went to the coffee shop and did the crossword. Must remember to pick up milk at the grocery store." Thanks to all who have read this journal, and hopefully, before long, it will live again...

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