Intermedio

Christmas partied and the New Year passed. 2010 was shaken awake in Haiti, while London welcomed it in with a dearth of snow. Gracias a Dios, the Winter Wonderland melted and runways cleared.

An Argentine despedida prelude-d my departure, embracing the custom for revelry into the early hours. Spirits fiesta-ed through our dilapidated Victorian terrace and feet tapped ‘til dawn.

Dusk fell as I took to the skies on a Wednesday afternoon, the burning sun bleeding through the razored snowclouds above Heathrow all the way to Madrid. Spanish Elle. Onto the long haul, a balding, paunch, talkative argentine shared my emergency exit, mirrored by the waxy head of the steward belted-in opposite us.

I don’t understand the words in the magazine, nor the ones coming from my neighbour’s mouth. I retreat into myself, i-pod, eye-mask, eye-opener. I have a very long way to go.