Every two weeks, or so, I have a “transit day” when I shift from my base from one flat, in one country, to another flat in a different country. They are preceded by booking a definitive airline ticket, running down the contents of the fridge in the flat where I am staying, working out what paperwork and clothes I need to transport from one base to the other. Planning, planning, planning.
And the days themselves are always very long and demanding (and require a half-day’s recuperation at the other end). They involve cleaning out the fridge – saving what can be saved to the freezer –giving away what can’t be saved to the neighbours, emptying and cleaning all the bins, making sure nothing is going to smell or look horrible when I return, ensuring that all the required paperwork is packed, the mobiles charged, the heating and water heating turned down to a minimal, but freeze-proof, level, etc. etc.
Yesterday’s exodus was particularly fretful. I read in the Guardian that it was likely to be one of the busiest days of the year at Heathrow and realised that the local traffic was likely to be heavy on the last Saturday before Xmas, so decided to give an extra hour to get to Heathrow. Well the traffic wasn’t unusually busy, nor was Heathrow, but my flight was delayed by an hour. So I ended up spending a very lengthy period in the (completely non-smoking) departures lounge. The delay meant that my carefully calibrated schedule would not get me get me back to Wageningen in order to do a supermarket shop (because, like Wales fifteen years ago, nothing in non-urban areas of the Netherlands opens on a Sunday). So I had to do an emergency shop (milk, bread, fruit, wine and two days worth of pre-cooked meals) at an (overpriced) airport convenience supermarket, adding another 5 or so kilos to my already over loaded baggage. Then, atypically, my first train back was cancelled - so instead of the 7.5 hours that I have got these trips honed down to, this one took almost 10 hours.
Back home and there’s two weeks worth of mail catch up on. Done now, but I’m still in recovery-mode after the transit process – and wondering how, and with whom, I am going to spend Xmas, my fiftieth birthday and the New Year. At this time of year, when our culture rams home the importance of celebrating with friends, family and loved ones, I can’t help but thinking that something is missing from my life. A one person-size portion of turkey just doesn’t feel right. I have to be really strong over the next two weeks.
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3 comments:
There's another side to this time of year as well as the celebrations. Your sadness seems appropriate for the shortest day. Earlier today I read Donne's Nocturnal on St Lucy's Day and it struck a chord. 'Tis the year's midnight and the day's'. http://www.luminarium.org/sevenlit/donne/nocturnal.htm But the sun will renew.
Oh mate! You're tugging at my heartstrings. There's always a place at my table if you can be bothered to head back Schipholward ;?)
I used to do a lot of to-ing and fro-ing to Blighty so I can empathise.
Nowadays, when needs must I prefer to drive it mostly -via Dunkirk (cheapest option)- and I've honed it down to around 6 hours door to door. Mind you that's an overnight drive and I have slightly less far to travel than you. However, once you add in the airport time at either end it's a close run thing timewise and pricewise too.
Best wishes to you for the Yuletide and also for the New Year!
Tx mate -- It'll probably work out - it's just that feeling of not having planned anything this year. I prefer not to drive as at least I can do some reading on the train/plane - and you haven't seen my car either.
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