Stranger in a strange land ...

What a bloody weird place. I m standing here in a tiny airport , it s pissing down with rain , most people speak English , the rest are either staring or complaining and I m waiting for a girl I ve never met in my whole life. I call it strange land. Other people might refer it as France.

This place , Ryan air calls it "Toorz"in an Irish accent ( if anyone could politely tell them that we don t pronounce the final s , that would probably help some French people to not miss their flight) , we call it Tours.

I realise I cannot even locate this place on the map and France is the country I know the least in the whole world.

Why would you come here if it was not to meet the guy who is publishing your book about your travels around the world anyway? Unless you re English and u want a cheap house or Aussie and u like bloody castles ...

So I m meeting this girl I ve never met but who designed the awesome cover of the book and who can t wait to meet me. She probably does not believe that a person is capable of that many fuck ups in only 158 pages.
Try me.

I m now staring at all young French women I m seeing around . With the a " have we met before ? " smile.

Ok I m freaking everyone out now .

I clearly feel out of place in this country.

" do you speak French ?" The guy at the counter says.

" reasonably " I answer randomly.

Fuck where am I from already ?

Ah right , yeah. It says on my neck .made in France .

I say good bye to the Brit I met on the plane . He lives in France and can t remember England much . I live in England and can t remember France much. We had a lot in common .

For some random reason we both wanted to buy the naked staff calendar from Ryan air . But we didn t. He promised to buy my book instead.
Wise decision .
Everyone is smoking around me. I only think of one thing to say : bloody French.
The girl who made my cover comes at last.
We chat like we re old friends already . I always have that relationship with strangers . It gets more complicated later . When I chat to old friends like we re strangers . Anyway , here we are in traffic chatting about travelling , going away but weirdly , not about coming back.
" so where do u feel at home " she finally asks me.
" I feel at home with people " i answer randomly , just realising how bloody true it was .

Well as long as it is not in France i thought but i shut up. For once.

Driving on the right side freaks me out. Everything about this country freaks me out actually.

We keep chatting about our creation . aka ze book . I soon feel like we just had a baby together. Mmm strange new feelings in this strange land ...
Anyway,

I was going to meet the guy i worked with for the last 8 months , the guy I always trusted with my money and words . I talked to him on the phone once last week. And ze book .
" come on then " she says to me as we were about to enter the guy s house .
Mmm let me think .... No . Actually it s better to not think. Rule number one for ze traveller.
I suddenly felt like I was coming home again but with the huge urge to get the hell out of here.
Bloody travellers . U never know what u travel for. Escaping , learning , creating , letting go ....

And the strangest of all is when you re about to reach your destination ....