Airports And Apple-Pies

Well, it seems that once you get used to something and you start to like it, then that something must leave and be replaced with something else that will take a couple of years to get used to and once you do then it'll leave again.

A flight from Athens to U.K, more specifically Newcastle or Manchester, takes up to 4 hours. Plus the waiting at the airport if your flight's not direct, say 6 or 7 hours. Terminals, passport checks, coffee, security check. All these seem so tedious but after the third time flying then you get used to them.

You get used to the loud always happy Americans with their huge back-packs and their face full of excitement cause they made it in Europe. They finally left their glass world and huge everythings and landed in a different reality. You get used to the straight-faced Germans and their creepy laughter. You get used to the French who will smile politely but won't speak any other language but French and when they do speak English then you hit Jackpot. You get used to the Greeks who will always talk about everything and everyone in their company will know everything about anything. You get used to the English, either getting dressed for a fashion show when at the airport, or in those tacky t-shirts with their nick-names on the back and their destination country. Tags so they can remember where they're going.

You get used to the expensive beer and meals. The different prices and the crappy burgers. The nice coffee and all the shops with all the touristic meaningless stuff that to me are there just to be there. The happy couples, the uncomfortable couches and chairs, the businessmen in fancy suits with one hand being the extension of their phone and the second of their briefcase. If they could they'd stick a 3rd one somewhere on the rib-cage area.

You get used to the questions: "How's England?!" "It's different, still there and floating", "How's London?!", "I don't think I like it, but I've only been there once or twice" "What's Amsterdam like?!", "I don't know I've only seen the airport but the airport's nice", "What's Newcastle like?!", "Different from Athens, I like it, you should go", "Why don't you stay there?! What are you thinking coming back here it's a shithole". Well guess I'm falling for shitholes. I hate this place but sometimes I love it and it feels like this place only hates me. That's passion right there right?

I still have a big blue suitcase right outside my front door, a red one outside my room where Chester sleeps on and has covered with cat hair and one down at the basement. It feels nice doing something for yourself and finish it. Just like masturbation but with lessons to be learned in the between and memories. It doesn't matter how it starts or how it ends. All that matters is the in between. Just like in apple-pies.