Same vacation twice
Once my seat-mate got up I took the opportunity to get up too. When flying, I always choose the window seat, and that means seizing the opportunity to break for the bathroom when you see one. Once in the aisle, I noticed that my seat-mate had done the old loop-die loo to the other side, the E, F, D, side of things, instead of remaining on our designated side of things. I stood by our side’s door, alone, confused off of two glasses of airplane wine (of the white and red variety).1
But I stood in the aisle, coming to from a prepackaged chicken & mushroom coma. A man, appearing more like a mini man at my thigh’s height, turns to me—the type of turn you can’t help but notice. When someone is making direct eye contact with you and wants you to notice. It’s the way I was looking at Maroon Tracksuit as she not-so-subtly cut me in line for Boarding Group 5. See me. The man at my hip, in reading glasses and a cocked eye mask says haplessly: “she’s gonna be in there for a while.” He gave me the youdontevenwannaknow look, a slight raise of the eyebrows in distress, bewilderment, and some cool indifference. I feel my eyes go wide in a rather 15-year-old way, trying to keep my cool but failing miserably drunk off of the piss-colored chardonnay. “Alrighty then.” I marched my way over to the other aisle, reuniting with my seat-mate as she waited, realizing I forgot to put on shoes.
***
But the point of this newsletter is not that. I’m having a Summer ‘16 Summer, I’ve declared. Drake just released a new album. I can’t help but compare moments to those of the past. It’s my compulsion. I write this on the plane to say that it’s interesting to take the same vacation twice. The same place, same time of year, almost all the same people (now with some additions). They say that you can never throw the same party twice, I guess I’m about to find out.
But the preamble can be more fun than the time itself. The flight there. Knowing that the flight back will suck monumentally in comparison. I find myself making a To Do List for this trip, as if it’s one of my packing items. Unsubscribe to things I don’t read in my email. Plan summer. Finish Dana Brown audiobook. Definitely a trait I inherited from my dad, who is always working, who takes vacation as an extension of working just in a different time zone and scenery, propping his padfolio on a beach chair and a computer in his sandy lap.
I feel itchy all over when I land. There’s a celebrity I don’t recognize on my flight, soaring through a different lane of passport control with a chic posse and a French guide. There’s a faux Cannes red carpet serving as the backdrop to the dozen men in suits holding names on iPads. A slightly smaller-than-life-size version of, from left to right, Leonardo DiCaprio, J-Law, Tom Cruise, Emma Stone, Tom Hanks (?), Someone I Don’t Recognize, Denzel Washington, and Someone Too Distorted To Remember From the Photo I Took. Welcome to the South of France, á la Walt Disney World.
I put my sunglasses on to see the world differently. I’m endlessly entertained by a hilariously British couple at the outdoor table next to mine. The tweety birds attempt to lift off with their Pain Aux Raisins as if in an episode of Tom and Jerry. They are British because they nurse 9 beverages (I counted) at a time and the husband is in a neon green suit. I fear I’ll see his raven-colored hair dye bleeding onto the polyester. I’m being mean, aren’t I. Just now a burly group of Americans emerge from the airport cafe with a tray full of mimosa supplies and booming voices.
My family is about to arrive. Now my whole face feels itchy. A new place itch. My French is beyond rusty, I struggle to comprehend. At long last a man asks to co-op my table. I understand him perfectly.
Comparing a trip to last year’s is about dropping the comparison. So, not comparing. This could very well be my trip’s highlight. I’ve become the mayor of my little outdoor patio at the Nice airport. The British couple has since asked me how to join the WiFi. Follow up question: can we send messages with the WiFi? I’ve been out here for two hours now. I’ve seen so many come and go. This could be it, after all.
***
Candied tangerines
The candied tangerines are something I thought I saw on TikTok but can’t find any evidence of. They were sickeningly sweet and remind me of the mosquito preserved in amber from Jurassic Park, such a gooey inside.
Nougat
We accidentally bought 100 euros worth of nougat from this stone-faced lady at the stand who didn’t give one f*ck, cutting each slice bigger and bigger knowing something (a price) we didn’t. With the bill we were handed a free hunk of Biscoff nougat, a consolation prize, an apology, something no one wants.
Onion and sardine tart
And the onion and sardine tart (what is the name?) is my favorite thing in the entire world. a pool of caramelized onions, you cannot go wrong.
The green liquor
the green verbena liquor was a digestif we’d pour every night until we left. Aiding to digest three huge meals at the end of every single day, with the help of some vogue cigarettes.
I wonder when the day will come that I don’t get ID’d for plane wine on flights to Europe. Meaning: I really look younger than 16? The stewardess always says the same thing, when explaining I’m just short of ten years older than they think I am, “a blessing and a curse darling!”