I arrived the day before he did. I could have booked a nice warm bed, but I decided to squat the airport instead. Yea, I am a cheap ass.
“Do you want your samosa soft and warm or crispy and hot?”, the coffee guy asked me. What a magical question, I thought.
Someone who is this passionate about the making of samosa at 3 am in the morning deserves an award. Especially because the coffee kicked in and I frankly could not shut up. The only guy that seemed a little bit awake in comfortable radius of my backpack and me was the coffee guy. He carefully listened to my life-story. I guess I told it without blinking nor breathing, because my mind slipped away so fast, that sometimes thoughts came up and I felt them leaving my head before I could even catch them.
I gave him a total exaggerated rating on a feedback card (one with fireworks and smileys and balloons), because little did I know that it was not me,
or the guy,
it were Indians and samosa’s.
We nervously said hello. We were both holding a voucher ‘valid for one hug’ even though given in a far history to each other.
We hugged so intense that our personal universe big banged a second time.
Blinded by each others presence, we got scammed twice, lost a wallet and owned a nice collection of mosquito bites before lunch.
Like two chickens without a head we gamboled through the enormous and chaotic city.
Our hotel was crappy, never seen anything like it. It was so ugly, dirty and cheap that it was funny and fair enough. We didn’t care and unknowingly welcomed my first food poisoning with a lot of question marks.
Diverting the subject would be a pity to share on a white screen.
I had no idea that my behind was so musical.
When there is disease and mine truly in the neighborhood, luckily there is chocolate cake.
Still feeling pretty horrible on my 27th birthday, I managed to eat the 100% Belgian chocolate delight that my boyfriend conjured in honor of my special day. Must be love.
The moment that I got better, he was the one feeling funny inside, so basically my birthday was all about white beaches, puke and diarrhea. Another memorable event to add to my list of “funny things that happened on my birthday”.
Birthdays are stupid.
Especially when you are leaning towards 30 and you no longer belong to the youthful ones getting reduction in museums. People already started calling me “Madam” instead of “Misses” and the other day I hurt my hip when I wanted to baywatch my way out of the water onto the beach.
Next stop: paradise.