I don't know a worse planner than myself. In twelve hours, I leave for New Zealand (on work, you see). I get to shop at Hong Kong for 7 hours. Wow, like my friend Abhay says. Fit me in your hand baggage, like another cornball says. And while I could be all packed, throwing my head back, soaking in my efficiency, and generally gloating about how organised I am -- also cool to be getting to meet sheep and kiwis and beaches and Peter Jackson (castles in the air) -- I'm only bored of being a stupid sloth. I need to outsource my packing. This I I texted R, my friend sitting in a Monday meeting in office getting "bore glaore". She's given me $100 to buy a bottle of Malibu. I need to find my mother's shopping list. I don't have gloves. And I don't know how to interpret "Wind: N at 37 km/h" in terms of clothes I should carry. Why couldn't I just have been born a Capricorn?! Those December-Jan borns are the bloody royalty of organised!
Situation so far: I've listened to my father and distributed dollars in two wallets so that if one gets lost, and I'm stranded in some maori hell hole -- if there is such a place -- there's still hope. (In the other wallet, you see?) He speaks from experience.
I know where my passport is. That's a good start. Baby steps. My suitcase, of course, is just lying there, on my bed, lid thrown back, on a plastic sheet that my mother has laid out, lest the bed cover get dirty. 'Counterpane' -- the nuns used to call bed spreads in school. Ugh. That buck-toothed Miss Berna, my dorm warden, was right when she told my mother visitng her 13-year-old that the biggest problem with her 13-year-old was that "the girl has no idea how to arrange clothes in a cupboard".
Bang on, Berna. The talk is all very well. Where are you when I need you?!
I can't stand packing. It makes me flap and be short with people. The only thing I am worse at than packing is paperwork. I don't know how to do either, but at least, at LEAST, this packing tamasha is only a tedious two step process:
I should be okay. This will pass. I am cool. Breathe. Stop blogging. Start packing. Go for a bath. Bigger picture. New Zealand. Cat's whiskers. Frodo. Focus. Pranayam.
Tell me what to buy at Hong Kong airport. I have seven hours there. I know I just said that three paras ago. But the only mental note I've made is to eat some Ben and Jerry's ice cream from the generous dollars my grandmother has very sweetly given me. Ice cream. She'd like that. When I come back, I'm off to Doon to spend a few days with them. Haven't gone to them in years. That, like a true homing pigeon, I look forward to.
This Hong Kong-duty-free-long leg flight to NZ makes me an uneasy klutz. I have to keep reminding myself that it won't be so bad to saunter into duty free stores that are missing from the malls back in Delhi. In them, find reasons to swipe the credit card that the boyfriend has given me "for emergencies". He didn't even add only. Such love.
That said, happy landings to bumbling idiot me. I'll miss you! Meanwhile, anyone want anything from Wellington?
Situation so far: I've listened to my father and distributed dollars in two wallets so that if one gets lost, and I'm stranded in some maori hell hole -- if there is such a place -- there's still hope. (In the other wallet, you see?) He speaks from experience.
I know where my passport is. That's a good start. Baby steps. My suitcase, of course, is just lying there, on my bed, lid thrown back, on a plastic sheet that my mother has laid out, lest the bed cover get dirty. 'Counterpane' -- the nuns used to call bed spreads in school. Ugh. That buck-toothed Miss Berna, my dorm warden, was right when she told my mother visitng her 13-year-old that the biggest problem with her 13-year-old was that "the girl has no idea how to arrange clothes in a cupboard".
Bang on, Berna. The talk is all very well. Where are you when I need you?!
I can't stand packing. It makes me flap and be short with people. The only thing I am worse at than packing is paperwork. I don't know how to do either, but at least, at LEAST, this packing tamasha is only a tedious two step process:
- Survey the land -- the heaps of clothes, toiletries, undies, shoes, papers, trinkets, books, netbook, ipod, phone charger, camera charger, netbook charger..
- Randomly distinguish between what I will/could/might need immediately and what I don't care about right now
- Throw in everything. Sit on everything. Groan. Zip up. Breathe
I should be okay. This will pass. I am cool. Breathe. Stop blogging. Start packing. Go for a bath. Bigger picture. New Zealand. Cat's whiskers. Frodo. Focus. Pranayam.
Tell me what to buy at Hong Kong airport. I have seven hours there. I know I just said that three paras ago. But the only mental note I've made is to eat some Ben and Jerry's ice cream from the generous dollars my grandmother has very sweetly given me. Ice cream. She'd like that. When I come back, I'm off to Doon to spend a few days with them. Haven't gone to them in years. That, like a true homing pigeon, I look forward to.
This Hong Kong-duty-free-long leg flight to NZ makes me an uneasy klutz. I have to keep reminding myself that it won't be so bad to saunter into duty free stores that are missing from the malls back in Delhi. In them, find reasons to swipe the credit card that the boyfriend has given me "for emergencies". He didn't even add only. Such love.
That said, happy landings to bumbling idiot me. I'll miss you! Meanwhile, anyone want anything from Wellington?
8 comments:
Safe travels. Have loads of fun!
We only need you to come back safe!
posted a comment on your blog but it wouldnt let me - so here it is -
sounds super exciting! :) yaay for you!
PS malibu is cheaper than $100 - leave some for bailey's/kahlua: last i checked that was expensive in india
HK: great shoes. and a massage at the airport makes you feel like a princess, if feet be hurting from shopping :D
have fun! :)
Bon Yoyage! Do buy shoes from HK! and when in NZ try Zorbing! :)
No we are not that organized, just good at making you think we are. Although I did just colour code label all the gifts I'm sending home...
Bald G: Your wishes lend warmth, thank you. In Hong Kong as I type. Long, longgggg way to go till i see a proper bed.
Cat: no no, $100 was just the note given. Change to be returned. It's $18 at Dally air port. T3 very swank huh. I didn't see any shoes. I saw that massage place but EXACTLY a week ago I got a killer massage, so I be'd cheap:). penny saved is penny earned.
Mystic: You women are going on saying shoes shoes, where in the airport are there shoes?! I've loitered for 7 hours int his terminal now and NO SHOES! Zorbing sounds super fun; if i get the chance, will grab, and blog:)
Heh? Ok: Q.E.D is all I have to say to you. colur code labels.. -- hugely impressive, but very small feeling:D
Look around! The shoes must be calling you!! Can't you hear the faint echo of Jimmy Choo calling you?
I love packing. Packing means travel and travel means adventure.
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