« I am Zygone from Planet Franthrop | Main | i am lobster hear me click »
April 21, 2006
transatlanticism
in the taxi
I’m in a country I don’t know hurtling the wrong way down a freeway, weaving in and out of traffic while the taxi driver curses and pounds the steering wheel with a meaty paw. He tells me he’s been an Olympic-level judo athlete and then, later, a coach. I tell him I won’t pick a fight with him, but he doesn’t laugh. He says he liked coaching, but coaching girls was impossible because they were too emotional. “The brothers, the fathers, the boyfriends, they all hate you. You know, you get too involved, too emotionally involved, with the girls…” He stares sadly out the window and the rest of the ride continues in silence.
at the hotel
The lobby of the hotel is an oasis of white, with enormous chandeliers suspended from the ceilings, artfully set on Lucite tables and resting haphazardly on the floor. I check in to my room and then order coffee from the lobby bar, launching an unwinnable fight with jet lag. Ambient techno music plays softly in the background, making everything seem cooler than it is. I attempt to slide unnoticed into one of the over-sized white leather beans functioning as chairs and knock the table with my knee, spilling coffee everywhere. I frantically wipe it up with a tissue I find crumpled at the bottom of my purse, used days earlier and on another continent by the Bean.
on the tram
The Luas doesn’t rhyme with cows and it doesn’t rhyme with mouse. It’s pronounced “Lewis”: the locals call it the “Daniel Day”. It’s clean and convenient and eminently navigable even by someone who’s easily flummoxed in unfamiliar cities. Downtown is alternately splashed with rain and lit by sunbursts and there are flowers in every window box. A girl waiting across the platform is a vision of spring. I love the Luas, also known as the Daniel Day.
interviews
I’m picked up at 8:30 am and the day begins. By 2:00 pm, I’ve interviewed with five people and am still unfed. Jet lag sandbags me, making my sentences long and incomprehensible. Someone gets me a sandwich; a turkey wrap with shredded cheese that showers my plate in bright orange confetti while the hiring manager watches me. I then meet with the Boss of Everyone, who stops me mid-sentence if I’m not answering questions to her satisfaction. She is brilliant and terrifying: I am fearful and smitten. I’m sent back to my hotel in a cab, which I pay for with my own money. On either end, no decisions have been made.
coming home
On the plane back, I sit next to a kindly, snow-haired man and we drink together. He is eloquent and well traveled, a professional musician who’s lived in the States for thirty years but who is ready to return home. He invites me to a music festival at the end of the summer and, as we are leaving the plane, hands me a copy of his CD. That night, at home, my son and I listen and dance.
Posted by Max at April 21, 2006 10:07 AM