Saturday, 1 May 2010

Planning, packing and panicking

I don't know how some folks can make sudden decisions to up and go overseas; blink and they are gone. Not me. Long-haul seems to require army precision and a major packing campaign.

My trip has taken so much planning, dreaming, hoping and effort. Those myriad tasks that demand attention before I can relax into the idea that I'm almost on my way. I'm talking about finding a safe board for Laura, getting on top of my work at Waitakere, obtaining a WOF for the car and paying the registration. Then I discover my drivers license will expire while I'm away. I ask myself what bills will come in while I'm in France. Will my luggage be overweight? How on earth will I know if I'm under or over 20kgs? Is there a weigh-station somewhere for suitcases?

My phone: a friend has suggested I DON"T go for roaming - far too expensive. She suggests I get a french sim card when I arrive.

Watch out for your mascara and liquid foundation at the airport security area - must be in a plastic bag. Mascara for heavens sake? In reality there's never enough of the liquid in those dinky little tubes to last long. What am I going to do with a mascara wand- threaten a gay pilot? Is liquid foundation such a danger to passengers and crew? Only if some people DON"T use it I'd suggest.

I'll have to shove spare knickers in my laptop bag if I want to arrive 'fresh'. Well, I do hope the nice man at customs doesn't get the idea I'm trying to bribe my way into France when I accidently deposit my G-string on his desk along with my passport. Then again, being French, maybe he'll understand perfectly and waive me through with a twinkle in his eye.

Bellydance practice gear, hair dye to cover my grey for several weeks, copies of key documents, CV and cover letters, language course binders and materials, enough pharmaceuticals to look pretty dodgey. Madam, please explain the 2 doz enemas you're carrying - I can just hear it.

No room for a raincoat or umbrella and I've only packed three pairs of shoes. THREE! How on earth will I look presentable in the fashion capital of the world? I've been told to pack a towel but I don't think there's room. Maybe I could wear it instead.

You think perhaps I'm freaking out a wee bit? Getting a bit excited? Feeling as if this is a really big deal, going to France? YOU BET.


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