begin.

with a solid fifteen hours of sleep to compensate for those two days without, and a comparatively more coherent state to go along with it, I only hope now to provide a somewhat lucid account of these first 30 hours of my journey. I just pray their explanation neither be as long nor as tedious.

in that light, and in consideration of its generally watered-down impact on my trip, I will only give brief acknowledgement to my initial flight out of orlando international airport. palm trees bending in the wind along tourist-friendly roads with big letters, brightly coordinated colors, and plenty of forewarning; these are all familiar sights. in the anticipation of new sights to come, I stare through it with eyes weary of their comfort.

instead, I begin here with a 7:10p.m. flight out of new york's JFK and in destination to dublin, ireland. despite my delusional state and a mind failing in the face of 34 sleepless hours, I remember that first moment of an untainted and previously unattached enthusiam.
as I'm looking out my window, flying from a location I've traveled to and away from several times before, I was suddenly swept over by the thought of having never flown this way before. granted, within this incoherent context and given that I was already attempting conversation with the girl sitting next to me, I certainly wasn't thinking in eastern-bound terms. after all, it was only a short time ago that I was on an eastward route back to florida. more so though, my thoughts were spurred by the visual cues of an unfamiliar stretch of land combined with the re-realization of my journey. I turned to tell this to my boeing 767 neighbor.
she's an irish girl about my age, with a gentle smile that made obvious her soon to be told stories of working with kids. we exchange and compare experiences throughout the extended evening, leaving many pleasantries to digest at our lap-size tables... omitting, of course, those 'surprise' airplane consumables. as she pronounces 'skewl' and pokes fun at the riverdance, I continue to ask heaping questions in big american doses. weaving memory and my present reality, our flight carries on.

at 7:10a.m., our plane arrives in the greenest country I've ever seen. a pastureland puzzle of irregular shapes hugging gently rolling hills and lush valleys, all contained within a stunning boulder-lined coast. at that moment, I am sorry that my stay is not longer for a leisurely drive through this verdant terrain.
rather, my next 7 hours are spent in an airport, passing in and out of consciousness, and waiting for a delayed flight to rennes. men are called gents, great is grand, a lady's a las, and I wasted 10 euros attempting a means to call home. also, the stores along here are some of the most fashionable I've seen, as far as airport shopping goes.


at last, my aer lingus plane is ready to board. walking out to the flight, my weary body is spurred by the nip in the air and my equally tattered mind habitually attempts to recall if I was just in 90 degree weather. I wish for my sweater, but the need for sleep overrides the want.
for the next two hours, I would continue to be teased by a deeper slumber, as I would awake so often to voices amongst the cabin. they are louder than usual, a mixture of foreign tongue, and I notice that everyone likes to give a collective 'whoop' when the plane encounters some turbulence. though there was none, I half expected that there would be a round of applause once the plane finally landed.

walking across the runway and entering the rennes customs office, I encountered my first occasion of the fearfully predicted language barrier. being able to neither prove when I would leave france, nor having the knowhow of expressing this, I am granted an additional 10 minutes to my time at this gate. I could only assume that the next 5 were due the mistakes made on my embarkment card and, yet again, I stress that this is only an assumption that neither myself nor the man behind the glass could understand.
20 minutes pass and all the while my ride home stands waiting on the other side.

after a quick greeting and a most delirious first impression, we are driving now; myself, sandy, and her 3 year old son. with eyes now alert strictly for the sheer curiosity, I take note on how all of the cars are small... aside from the truck full of pigs that just passed by. also, there are fewer traffic lights, fewer parking lots, fewer buildings, and a sprawling countryside to compensate. rolling fields of varying greens and yellow grasses... sandy remarks that I'm looking at monet's haystacks. I spot a scattering of sheep and cows, and a less than occasional cluster of trees amongst wildflowers, while flocks of birds persist in a winged feeding of the pre-harvest wheat fields. there are a smattering of cobblestone houses, some larger than others, and many with perfectly dilapidated farms and old wells in the back. in this quilted view, I rest my eyes... and then we pull up to my temporary own.