Crossing the pond

Hello, all. I have made it over the pond. Internet access is not perfect, but not bad. Weather is not perfect, but not bad. Things are pretty much okay for the time being.

The journey, I should mention, was quite, quite awful. The airline, whom I am not going to name in the interests of protecting the guilty (except, it was Continental; I was lying a minute ago) were so many different varieties of complete crap I would bore you all to death detailing them all, but big fat urgh. And to be fair to them, it wasn't entirely their fault that flying over the Atlantic has become something that is not fun - and I maintain that flying, even and especially flying long haul, is fun - and rather something that makes your heart sink into your boots. After my brief, three-hour nap, we went to the airport for six in the morning, for a departure at half nine, and I swear, we were in check-in and security checks for two solid hours. We were grilled, X-rayed, I surrendered a bottle of water and another of moisturizer, my shoes were checked and searched twice, and after queueing for an hour at check-in we had to queue another hour at the standard security check, and we had a last check at the gate, which was fraying people's patience.

And then the flight itself was pretty damn horrendous, too. It was a full flight, so very uncomfortable, and the food had the approximate taste and consistency of thermosoftening plastic, and I kept on trying to sleep and being woken up by inane announcements, and everything, and I mean everything, was geared towards American passengers. Understandable, yes, that this was a States-bound flight. But I was told by a sanctimonious stewardess that I couldn't hang around in the aisle because "federal law prohibits it."

I was very polite, honest. I didn't say a word of what I had in mind, which is this: I am a citizen in a country of a unitary parliamentary democracy and I really, really don't care about the laws of a country I am not currently in.

But I didn't say it. I left the shouting to Pedar, who was getting quite good at it by this time, having been denied a vegetarian meal he had in fact ordered and was being very cutting about salad-related incompetence.

At Newark, I was fingerprinted at Customs underneath a sign saying "Welcome To The United States of America." The thing is, I've never been anywhere where I've been more sure they didn't want me there. And at Newark, we'd been travelling a very long time, so Pedar suggested we sit down somewhere and have a decent lunch. So we did. He asked my mother if she wanted a glass of wine. She said yes. He asked if I wanted one. I said, "Thanks, that'd be nice."

Oh, you can tell where this story's going already. Not two minutes afterwards, an old woman came waddling out from behind the bar and said, "I don't know where you come from, but in the United States..."

So there evolved a French farce, with all of us staring at this glass of wine, which I wanted but couldn't drink, my mother didn't want because she didn't want two and Pedar only drinks in a blue moon. We just sat and stared at it, whilst the woman behind the counter just sat and stared at us. Possibly the most painfully awkward five minutes ever later, there was a flight boarding announcement. We were all still staring. Pedar picked up the glass and handed it to me, I knocked it back and we ran. The woman behind us was clucking impressively but couldn't keep up, and we only skidded to a halt on the aircraft. It was great.

So now I am here, finally, in the deep depths of suburbia, and it's really rather beautiful. The relatives we're staying with have moved since we were here last, and their new house is set in a planned community that gives way to cornfields at the horizon. In the foreground, every house is perfect and painted, every blade of grass in place, there is no litter, no one walks on the pavements and you can sit outside for hours in cricket-buzzing silence. There aren't any white picket fences but there might as well be. I find it all surreal and a little bit sinister. My uncle, mowing the lawn, told me that there is a local residents' byelaw or some such thing that states that you have to keep your grass below a certain length. I was completely freaked out. Whatever happened to freedom of thought, speech and movement? What if I want overgrown grass, dammit!

Nobody, however, takes me seriously. I am not exactly surprised. Still, I am enjoying myself a bit. My Hindi is getting a lot better - I'm still having grammar-related meltdowns, but today I managed enough linguistic complexity to describe to my grandmother the difference between American and British higher education, and it all does come back, it's true. Last night, Nupur took me with her to some high-school party she was invited to, and I had a tolerable time, although it was of course very tame, dry, and over before half eleven. A few funny things did happen - my favourites, in reverse order, were the girl who came up to me and asked, "Is London in England?", the terribly sweet (and, upon observation, sadly not gay, although I probably shouldn't even dare think that round here) girl who, upon hearing me say, "The thing about Chaucer is that he's terribly rude,", hugged me and said, "Your accent is so cute I could just eat you up!" and, lastly, the well-meaning host, who asked, "Are you having a nice time over here with your big sister?"

Laughing, I said that no, Nupur is not my big sister. She said, "Oh my god, sorry, you're in high school?"

"Er... no."

It happened again today, when someone asked if I'm in middle school or high school. It's official: I look about fifteen.

Ah, well. I must disappear and be sociable, and sit out on the deck under a very big sky. I was interested to learn that it's at least a thousand miles to the sea from here. I'm a long way from home.

BUT. Tomorrow I will be by Lake Michigan, and OMG OMG OMG gamesiplay and the_acrobat OMG I am incredibly excited OMG!