once upon a plane ride

I'M HERE!!!!!!!! I am currently sitting at a desk in my room at the hostel, awaiting my sister's arrival. The room consists of four beds, two showers, and one toilet. It's more spacious than I anticipated and I only share it with two other girls. There's unlimited WiFi and I get two free meals a day for five days. It's currently 7PM and most of my classmates left to eat dinner except for my roommates and myself. I didn't go downstairs to the cafeteria though I'm told the food is pretty nasty looking. Luckily for me I have some seaweed snacks that no one wants to share! Breakfast is from 7AM to 9AM and hopefully they have bagels. I have a welcome orientation tomorrow morning at 10 and then a bus tour of the city at 2. I don't usually have class on Fridays but this Friday is an exception so I'll be in the classroom from 9AM to noon. Did I mention the classroom is just an elevator ride downstairs?

I finished A Moveable Feast on the plane ride here (I apologize for the incorrect use of italics, there's no underline). However more on that in another entry. I'd like to truly experience Paris first, before applying the text to the city in order to better inform you, the reader, of its truthfulness (though even without my experience, I trust Hemingway's word either way). The plane ride was around nine hours and I sat in the very back row on the aisle, right next to the bathroom which was nice...or so I thought. First of all the bathroom area was sort of a mingling spot in which I overheard many a conversation. Secondly, for all of those who don't know, the bathroom is kind of a common designated vomiting area. There were two people I noticed who threw up: one who made it safely inside before depositing his afternoon meal, and the other who wasn't quite so lucky as the first guy. So this girl is running down the aisle holding her mouth-- no shoes, just socks--and the unlucky person who just happened to be coming out of the bathroom gets a mouthful, literally. Before I even turn around I hear the retching noises from behind the closed lavatory door and smell the sour odor of fresh vomit permeating the small space. I turn around to see a flabbergasted girl around my age covered in a slimy pink gloop, eyes wide, arms outstretched, and mouth open in an 'O.' The stinky substance provides a bright contrast to her all black ensemble. After her initial shock wears off, there is a noticeable change in her demeanor. You can almost see the smoke coming out of her ears, she's so pissed. She starts cursing at the door, no sympathy for the sick girl. When the angry, vomit covered chick's mother appears, she starts to break down crying, mumbling unintelligibly about being bombarded. She's a heavy set girl whose thinner sister offered her one of the shirts she was wearing off of her back, which only induced more tears from the vomit covered girl. The flight attendants were all over her, giving her towels, soap, ginger ale, and a first class pajama set. I, on the other hand, turned away from all the drama, put a scarf over my face, closed my eyes, inserted my headphones in my ears, and pressed play.

That's all I have for now, my sister's here! But I'll be sure to update sometime tomorrow!

Au revoir!