In the spirit of international cooperation and multiculturalism, this series of reports from my two week stay in England shall be written in English. Don`t try and correct my English, because I don`t care. So, ladies, fish & gentlemen... here we go.
We left for Graz on Sunday at 10:45, arriving there with enough time until my flight at 14:55. And let me tell you, what a flight it was... The airline was Ryanair, a low fare airline, but with pretty high standards for that price (no, I`m not hallucinating, or making this up). When the plane started taxiing up the runway it was going smoothely, like a ride in the car. However, when the plane straightened itself for takeoff and ignited its engines properly... well, let`s just say that my kidneys tried to escape through the back of my seat. We broke off from the eartly chains that bind us, and soared high as the birds (and even higher).
My ears popped and I felt a bit sick, but that feeling was washed away after I looked out the window and saw the entire world at my feet. It seemed like I was looking on a model town, with tiny cars and tiny buildings, and then after I while, you couldn`t even make out the cars. It was a smooth glide up at 11.000 kilometres (or should I say, 30000 feet... thank God it wasn`t an episode of Twilight Zone, or I would have to put up with Shatner`s poor acting... again). We passed by a couple of airplanes, and saw the world as it was meant to be seen. The clouds... I won`t even begin to describe the clouds... Clouds thin as paper, clouds that looked like foam or whipped cream... the mist when we crossed the Channel. Magic. Pure poetry.
Then came the bitter disillusionment... we were stuck at the airport for two hours, waiting for our driver to take us to Folkestone. (btw, this broadcast is from a local internet caffe) He was late because of a traffic accident on the M2, a five car pile up at a junction. It seems traffic accidents happen often (but I`ll explain this statement later). After what seemed an eternity, we were in Folkestone at 21:30, waiting to be delivered into the loving hands of our families (well, not really our families... foster families) as wards.
My family is very wierd. The mother is very friendly, but is of a spiritist religion, something to do with the Da Vinci Code, The Templar and the painting of The Last Supper. Christ was a Magi or something and... well, it`s interesting, but I`m not buying it. However, I nod and spurt out pretty little words like a bird (I know Nighthawk will recognise the quote) and I`m ever so polite. The rest of the family is O.K. The brother and another ward (a 12 year old Polish kid) are constantly playing the Playstation and the sister is teasing them both all the time. And there is a French girl also with us (17), Clara or something, and she disproves the theory I had that the French do not speak English.
Today, we took the placement test (I aced it, did you doubt it?) and I will probably in the most advanced group. Currently we are having a tour of Folkestone, and they give us some time of for shopping. Since my family has no computers, nor does the school, I guess I`m going to have to manage like this every day.
That`s it for now. The seagulls are a general nuisance (but they leave you alone if you share your peanuts with them) and the family cat is orange and pettable. Greetings from England.
Music: Willie Nelson - On the road again...
Kierlan Darkskye,
Globetrotter (or maybe just Trotter?)
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