Life in Upper Class

Everyone changed into their black comfy sleep suits and I realized something: we all want to be comfortable. In life and in the air.

They were playing really cool, Euro pop music in the cabin. Virgin Atlantic reminds me of the movie, Love Actually, very hip and fresh. Very now. A bunch of good looking young people dancing (“dahn-cing”) around. Okay, so the cabin attendants weren’t dancing, but they were so relaxed and appeared happy. They were all smiling and laughing (pronounced “laah-fing”). My personal attendant, Ed, was so delightful. My cheeks hurt from smiling so much.

Someone called me madam. I don’t know how I feel about that.

I ordered the pumpkin soup with crème fraiche and chives on top. It tasted like gold and sunshine, if gold could be pureed and then warmed, and got its warmth from the sun, if the sun were able to be put into a bowl. I was slurping and practically licking my spoon. To me, good food is a good omen for what’s to come. When I took my flight to Berlin a few years back, I had the most amazing vegetarian Indian meal of my life. That is, until I arrived in Hamburg, where, to date (note: I’m sure as I work my way across London’s curry-saturated landscape my vote will change), I had the best Indian meal ever. Goan curry with mindblowing coconut chutney served in a tiny storefront with just two bar style tables and a dirty floor. It amazed me how the woman was Indian, spoke German and English. I only spoke the latter two, but amazing still how we could communicate, worlds apart as we were in both upbringing and literal geography. Anyway, back to my superstition. When I went to Berlin I had only one good day before my cousin went psycho and ditched me a few days after my birthday. You’d think the Indian food was a bad omen, then, but really it still holds true. I found myself that year. I learned that I could make it in a big, foreign city on my own. I learned to navigate the train system, found a spice museum to visit, wandered around neighborhoods and tiny streets (that’s where I found the curry) and even went to a Portuguese restaurant that had a cat running around in it. I had some amazing chicken noodle soup there, too. So the food didn’t lie.

And judging by the pumpkin soup, I’m betting the trip ahead holds only good things. To be continued…