Why does airplane food taste so terrible? I wasn't sure if I felt that way because of the underlying stress that I was experiencing or if it was genuinely bad. My copassengers seemed to have polished their plastic trays clean - relished or not, I cannot say, but they did eat. I, on the other hand, picked at my little plastic tray with rice and some form of inedible curry, before deciding that I just could not eat that stuff. Perhaps I should have opted for the seafood meal or the Asian meal instead. Nah, I am certain. It was really bad! The fruit however was delicious. Three large slices of tropical fruit, each better than the first. Luckily for me, I had already tasted dragon fruit previously, and so there was zero worry about it being an exotic fruit that could trigger some sort of an allergic reaction midair. I am paranoid, am I not? But then again, I have a few solid reasons for my paranoia. And, to be fair to myself I was pushing myself out of my comfort zone, wasn't I? I deserved a pat on the back, and I was going to give it to me, even if my pre-booked meal tasted like crap.
|If trains could move fast enough, I would never get on a plane ever again!|
|Small joys. That sight was pretty incredible|
The terrible food apart, there was also the air conditioning that was bothering me. I was sitting in my thick coat with a fleece blanket at my feet. Even then, my feet were cold. It reminded me of office when I would sit curled up at my seat, with my pink, floral shawl wrapped around my shoulders and arms, and every bit of me that it could possibly cover. And just like that, I had to brave it, and I did just that.
The warmth of Siem Reap was beckoning me, and I couldn't wait to set foot on that beautiful, ancient land. I couldn't wait to see my tuk-tuk driver standing outside the airport holding a placard with my name on it. I couldn't wait to step into my cosy little room, the one that I paid for with my hard-earned money. My very own. To be completely honest, I did tear up a little now and then thinking of how far I had come, figuratively speaking. It wasn’t the distance, but all my other battles that I had fought, to be in this position, to make this claim: I hate airline food! Even this hate suddenly seemed beautiful. The tiredness from sitting in the craft, and even if I would reach my hotel room and make myself a cup of hot cup noodles that I carried from Delhi - all of these things were little rewards in a way. This was all a part of my big, adventure, and I knew it was going to be grand!
|One look at those white sheets and I was in love.|