Unterwegs Again

4th August 2020

I can't breathe properly in my mask. What with that, my fringe and the blue reflective shadez I am sporting, my aunt reportedly compares me to E.T. Ouch. All I can think about is how I'm going to break the law to eat my sad little meal deal (it won't be possible to ram my egg 'n' cress through the triple-layered muzzle).

I'm on a plane en route to Edinburgh. I've got to go via here to get to Hamburg, where I am spending two nights before getting a train and bus to my Workaway Praktikum. The ol' carbon footprint is not looking good. I am also inadvertantly wearing my XR logo-ed shirt. Eek. I reassure myself that I may be single-handedly saving the aviation industry (Ryan Air predictably squeezed an extra 40 quid out of me at the luggage check-in), so my conscience is cleared. Pragmatism 1, activism 0.

There are a few German families in the airport and for the first time in my life I feel a pang of familiarity at hearing the language. For the preceding seven months I had been speaking it exclusively to the pixelated faces of randomers whose three dimensional presences were spread all over the world (my favourite conversation buddy was in Jordan), so it was nice to be reassured that Real People still speak German too. My surprise and pleasure partly shows the extent to which I had entered a virtual reality over the course of lockdown; but also perhaps shows that man online lernen kann! Phew! (...Or is it simply that English is reordered German with less logical spelling?) 

The first person I chat with on my trip (save an absolutely victorious interaction with the hostel receptionist) is called Chini. Upon arrival the 6-bed room had been empty (giving me the opportunity to perform a short I'm Abroad dance) but then a man of about 50 comes in, nods at me and goes straight into the loo to release an uncomfortably audible fart. He turns out to be quite the political activist; telling me all about the People of Biafri (he is one) who he says are the 'Original Jews' and are planning an uprising this year which will destroy Nigeria. They are prepared for blood to be shed, apparently. I'm quite scared. Then he absolutely goes off on one for about 2 hours straight, covering topics from the origins of humanity to his plans for setting up a food business. I give up doing my understanding nod and am formulating an exit strategy (it's way past midnight) when he offers me a spliff, which I politely decline. Ten minutes later, as I'm faking sleep and he's done rollin', he pops out to do the deed, pausing only to persevere with his persuasion: "just a little puff?"