Out Out And Away

Made it safe to Brighton yesterday evening. I spent the day on various trains -- Normandie to Paris, Paris to London, London to Brighton -- hauling my luggage around, sweating, and reading Hammett's The Thin Man.

My theory of travel remains as firm as ever, and in fact is getting more detailed. You'll remember of course that 80% of people, me included, are just trying to get to their destination in as hassle-free a manner as they can, 12% become total assholes and 8% hit a kind of travel nirvana and ascend to the ranks of angels. I'm very firmly in the 80%; when I am in train stations I just want to find my train, with as few interruptions as possible; I therefore hate all other people in the station, including but not limited to people who are walking slower than I, people who are walking faster than I, people who are standing still, people who have more baggage than I, people who have less baggage than I, and people who are breathing. I'm very impressed with people who DON'T get like that when they travel; there seems to be a loose correlation between not being a stoic bitch and not having four large bags that you are responsible for all alone; this may deserve further research. On the plus side, guys in England can be just as sweet as guys in France when it comes to helping the pack rat carry her suitcase up the steps in the train station, which is nice.

I spent most of my time on the train reading The Thin Man, which I really liked. I especially loved Nora. Nick was pretty cool, kind of a cross between an older Gregory Peck and a younger Humphrey Bogart (and there ain't nothing wrong witht that) but I admired Nora more for being smart and not a pansy and able to put up with Nick being so hard-boiled all the time. I wish she had been the one to solve the mystery, but you can't have everything.