Sunday, August 17th 2008:
Why do I keep ending up in these situations? As I was about to board my plane yesterday, some guy went nuts and started to shoot people. Although I do believe he had a good reason to react that way, as there were people among the ones he was shooting that wielded guns as well. Perhaps they were the ones he was trying to shoot. But then who are they? Or who's he? Or his friends who joined in? I must say, for some reason there was a very easy way to distinguish one party from the other. The guy who started shooting, and his friends, wore fur coats, whereas the other ones wore leather ones. Very much like those vampires I met in Washington D.C.
In any case, because of the shooting, many flights have been delayed, including the one I was supposed to be on. So rather than waiting for the next one, I decided to take another flight to Marseille. From there, I should be able to find my way to Paris, which I have. But getting there was, though quickly, quite the adventure.
When I left the airport, I tried to use however little knowledge of French that I have to tell the taxi-driver to get me to the nearest train-station. I can't say I understood much of anything he was telling me, as French from this region resembles Spanish a lot more than French, but he appeared delighted. Not so surprising, as his taxi was equipped to be a race-car, so he was just glad he could drive fast again. This way, while any other car would take more than thirty minutes to get from the airport to the train-station, this one needed only a few seconds. Can't say I'm used to driving this fast in a car, but I've been in a spaceplane and I survived, so this was nothing. Still, I suppose being in a (sort of) race was a new experience. Wonder how well he'd do when racing against these guys that the helicopter in the States mentioned to me. Herbie and McQueen, I believe their names were. The driver told me something, which I didn't understand entirely. I mean, I know he told me he didn't understand it, but I didn't quite understand what he didn't understand.
No matter. I've arrived in Paris, but the last thirty-six hours have been quite tiring, so I'm just gonna lie down and sleep in my hotel room for the rest of the day.
Monday, August 18th 2008:
I regret deciding to come over here. When I was younger, seeing a city like Paris may have been exciting, but now I've seen so many things, Paris isn't any more exciting than my hometown. But that wasn't the only thing about Paris that bothered me.
When trying to look for some food, there weren't many places where I could get any, unless I were to visit all the fancy restaurants, where I'd sit for hours on in and still haven't eaten anything. I remember someone telling me that, according to the Guide Duchemin, you can eat very well in Paris, or all over France. Indeed you can, when you're more patient than God or the devil.
And while we're on the subject, I met with this rabbi, who said his name was Salomon. Under normal circumstances I wouldn't have spoken to him, as I usually mind my own business, but he started talking to me so what was I to do? He saw how packed up I was, so he wondered if I was a tourist. I was lucky that this rabbi could speak English, or else I wouldn't have been able to understand anything he said. Anyway, I indeed told him I was indeed a tourist, who's been all around the world, and am now on my way home. That's when things got out of hand, as he wished me that "Jahwe would be with me". I laughed at that, and told him that Jahwe, i.e. God, has been with me just one too many times so far. He of course didn't believe me, but who am I to care. That guy believed that God cannot be enough with people, but unlike me he has never met the guy upstairs, so he wouldn't know. Anyone else would start to call me a blasphemer, but he chose to use a less sensible insult: Nazi. He worships a dictator, and yet I'm the Nazi? Thinking about it, it's a little ironic. I didn't think I should stay with this man much longer so I wanted to go away. Unfortunately, he didn't want me to go anywhere, and held my arm tightly. I must say he was quite strong for an old man. In any case, the only way I knew to have him let go (I tried to pull, but to no avail) was to punch him in the stomach. That's when he let go and I could escape.
I know what some of you are thinking: that it's cowardice to beat up an old man. Maybe, but an old man who takes advantage of this, in any possible way, in this case to use physical force, is no better than someone who would beat him. Besides, I wanted to go away, but he wouldn't let me. Had he let me go, I wouldn't have laid a finger on him. Every which way you put it, it was self-defence.
In any case, that was the moment that I decided to get out of Paris as soon as I can, before he can alert the authorities. Luckily I didn't tell him where I was from, or else I'd have the police over at my home as well. I can only hope that he didn't recognize my accent, though.