Avoiding the Olympic Torch – Planes, Flames and Aung San Key Chains

A day, a great day. Breakfast and an airport. Sky as grey as depression and dampening drops. Electric tracks and beeps, a quick platform change then beach bound. An in sync happening, a vision in mustard and black, Egyptian? Craving the apricot stone elixir, powering down the soft wet sand towards the dilapidated newly renovated hotel against the winds, Gayle. What is amaretto? I am new but i know what salt and vinegar crisps are. Put on the gloves. I make do with blue, indian ear hair being a subtle highlight.

Road replaced sand joining crowds heading towards the flame, not out of choice. Egh. Bah humbug, bah sport. People waving flags, waiting for a pice of history which feels trivial in the making. A young lady from Burma and my gift of a Aung San key chain. How can you take a flame on a plane when you can’t take nail clippers or something to soften the skin? Crowds lining the streets waiting for the fleeting moment. Wanting to see but didn’t, be a part of it but not. Really just standing staring, exposing teeth, rolling eyes stunned by Coca-Cola hell. Gimp’s on microphones and girls shaking pompom’s in a usually beautiful beach town on the north sea, which today felt like America for an hour. A distraction from a country in tatters but in essence a celebratory free event? A promotion of togetherness?

Past the commotion a real treat from Finland. Dosa, Moomins and a heartfelt hour or two. Returning to the start, travelling into the black. Patriotism never being my strong point. Smoke. Vomit. Sleep.

 

One comment

  1. Anthony Patterson

    Really dug this post, pitty about the vom I’m guessing your day could have done without that! I was never one for patriotism either. x

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