On the plane

It looks like I won’t be doing very much talking during this 10 hour flight from San Francisco to London, my first attempts to strike up a conversation with my aisle mates resulted in confused looks and an apologetic “I not speak English.” They’re chatting away with each other right now, in what I think is French.

So I guess its up to me to find my own source of entertainment. I brought six books about Kenya and a Swahili phrasebook all stuffed into my backpack. I figure if I read a few books and then spend the rest of the time learning Swahili, I’ll be an expert by the time I arrive. Maybe I’ll even take a nap ontop of my phrasebook, then it will

really stick.

All my intentions towards productivity sort of melted away when the attractive British steward asked me if I wanted anything to drink in an adorable British accent.

“Whiskey, coke or perhaps some wine, miss?”

I didn’t want to disappoint him so I ever so graciously accepted miniature bottles of both red and white wine. Soon I was drifting off into a wine-induced slumber, swearing to myself that if I ever got the chance I was going to live in London. If flying British Airways was any indication, British people are friendly, attractive and only two willing to help American college students procure alcohol.