Wednesday June 8th.
8pm, baby-sitting my nieces un Brussels suburbia, my new name is Mr Jacques according to the little one. Time for bed, give me a big hug, tomorrow I'm leaving for a month in Israel.
read, watch tv, sleep.
11.30pm, my sister and brother in law are back, time for my mom and I to leave, I'm excited, in les than 12 hours, I'll be on the plane to Tel Aviv!! I'll land at 4.30pm, check in my hotel and then spend the evening on the beach, watch the sun go down...
12am, the phone rings *+972...* "Allo?" "Allo, Surya, ze "El-AL" "oh erm, ken" "your flight has been cancelled, you will have to take one at 8pm tomorrow"
Thursday June 9th
So I am leaving today. But at 8pm. Meaning I'll land at 1.30am, in a country I've never been to, where I know nobody, on my own. Sweet.
Just because some people in Brussels airport decided to go on strike. I hate strikes. I hate everyone (except for my mom).