Sunday, July 26, 2015

And With Life, Flying

Planes I could handle. New adventures. Life goes on. And I had never been to London before so I was excited about it.

What I was not excited was to discover that first, my flight was leaving a LOT early than I thought from LGA. The second discovery being that I had an 8 hour layover in Boston.

No one…no one…wants an 8 hour layover in Boston.

It was awful. I waited. I waited some more. Eventually I broke down and had a bottle of wine, because seriously, this was the worst possible layover in the worst possible airport possible. Getting on a 7 hour flight had never seemed like such a relief. I had not booked this mess, but this was the first time I was learning that it was possible for our travel agency to book incorrect tickets. Lesson learned.

The flight to London was uneventful. I watched some movies, did a bit of cat napping, realized that a flight to London was half as long as a flight to Korea. Wondered about potential future flights to this part of Europe. Was excited about the prospect of traveling again. I do like to go, go.

Unlike Australia, I knew a bit more about London than what I had seen in Harry Potter movies. So I was not disappointed when I did not see people flying around on broomsticks, children’s nurses dancing around under umbrellas singing, or a bunch of green haired punks singing “Anarchy in the UK.” I was disappointed by my first foray into coffee, but I overcame this by the need to figure out where I was going.

I figured the easiest thing to do would be to take the train to get to my hotel which was somewhere in St. Martin’s lane. Coffee in hand, I started following signs, which fortunately there were a good number of and well positioned to lead a person on their way. I had directions I had mostly downloaded so I had a fairly good idea of where I needed to be.

As I walked, I passed a person selling tickets so I walked up to him and told him where I was going, he pointed me further down the tunnel, where I figured out the ticket machine, and eventually managed to find my train. The local, which would be about 45 minutes but which would give me a very nice view of the countryside as we went.

The first thing I noticed on the train was the armrests on each seat. I don’t know what kind of genius happy country England is, but freaking separating the seats on the public trans was by fair and away the single most impressive thing I had ever seen. I was instantly in love with the trains. My bag between my feet, I settled in, sipping coffee and watching the green rolling landscape pass slowly by.

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