So far this trip has been…intense.
Yvette and I left San Francisco at 11:45 p.m. Sunday evening. I slept off and on during the three hour flight to Chicago, where we arrived at 5:45 a.m. Chicago time. We had a three hour layover in which we had a baggage snafu and ended up having to go through security again ( O’Hare uses the new x-ray machines, so I have that creepy experience under my belt now *shudder*) and we were on our way to London.
Customs was surprisingly painless. A five minute conversation with the customs agent, and I had my first stamp in my passport. We snagged a shuttle to the hotel (it was 11:30 London time at this point, and I had been up for a total of 30 hours), checked-in, and were in bed by one.
The plan was to fall into bed and sleep for 7 hours. But then neither of us slept very well. We ended up getting up at four in the morning and rearranging our bags, something we’d planned to do in the morning, while brainstorming plans for Tuesday. Then we went back to sleep, and got up with just enough time to check out at noon. We spent the rest of the day figuring out the public transit system.
FYI, the buses in London don’t stop unless you flag them down; hovering at the bus stop is not enough. I don’t know how many buses we missed figuring that out, and then forgetting we were supposed to do it. Also, the bus drivers are crazy! I have never before seen buses driven the way I saw buses driven today. However, we found the bus drivers to be some of the nicest, most patient and kindly helpful people we encountered today. Not once did we encounter an impatient or dismissive attitude, which was not the case at the airport and several of the train stations. And considering the number of “we’re trying to do such and such, how should we…” questions we asked today, we’ve definitely taken a wide enough sample of the London population to know.
I think the quiet is getting to me though. Londoners get on a bus and sit silently. They get on a train and sit silently. Train stations are loud—because large groups of people walk and their steps echo. It’s…weird. I am proud of myself, because I only started to get a little loud twice today. Go me!
Now, London observations:
Expensive! (Although I did find this little corner market, where I got 5 apples for 1 pound. I was pretty impressed with that)
Very fast paced. People rush, rush, rush everywhere.
The hotel guy will laugh at you when you have 6 bags that need to be retrieved from the hotel’s storage in the back. He will, however, try to hide it in a politely English way, and will
refuse your help when you offer it. He will then carry out your two duffle bags in one hand, which will both irritate you and make you want to hire him to carry your luggage for always, because *you* certainly can’t do that, and your arms are still sore from carrying them to the hotel from the airport last night. You will also feel the need to explain to the incredulously amused hotel personnel that no, you are not silly over-packing Americans, but rather, Americans studying abroad for four months who packed accordingly but are in “where do we live for the next two weeks” limbo. You will refrain, however, because the hotel people really do not care, and are determined to be amused (which is better than irritated).
Starbucks is, comfortingly, the same worldwide, right down to the upbeat music (it was reggae today). And a chocolate frappucino is identical, whether you order it at the Starbucks in the CA grocery store, or the London train station. Also, there were people there who didn’t have accents (meaning Americans! The first we’ve met since arrival) and that was nice to hear too. The sandwiches, however, are not the same, no matter how the description makes them sound so. It wasn’t’ exactly gross, because there wasn’t much taste to it, but wasn’t really an enjoyable experience either.
Hello McDonald’s. I see you through the window, and I recognize your familiar golden arches, but why do you look so hoity-toity and upper crust today? I shall have to investigate your interior at a future date and discover whether you are equally blue-blooded on the inside here in London. (Note: the apparently universal reaction of children to the sight of that yellow M: “Mum! McDonald’s! It’s McDonald’s! Can we go?” Admittedly, it’s even more adorable in an English accent)
I was right. London makes me miss Portland. I started out the day in a tee shirt, with my wet hair pulled back. But it was overcast and breezy, with a light (occasional) spatter of rain. Within 15 minutes, my hair was down (still wet, but now warm) under a wool hat (thanks Mom!) and my sweatshirt was on. (I heart you Portland!)
King’s Cross Station is…not what I expected. I mean, Harry Potter paints a certain picture and the reality is nothing like it. For one thing, it’s huge. I mean huge!!! It stretches on forever. And I have never seen so many people in one place outside of a stadium. It’s like a river: streams of people moving through underground tunnels, little streams branching off and new streams merging, and at the end, when you reach the station proper, the river flows out into the ocean of people coming, going, buying tickets, eating, and waiting for trains.
If you want to go to Italy from London, King’s Cross is apparently not where you go (so no trying to figure out where platform 9 ¾ is today. Maybe next time…). You want St. Pancras International, next door. Although King’s Cross is where you store you r extra luggage when you are going away on a train and don’t want to take it with you. A very nice man will even come around the counter and lift it onto the conveyor belt for you when you’re so tired (and hungry because you haven’t eaten all day) that he can apparently tell you weren’t sure how you were going to manage it. He will then ask you about explosives and whether you have any in there, and send you on your way.
And getting from the underground to King’s Cross isn’t particularly easy. At the airport, you go down the stairs, through the gate, and down another flight of stairs to the appropriate stop. At King’s Cross, there are all these different levels and walkways you have to take to get from the underground stop to the actual station, and lifts every which way. We had to go up three or four levels, and find the right tunnels in between the right lifts…Good thing I can read a map!
But eventually we found the right station, and got tickets to…Paris! One must go to Paris before one can go to Italy. Unfortunately, it was too late to take a sleeper train from Paris to Italy tonight, so we will be staying overnight in Paris, making a short trip to Notre Dame and the Louvre tomorrow, and then hopping on a train overnight to Italy! Two days in Rome, 1 in Venice (Pompeii’s been put on the backburner due to its southernmost location, and time constraints). And the lady at the train station was amazing too. We were concerned about finding a place to stay because we will be getting into Paris at 11:45 pm, and you can’t make reservations at the train station, but she bent the rules for us and got us a decently priced hotel room 10 minutes (by foot) from the train station and equally close to both out tourist destinations tomorrow. She even told us which train to arrange from Paris to Italy. With those stressors eliminated, maybe we’ll even get a chance to eat more than half a sandwich each tomorrow too! ^_^
So current status:
I am a bit hungry. I can’t go 5 minutes without yawning. I am admittedly stressed and my shoulders are screaming after spending my day lugging ten hundred pounds of luggage all over London. (The ten hundred pounds is an exaggeration, the all over London isn’t.) I really miss my family.
But I am this close (holding fingers an inch apart) to being in Italy. That is amazing! And Paris, for all I don’t know the language, should be a lot of fun too. Plus, my travel buddy is totally fun, really good at planning things out, and keeps offering me chocolate. So far, this trip is looking pretty good!
Yvette and I left San Francisco at 11:45 p.m. Sunday evening. I slept off and on during the three hour flight to Chicago, where we arrived at 5:45 a.m. Chicago time. We had a three hour layover in which we had a baggage snafu and ended up having to go through security again ( O’Hare uses the new x-ray machines, so I have that creepy experience under my belt now *shudder*) and we were on our way to London.
Customs was surprisingly painless. A five minute conversation with the customs agent, and I had my first stamp in my passport. We snagged a shuttle to the hotel (it was 11:30 London time at this point, and I had been up for a total of 30 hours), checked-in, and were in bed by one.
The plan was to fall into bed and sleep for 7 hours. But then neither of us slept very well. We ended up getting up at four in the morning and rearranging our bags, something we’d planned to do in the morning, while brainstorming plans for Tuesday. Then we went back to sleep, and got up with just enough time to check out at noon. We spent the rest of the day figuring out the public transit system.
FYI, the buses in London don’t stop unless you flag them down; hovering at the bus stop is not enough. I don’t know how many buses we missed figuring that out, and then forgetting we were supposed to do it. Also, the bus drivers are crazy! I have never before seen buses driven the way I saw buses driven today. However, we found the bus drivers to be some of the nicest, most patient and kindly helpful people we encountered today. Not once did we encounter an impatient or dismissive attitude, which was not the case at the airport and several of the train stations. And considering the number of “we’re trying to do such and such, how should we…” questions we asked today, we’ve definitely taken a wide enough sample of the London population to know.
I think the quiet is getting to me though. Londoners get on a bus and sit silently. They get on a train and sit silently. Train stations are loud—because large groups of people walk and their steps echo. It’s…weird. I am proud of myself, because I only started to get a little loud twice today. Go me!
Now, London observations:
Expensive! (Although I did find this little corner market, where I got 5 apples for 1 pound. I was pretty impressed with that)
Very fast paced. People rush, rush, rush everywhere.
The hotel guy will laugh at you when you have 6 bags that need to be retrieved from the hotel’s storage in the back. He will, however, try to hide it in a politely English way, and will
refuse your help when you offer it. He will then carry out your two duffle bags in one hand, which will both irritate you and make you want to hire him to carry your luggage for always, because *you* certainly can’t do that, and your arms are still sore from carrying them to the hotel from the airport last night. You will also feel the need to explain to the incredulously amused hotel personnel that no, you are not silly over-packing Americans, but rather, Americans studying abroad for four months who packed accordingly but are in “where do we live for the next two weeks” limbo. You will refrain, however, because the hotel people really do not care, and are determined to be amused (which is better than irritated).Starbucks is, comfortingly, the same worldwide, right down to the upbeat music (it was reggae today). And a chocolate frappucino is identical, whether you order it at the Starbucks in the CA grocery store, or the London train station. Also, there were people there who didn’t have accents (meaning Americans! The first we’ve met since arrival) and that was nice to hear too. The sandwiches, however, are not the same, no matter how the description makes them sound so. It wasn’t’ exactly gross, because there wasn’t much taste to it, but wasn’t really an enjoyable experience either.
Hello McDonald’s. I see you through the window, and I recognize your familiar golden arches, but why do you look so hoity-toity and upper crust today? I shall have to investigate your interior at a future date and discover whether you are equally blue-blooded on the inside here in London. (Note: the apparently universal reaction of children to the sight of that yellow M: “Mum! McDonald’s! It’s McDonald’s! Can we go?” Admittedly, it’s even more adorable in an English accent)
I was right. London makes me miss Portland. I started out the day in a tee shirt, with my wet hair pulled back. But it was overcast and breezy, with a light (occasional) spatter of rain. Within 15 minutes, my hair was down (still wet, but now warm) under a wool hat (thanks Mom!) and my sweatshirt was on. (I heart you Portland!)
King’s Cross Station is…not what I expected. I mean, Harry Potter paints a certain picture and the reality is nothing like it. For one thing, it’s huge. I mean huge!!! It stretches on forever. And I have never seen so many people in one place outside of a stadium. It’s like a river: streams of people moving through underground tunnels, little streams branching off and new streams merging, and at the end, when you reach the station proper, the river flows out into the ocean of people coming, going, buying tickets, eating, and waiting for trains.
If you want to go to Italy from London, King’s Cross is apparently not where you go (so no trying to figure out where platform 9 ¾ is today. Maybe next time…). You want St. Pancras International, next door. Although King’s Cross is where you store you r extra luggage when you are going away on a train and don’t want to take it with you. A very nice man will even come around the counter and lift it onto the conveyor belt for you when you’re so tired (and hungry because you haven’t eaten all day) that he can apparently tell you weren’t sure how you were going to manage it. He will then ask you about explosives and whether you have any in there, and send you on your way.
And getting from the underground to King’s Cross isn’t particularly easy. At the airport, you go down the stairs, through the gate, and down another flight of stairs to the appropriate stop. At King’s Cross, there are all these different levels and walkways you have to take to get from the underground stop to the actual station, and lifts every which way. We had to go up three or four levels, and find the right tunnels in between the right lifts…Good thing I can read a map!
But eventually we found the right station, and got tickets to…Paris! One must go to Paris before one can go to Italy. Unfortunately, it was too late to take a sleeper train from Paris to Italy tonight, so we will be staying overnight in Paris, making a short trip to Notre Dame and the Louvre tomorrow, and then hopping on a train overnight to Italy! Two days in Rome, 1 in Venice (Pompeii’s been put on the backburner due to its southernmost location, and time constraints). And the lady at the train station was amazing too. We were concerned about finding a place to stay because we will be getting into Paris at 11:45 pm, and you can’t make reservations at the train station, but she bent the rules for us and got us a decently priced hotel room 10 minutes (by foot) from the train station and equally close to both out tourist destinations tomorrow. She even told us which train to arrange from Paris to Italy. With those stressors eliminated, maybe we’ll even get a chance to eat more than half a sandwich each tomorrow too! ^_^
So current status:
I am a bit hungry. I can’t go 5 minutes without yawning. I am admittedly stressed and my shoulders are screaming after spending my day lugging ten hundred pounds of luggage all over London. (The ten hundred pounds is an exaggeration, the all over London isn’t.) I really miss my family.
But I am this close (holding fingers an inch apart) to being in Italy. That is amazing! And Paris, for all I don’t know the language, should be a lot of fun too. Plus, my travel buddy is totally fun, really good at planning things out, and keeps offering me chocolate. So far, this trip is looking pretty good!
No comments:
Post a Comment