Traveling through Europe on my own for two weeks was so big, that I have trouble figuring out where to start or what to say about it. There were the people, the buildings, times when I felt empowered and times when I was so homesick I wanted to cry (that usually happened when dogs were around) — just a lot to look back on and remember.
So I guess the best thing to do is begin at the beginning, a very good place to start. I kept a written journal for each day I was there, so that I wouldn’t forget anything “important”, like what I had for breakfast each day (vital info). Hopefully I can edit out the boring details and keep in all the good stuff, but sometimes the boring details are the best part.
My plane trip to Brussels, where I would connect to London, left Dulles Airport at around 7 pm — a full hour behind schedule because, as our pilot said, there was some “weather up ahead”. I had left enough time between connecting flights so that this wouldn’t affect me, but the guy next to me was going to miss his connection to Sweden, which sucked because he was going home to see his boyfriend, who he met on the Internet about 2 years ago and on a whim went to visit, and ended up staying for the past year and a half. The guy’s name is Danny, but I don’t find out his name until after he’s given me an Ambien and bought me a drink from the airplace bar cart. These two things combine to make it my shortest trans-Atlantic flight ever.
In Brussels, as we’re getting ready to walk off the plane, I hear over the intercom “Would a passenger King please see a United representative about your connecting flight.” Turns out my connecting flight is canceled, and I’ll have to take a later one at noon. So my first hours in Europe are spent sleepily drinking coffee and staring at airplanes while people around me chatter in French and Dutch.
I don’t hear my first English accent until I’m on the plane to London. I get to Heathrow around noon (there’s a one hour time difference between Belgium and the UK) and customs is a breeze. Before leaving the US, I bought a pay-as-you-go Oystercard online, so I go straight to the Underground, get on the Picadilly line train and ride it straight to Russell Square station (about 45 minutes). My hostel, Astor Museum Inn, is a 5 minute walk away, and when I get there I realize that I am directly across the street from the British Museum — this is an awesome location.
To be continued…
Dear Toronto:
Thanks for being such a gracious host. My friend, Lori, and I had a wonderful visit during our weekend getaway.
We left DC on Air Canada on Thursday evening and arrived at the Toronto Pearson International Airport around 9:30 pm. Our first stop was customs, which, as usual, had long lines and a bit of a wait (it didn’t help that I had drank a bottle of water on the plane and now really needed a bathroom).
While I’m waiting, I look around at all the different people in line. In the line next to me, but slightly ahead of me, is a woman with short, crimson hair. Because I’m a big movie geek, the first thing I think of is “That looks like Tilda Swinton.” The Toronto Film Festival is in town, so it’s not out of the question that she would be at the airport. After she goes through customs, the woman turns to look back at her companion, and lo and behold, it is Tilda.
Past customs, I tell Lori “I just spotted my first celebrity.”
“Who?”
“Tilda Swinton.”
Blank expression. “Who’s she?”
“She was in ‘Chronicles of Narnia’ and ‘Constantine’.”
“Oh.” Still no recognition.
Five minutes later, while waiting for the bus, Lori says, “Sooo, her name was Tootsie Swonstanstine, right?” I die laughing.
My customs agent is a 30-ish guy with a goatee circa 1995. I’ve forgotten to fill in my address on my customs form, and take the pen off his computer keyboard to write it in.
“No, you can’t use that,” he deadpans. I start to put it back. “I’m just kidding.”
“Oh, OK, I was about to say, you guys are pretty strict!” I joke.
“No, we’re Canadians. It’s Americans you have to watch out for.”
(Is he joking back? I have no idea.) “Why is that?”
“In America, if you have a big gun, you get what you want.” (That is what he said, verbatim.)
“Well, that’s the dream I guess,” I say, trying to laugh it off. (This is bizarre.)
The customs agent then proceeds to grill me about how much I paid for my trip to Canada. How much was my ticket to Virgin Fest? Why am I only going for one day? Where am I staying? How much is the room per night? I wonder if this is how you catch a terrorist — with numbers and prices.
Needless to say, I make it through in the clear. We take the bus into the city, and check into our hostel at around 10:30 pm.
It’s a nice surprise when you book your flight for your big trip and the price comes in $125 under what you were expecting to pay. Thanks Lufthansa!
I leave on Sept. 26 for London and come back Oct. 11 from Amsterdam. Oh, and of course Paris will be in between.
Is the future of security transparent?
OK, that’s a bit dramatic, but seriously, does this sound like a fly-by-night (pun intended) solution to long lines at airport security? Clear is a service that prescreens travelers and allows them to get through security more quickly. It costs about $100, and is only accepted at specific airports (Newark Terminal B, anyone?).
Personally, I think this could easily be exploited in the wrong hands. And let’s not forget that the reason we stand in those long security lines is in the hopes of avoiding “exploitation” by them thar bad guys.
Found via thecoolhunter.net, this art display at the London Underground’s Gloucester Road station looks more like something you’d see in Tokyo than England.
Budget hotel, budget flyer, … budget cruise? The idea behind easycruise is that you get no frills like buffets or room service, and in exchange you get to spend a lot longer at each stop and can explore them on your own. The boat is super tiny compared to other luxury cruiselines, and you have to pay for your own drinks, but the rooms are sleek and modern, and there’s no shuffleboard in site. And it hits places like Amsterdam and the Caribbean. Sounds like a fair trade to me.
Last Saturday was the last of the sunny days around D.C. for awhile. I went to the Rembrandt exhibit at the National Gallery of Art and then strolled the National Mall and took some pictures. The one above came out brilliantly, I was so pleased.
I’m over my previous indecision about my trip. I started having wild fantasies of going off for three weeks and trying to pack in as many cities as possible, but have calmed down a bit and decided to go for quality over quantity. So the trip is like this: three days London; four days Paris; three days Amsterdam; with a day for transfers between each city (each train trip will be about four hours, so it’s hard to plan sightseeing on those days). I feel much better about this plan, and while the price isn’t any less than before, I think the overall trip will be much more relaxing.
In a little more a week until I go to Las Vegas (!!!). Better go buy some 3-ounce bottles for when I pack my liquids.