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Geo: 47.6353, -122.302
Since we didn't have to vacate the hotel till 11:00 this morning, I planned to sleep till 8:00. But I woke up at 5:45, partly because I needed the bathroom but also because there was a noise that reminded me of when I was in Amsterdam and had an unwanted rodentine visitor. (It turned out to be noise coming from another room.) I had just gotten back to sleep when the fire alarm went off. God those things are mind-scramblingly loud! I had just grabbed my passport and wallet and was putting on my jacket (because unless there are flames actually licking at my heels, I am
not fleeing in just my nightgown) when the alarm stopped. Sheesh! After my heart returned to a more-or-less normal rhythm, I did manage to sleep for another half hour, but then was permanently awakened by someone retching in a nearby room.
Ah, my last hotel breakfast. I don't think I need make the acquaintance of any more eggs anytime soon. I'll miss the hot tea a little bit, but probably only because it's fun to have a tiny teapot at the table. I'll tell you what I would like: some streaky bacon. And a bowl of cereal.
I finished packing. I almost didn't have to use the extension zipper on my suitcase, but then I decided to pack my jacket so now it looks ludicrously large.
We left the hotel at 11:00 and after Katherine and Michelle got refunds on their Oyster cards, we got the train back to Heathrow. We were too early to check our bags in (they won't let you do it until three hours prior to your flight), so we sat in a restaurant called Carluccio's and had bruschetta and lots of prosciutto. I highly recommend eating prosciutto as a good way to kill time.
When we did get through to airside, I headed straight for Starbucks – like the good addict I am – and got a Frappuccino. Then we did a wee bit of shopping and went to our gates. Michelle left us at the B gates, and it was a difficult separation for Katherine. But she bore up and we went on to the C gates.
Katherine was seated behind me on the aisle, and we were in the small coach cabin. So were at least five screaming babies and a scattered Indian family. The Indian lady next to me (sari, bracelets, bindi ... but, oddly, short hair) was perfectly nice but – and I know I'll sound completely racist saying this – there's that whole Asian thing of not really “getting” the concept of personal space. I understand it's a cultural thing and I even understand why, but it's hard for this uptight Westerner to deal with sometimes. Also, even though she could read English, she often didn't really understand what the Customs and Immigration form was asking for, and I was asked several times to interpret. The guy next to her, who I think was Muslim, spoke a little English but didn't read it at all, and he wanted help too. I told him what information was required in the various little boxes, but I didn't want to actually write anything out for him. I think he eventually got his son, who looked about 12 and was sitting in a forward (read: better) cabin, to help him.
As soon as we got settled in, there was a page for “passenger Abdullah Mohammed” to make himself known to a member of staff. Sometimes these pages are just to identify who's getting a special meal, but often enough they are because there's a bag with that name waiting to be checked in the hold, but no record of anyone by that name passing the gate. Again, I know I sound horrible, but I hoped fervently that he was a nice Abdullah Mohammed from Tacoma who was expecting a Muslim meal.
So, apart from elbows, questions and screaming babies (the baby across the aisle from me probably only stopped screaming for a total of two hours of our eight hour and fifty minute flight; I always though babies cried themselves out and fell asleep, but nooooo) – Katherine and I went to stand in the back of the plane at one point because we couldn't take the screaming anymore – the flight was uneventful, though I'm not anxious to do it again anytime soon, at least not till after I've invested in some noise-canceling headphones. I watched “Arthur” (the Russell Brand/Helen Mirren version) and “Paul” and the same episode of “The Big Bang Theory” that I had watched on the flight over, as well as quite a lot of the moving map.
Passport control was no problem, but the bags took a long time coming out, and I really hate finally claiming my bag only to have to give it back again. And I really hate that they've now got a couple of guys waiting to put your bag back on the conveyor belt because they just throw it on there upside down. And it's not like my bag was super-heavy and needed to be thrown; if I can lift it over my head, it's not heavy. Anyway, by the time I got up to regular baggage claim, John had already grabbed it off the carousel for me.
It's so nice to be home, even though Chloe acted like she didn't even realize I was gone. We really need to get a dog.
Ireland was really lovely and even though the London days weren't entirely successful, I was happy to be there (though I'd really like to go back after the Olympics). Anyway, I wrote a sappy limerick about Ireland; here it is:
Its hillsides are dotted with sheep,
Seals and dolphins inhabit its deep.
From mountain to strand
'Tis a green, pleasant land,
And forever my heart will it keep.
What we call a beach, they call a strand. Also, the dolphin thing? Every time we were near the sea, we were told that there were often dolphin sightings. We didn't see any evidence of that, so I think it's all blarney.
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Kate
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WELCOME HOME!! (I liked your limerick). thanks for sharing your journey with us. Hope to see you soon!