Heathrow PTSD

My alarm rang at 3:30am because my flight Heathrow to Chopin was at 6:30. AM. Cab came exactly as scheduled, at 4:15.

The signage in the terminal at Heathrow was a little confusing and I went up an escalator and then had to go down again. And while trying to wrangle onto the escalator pushing one overweight bag in front of me and pulling one overweight bag behind me, I lost control of the one in front... and it went tumbling down the escalator and actually tapped the legs of the only other person crazy enough to be in the airport at that time of morning.

Seriously, the freakin big orange suitcase bumpitied down the steps of this two-story escalator and juuust touched the legs of a lady almost at the bottom.

And she looked up at me... And I'm screeching "Oooh! Oooh! excuse me... sorry." And she didn't even acknowledge... which in a way could be a good thing, because while she didn't wave as if to say "no problemo", she also didn't start yelling as if I was the biggest American idiot ever to grace the escalators at Heathrow... which is what I felt like, so perhaps she knew I was already being punished.

I have waking nightmares about what would have happened if I'd lost control of the overweight orange suitcase I'd been pulling onto the escalator behind me... would I have lost balance of myself and both suitcases and the whole group gone bumpity down two flights of grooved metal steps, crashing into the anonymous lady in front of me... I've had serious escalator PTSD ever since!

Just a little college town

We strolled with our guide Eugene through the streets in the rain, learning various bits about Oxford, but the rain made it impossible to concentrate. I did catch that there really isn't anything called Oxford University... It is simply a village where several colleges came to be. And the various colleges within the village have their own individual flags and colors...

Eugene turned us loose for 1 hour before the bus would leave, and I popped into a souvenir shop to buy a big sweatshirt to change into. Though I asked several of the shopkeepers, none of them knew which college Endeavor Morse attended, so I just bought a generic Oxford University hoodie.

The shops were filled with Harry Potter paraphernalia, because apparently Hogwarts was based on Oxford... Who knew? Full-sized Dobbys were everywhere!

Then, I cut down a little alley to a pub, where I had a kick ass warm porter with a nice couple of Causton -- yes, Causton!

And my time grew short, so I ran through the wet streets with a buzz on, lest I become the one the bus left at the last stop.

In actuality, I would have made it home in half the time, if I'd simply taken the train from Oxford to Hayes and Harlington... Live and learn.

And nary Morse, Thursday, nor a wizard sighting while I was in Oxford!

The inspiration for Nearly Headless Nick

Our intrepid guide

No clue who….

“Bad Dobby!:

A very old country

Upon arriving in Oxford we crawled through the streets toward our disembarkment spot. At one point I caught out of the corner of my eye a pile of rocks, only to look closer and see that it was actually a very old house.

There was a single window on the wall facing our bus, and a guy was standing there looking into a mirror, tying a Windsor knot... And I wondered with amazement at how many other men, through how many years and years, had stood in that house, by that window, getting ready for some academic function.

The old country

As we were leaving Stonehenge we were given our box lunch.

How strange to me to see that a disgusting sandwich my father used to eat is apparently a British staple (which I'd actually heard mentioned on some movie or TV show)... a Ploughman's (???). I remember cringing when he'd eat cheddar, sweet pickles and jelly on bread...

Who knew poor people in the southern US held on to so much heritage from the old country!

Unhenged

A couple didn't make it back to the bus as the scheduled time, and we waited a generous 2 extra minutes and then left them in the dust... or the mud, actually, as the rain was pelting by this time.

I caught some Z's en route to Stonehenge and on waking found that the rain had only gotten harder.

I took the obligatory walk around the circle through the gravel pools and streams with McDonald’s Marcus, feeling none of the magic one reads about, or sees on Brittania. Popped into the unheated bathrooms, which could have been picked up from any National Park in any country in the world, and ran back to the bus to treat my trench foot.

Nary a Druid spotted during my time in Stonehenge… just some magical sheep.

What happens in Windsor...

I had to leave Hayes and Harlington about 7:30am to make it to Victoria station in time to catch my big bus tour, and it was overcast and windy, but dry when I set out. I did indeed bring my raincoat stashed in my backpack.

I found the bus no probs and luckily chose a seat in a row where the second seat was broken, so I didn't have to contend with a seatmate during the entire day. There was a group of about 10 Canadians sitting around me, and we chatted some.

We started on time, heading out for our first stop, Windsor. Flags flying indicated The Queen was in residence that day.

While waiting in line I made acquaintance with Marcus, a German guy about my age who had spent his entire 10 days in London eating at McDonald's to save money. I also chatted up an Italian couple with whom I was able to parle un poco. "Scorso anno ho abitato a Milano. Sono una insegnante Inglese."

I toured the apartments, and made it back to the gate to see a) the changing of the guards; b) the beginning of the rain.

Nary a Royal spotted during my time in Windsor.

CityStay Heathrow

My second AirBNB booking in London really was a joy! CityStay Heathrow.

Huge room with fabulous sheets and comfy bed. Ginormous TV (ok, so, big enough for a forced vacation -- and hey! the shows were all in English ENGLISH!! Truth be know, most of the shows were American), fabulous shower, blow dryer (though you're not allowed to plug it in in the bathroom...), fantastic compact kitchen with tiny tiny tiny dishwasher and dorm-sized fridge... View... 24 hour desk with coffee/food/alcohol. Fabulous experience!!!

AND -- maybe this is common now, not sure because I usually only stay in AirBNB-types -- a mobile phone to use for planning and executing my sightseeing in London!

SO, since I'd had a thoroughly unproductive day except my serendipitous meeting with the Brabants, I decided to get down to business on London Day 2 and book a full day guided tour on a giant bus and everything... I usually group these excursions in the same category as the anti-Christ and cinnamon-sugar in grits, but desperate times... Or as my favorite British cops on every Netflix show I watch would say "needs must"...

So I booked myself on the Windsor/Stonehenge/Oxford special for Saturday.

And then, though I had such high hopes for hitting a real English pub -- though I guess they'd just call it "a pub" -- and having some warm beer and maybe sausages, and one such pub was really close to CityStay, and highly recommended by the desk staff, I decided to just get a pizza and a beer from the bar downstairs, and eat it on my bed like the rain-sodden, Schengen-fugitive, couch potato I am.

Tiny, tiny, tiny, tiny dishwasher

Three Bears size stovetop

Tiny kitchen sink

Celeb sighting 2

So being an American, and traveling alone on this spontaneous, unexpected, Shengen-forced vacation -- in a country where the conversations around me are NOT just white noise but can actually be understood by me -- I overhear a couple just over from me on the Great Western from Paddington talking about Teresa May and Brexit...

Being a curious sort, I pop over, introduce myself, and ask them to explain "no deal" to me. I plop down without being invited and wait expectantly to be educated.

And I was not disappointed because I had chosen to impose on journalists! British journalist Malcolm Brabant and his wife, who have lived and reported from all over... including reporting on PBS NewsHour. Check out this!

We had a lovely 15 minutes together, where I hope I was able to suggest in some small way that not all Americans are poorly educated isolationists who have no care how the world works.

And now I'm thoroughly caught up on the ins and outs of Brexit, so you can just ask me anything you’re confused about… I can help you....

If it's raining this must be London

So I find myself standing in the vestibule of a grocery store watching Hurricane Florence deluge around us with a dozen others who dashed in with the same idea... only I see they're all reaching into their bags to bring out handy dandy umbrellas or raincoats which they had stashed ahead of time for just this (un)expected eventuality... Expected by everyone but me.... Welcome to London, Yankee Doodle.

I wait, fretting, until the rain has let up by half, by which time I've decided I'm just going to go back to Paddington, have lunch, and then back to my hotel for a shower and a nap...

I dash out into the half-deluge and run for blocks, making only right turns, until I find the entrance to the underground...

And low-and-behold I notice that between me and Paddington is a stop called Baker Street... which can only mean one thing... can't it? I mean, once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable must be the truth!

So just in time I hopped of at Baker Street and came up into the dreariness again. I followed the signs (Sign!) to the spot where stronger Shelock-ophiles than me were huddled against the buildings in a perfectly executed queue waiting for their chance to get into the museum at 221 Baker Street. (Ask me another time about the queuing skills of those unfortunate humans not programmed by an early childhood education of English Common Courtesies...)

So I snapped a photo of the bobby guarding the door to register that I’d actually been there. And I headed back to the warmth of the underground.

And a late lunch of British Mexican food in Paddington Station.

But we're getting ahead of ourselves......

Today I went to my first Saturday outdoor market in Radom. Whereas the general idea translates perfectly from Milano, application is much different.

In Milano a city street is conscripted for the day, and the stalls/tents/tables/whatever are setup in two lines down that street, with the pedestrian walkway through the middle. In Radom, the market is setup in parking lots around a shopping center, the stalls meander around — SOOO, you could actually get lost or, heaven forbid, miss something of major importance to you!

In Milano there is a general sense that food and vegetables are along this side or at this end, and all the rest is jumbled up together… So you’ll have Prada shoes next to cheap Chinese purses next to cashmere sweaters next L’Oreal makeup next to colanders. In Radom there seems to be a really, really, really inexpensive, low quality, low fashion end, and a much higher quality end… and they are positioned on separate sides of the shopping center… so you don’t have to be distracted by things that are out of your price and/or taste range if you don’t want.

In Milano, fashion items were much blingier than in the US. In Radom, things on the really really really inexpensive end are waaaaaaayyyy tooo blingy… Just downright tacky blingy. It also seemed that, though many of the items were set for warmth in the cold Polish winter, had features that would negate the warmth — like cutouts of lace in the back… Or peekaboo holes running down the entire arm. In the higher quality section there everything from understated style, nice sleek cut, to Old Lady Chic… or just Old Lady… And everything is made with good fabrics, for warmth, and to last…

In Milano the nicer fashion items were usually reserved for women’s shopping. In Radom, there are men’s suits and sport jackets in the mercato… and touching the fabrics, some of these shops had very nice items.

The fashion sense in Radom was not up to Milano standards… but really, that would go for anywhere else in the world.

In Milano the shops are owned and run by all kinds of people — Italians, Middle Easterners, Africans, Eastern Europeans… In Radom, everyone seemed to be Polish.

In Milano the Visa or Bancomat signs are displayed in about half of the shops… In Radom it seems to be all cash.

The mercato seems to be gearing up for the Catholic holiday coming up (All Saints?? All Souls??) The one where you visit the cemetery….. As seen by the many shops selling the cemetery sprays.

Not sure why you would want Ben Franklin to be monitoring your junk, unless you’re suggesting that that is your Moneymaker…. Which, based on the guys I saw at this in the market, this seems highly unlikely.

Fur, fur and more fur

In Italy apparently not a single female will cop to being anything other than a B cup… In Radom, women seem to choose support over bragging rights.

Stall after stall of ladies coats… a nice hand, but not the flair of Milano

For your garden

Where did they get pineapples??

The Perils of Spontaneity

My friends know that I over analyze everything... and especially when I travel I want to choose exactly the right tours and excursions... Get the most bang for my buck... See as much as possible BUT only the things that I'm really interested in... I spend weeks tweaking my travel days, balancing activities with relaxing... It's really an art for me...

In other words, not really spontaneous... at all. No, really. And this was definitely a spontaneous trip to London... with zero planning time... so I had NO CLUE what to do... or where to go... I was a cork on the ocean...

So the folks at my hotel suggested the Tower of London, and printed exact instructions on the metro -- who KNEW the London underground was so massive!!! -- and I was on my way.

(Watch this TED Talk about the London Underground map.)

When I left Hayes & Harlington it was windy but sunny. After 40-ish minutes of listening to the announcements (in bee-you-tiful British English!) navigating the signage, and changing trains, I emerged at London Bridge to grey skies and blusters.

I strolled along the Thames -- pushed by the wind is more like -- and watched Japanese brides having their portraits done. I popped into a pub for a Pimms cup... and I looked for a sign to "Tower of London"...

Found nothing... Also came up empty looking for a souvenir shop where I could buy a sweatshirt to protect my tropical skin from the ever increasing wind and cold... Nothing, nada, niente...

And at this point, the bottom dropped out...

London, Day 1

Hmmm, Adventure. Yes and no.

I arrived in London at 11pm, and proceeded very quickly through the terminal to a dead standstill of 1.5 hours in a border control line.

Then just as I'm getting a cab to my AirBNB, the full force of Hurricane Florence swoops in, only factor in cold from the north Atlantic... and so I'm enjoying this hurricane yet again. Meet the new storm, same as the old storm...

My AirBNB was a little difficult to find... both the cabbie and I were hopping out of the car several times, running up to the door to look for the house number and the electronic entry system as described. Finally we found it and after mastering the entry to fall into the foyer I was drenched to the bones...

Only to be greeted by an almost vertical set of stairs and a room that really, no really!, doesn't look like the pictures from AirBNB..... But, it was clean and warm... and had a bed and a toilet.... and so at 3-ish London time I fell into bed.

Only to hop back up immediately to find myself a different AirBNB for the next two nights......

I set an early alarm and learned that the new AirBNB would let me leave my bags for the day before my checkin... so I fell out of bed, dragged a comb across my head, found my way downstairs (almost fell down the 12-inch wide vertical stairs with my overweight luggage!) and in the cold sunshiny morning over to the tobacconist next door to ask for a taxi.

Driver was GREAT! From India, been in UK 30 years... lives in this little village near Heathrow, very interesting, telling me about the area, showing me the Walmart that's not named Walmart. And he knew EXACTLY where my next hotel was. So I popped in, dropped my bags in the Luggage Room, got an underground map, hit the ATM, and headed out to explore London!

Papers, please!

It was my arrival in Warsaw when things really started to go sideways.

Turns out my arrival date was Sept 20... but I set my work Visa to begin Sept 23.... which would NORMALLY not be a problem for a Americans... but since I overstayed my "tourist visa" last time and was apprehended on my way back home (that is ANOTHER story altogether!! Fuckin' holey cheese), I'm now banned from entering Schengen without a valid NATIONAL visa.... which I have... but it doesn't start for 3 more days........ Who knew???

So, they offered to send me back to NYC for FREE. But then I'd have to PAY to get myself back to Warsaw on 9/23... Thanks for small favors, but no thanks!

My other option was to fly for a quickie vacation to a non-Schengen country... at my own expense...and it had to be a direct flight (can't change planes in a Schengen country)... from the terminal I'm in......

My only option was London... So I made a quick reservation via AirBNB, and hopped the first flight Chopin to Heathrow.

I've never been to London, should be an adventure!

Crossing Night

There was very little sleeping on the plane. Almost none in fact.

One reason was that, though we departed at 11pm, (not-so-yummy) dinner was served on the flight... at 12:30 Eastern no less! And because there were so many "special menu" requests that there was a kosher cart and a regular cart. Plus two drink services....

There were toddlers up and down the aisle, and mothers with infants up and down the aisle.

AND three couples of those Tel Aviv-bound young people two rows in front of me were really loud and unnecessarily vulgar (dammit if I don't sound like somebody's old fogie grandma!!!). And then, finally(!), they turned off the lights.

And since we left so late at night, it was only three hours before dawn.

Celeb Sighting 1

Quick note: apparently there was a celeb on the flight. One of these guys.

Committing to the Detour

After all the hubbub and rigmarole and ictus of interviewing, collecting all the documentation, making a mad dash to the Polish Embassy, waiting to receive my passport with the new work visa pasted in back from the Embassy, finding reasonably priced flights, and packing my bags, all I had to do was endure the largest hurricane ever known to mankind and wait for the flight time.

It was to be a quick do... fly to JFK, no biggie layover, fly to Warsaw on a quiet red-eye, arriving at noonish where my new manager would be waiting to drive me to Radom and my new apartment. Easy peasy!

Turned out a little differently.

The first hop was easy... I had to pay for 2 bags, and one of them was overweight, so that incurred an additional charge, but boarding was easy and there were no screaming babies... in fact, I barely remember the flight and THAT always means it was successful. We actually arrived at JFK early!

I arrived from CLT at Terminal 8 and my LOT Airlines flight to Warsaw was leaving from Terminal 7. I've never used Terminal 7 before -- it seems to be filled with international airlines which only have a few flights per day... which translated not only into shorter check-in lines at the airlines, but also shorter lines at TSA. It was amazing! (Note to self -- for future international flights from JFK, find out the airlines that fly out of Terminal 7.)

While waiting in one of those waaay short lines, multiple people tried to speak Polish to me and were surprised that I don’t understand! Woah! Guess that's gonna be happening a lot after I get settled in in Poland... never happened in Italy. And while checking in, I chatted up the airlines guy from India, telling him I'm heading to Poland to teach English... and he went easy on my overweight bag charge...

I was really impressed with the electronic rating system that's been installed in the bathrooms JFK!

So things are going GREAT for a while....

And then, after sitting for an hour at an almost dead gate, hoards of people arrived en masse, ready to party, like flood gates had opened. Lots of families with LOTS of little KIDS, lots of young people in Spring Break mode.

Turns out we had arrived at Terminal 7 at a magical time, a sort of bewitching hour for Orthodox Jews planning to travel to Israel on holiday -- immediately after one series of holidays ends with just enough time before the next series begins for the full flight from JFK to Tel Aviv... including a 9 hour layover in Warsaw!

And so, as all the holiday people where boarding, I sat watching with a new buddy from the TSA line (a New Yorker whose mother grew up in Radom, Poland where I’ll be living!)... while we speculated if we'd get any sleep on the flight.