Week 1 of my vacation, or why I dislike Heathrow and hurricanes

   
      I deemed October an adjustment month early on. Daily curveballs in France have kept me on my toes, and I think it was in preparation for the patience needed to finally make my way to Boston. Boston? Let me explain from the beginning.

     Break started off just fine. A coworker took me to get coffee at La Fiancée, and I said goodbye to the boys. I also had the pleasure of meeting Joanna's parents there as well. It's funny how small worlds converge. My bags were packed and ready to go. I made it to London Gatwick airport, successfully boarded the Gatwick express train to London's Victoria station (book express train tickets to London airports online to avoid overpaying on the train same day), and within minutes I would safely arrive at my friend's charming West Hamstead flat. Only, the tube closed just as I attempted to buy a ticket.

     For some reason there were no cute old British cabbies waiting 'neath the taxi sign at 12:30 am. So, I had to settle for a mini cab and haggle my way to my friend's doorstep. I'm pretty sure she was ready to alert my family members, and my dad may have gone all Liam Nielsen a la Taken in response. Crisis averted.

     Marianne, my ever gracious host and fellow French major from Davidson, is the best. She was expecting to have me couch surfing for a couple of days. Those days fast turned into a week all thanks to a certain  Frankenstorm named Sandy.

     I hate hurricanes. Everyone does, minus the fridge depleting hurricane parties we like to have down south, and my heart and prayers go out to everyone affected by Sandy. We've been through our fair share of hurricanes in Louisiana, and they never get easier. New York- and much of the upper east coast- has some long days ahead, but if ever there was a city that could band together and fight for survival it's New York.

     I am in full health, and I'm lucky to be living in France and on vacation at the moment. This is not a complaint against the storm or my situation thereto fore, just an update on more whirlwind adventures. I knew upon arriving in London that the chances of my getting to Boston this past Monday were dwindling fast. First my flight to Boston was cancelled, but the first leg of my journey to D.C. was still on. I went to Heathrow on Monday to talk to the airline personnel in person and sort out my flight change. The poor harrowed clerk worked with me and booked me through Chicago to Boston the next morning. Perfect. I have a dear friend in Chicago for grad school. I hope she's ready for a visitor.

     The next morning I packed my bags, took the tube to Paddington station, boarded the Heathrow express, and felt optimistic about the day of travel ahead. I approached the ticket counter to check in, handed over my passport, but I wasn't given a boarding pass I return. Instead, I was told that the computer had automatically rerouted my original flight for November 1st through Houston to Boston. My name wasn't on the fully-booked flight to Chicago's register. I may have unwillingly cried in public.

     I couldn't handle lugging my luggage through multiple forms of London's public transit for the third time in two days, so I broke down and hailed a cab. A real cab this time. After sorting things out with my parents and boyfriend, I was happy to have a couple more days in London after all. It's not a bad place to get stuck. The cabbie handed me his paper as I mulled the day's events. The weather man predicted sun in the east over Cambridge that day and clear skies over Bath in the west on Wednesday. Cheerio, pip pip, I love a good day trip.


     Look forward to detailed accounts of the good times I ended up having in London, Cambridge, and Bath. If you need detailed directions to and from Heathrow, I've got you covered there too.