Till Seattle

Some things can be awfully cyclical. When I arrived in Leicester I was maddened by my clocks. All my clocks were off, I continued having to add eight hours to everything until I had the proper time to set them, or to get them connected to a device that would syncronize them to UK time. There I have officially set my laptop's time back to Vancouver time. I am... almost... home.
At the moment I am writing this from Seattle, when I post it I will be home, having slept and eaten and said hi to a few of my loved ones. But, while I have this rediculous stall period in the lovely, and well decorated for the holidays, Seatac I thought I'd relay some o my travel experiences for you. I know I know, how terrible I've been at blogging! You didn't get a thing about Liverpool or Nottingham (wait, Liverpool...) or any of the sundry posts I thought to write about Leicester and English culture. If they keep me in here long enough, and if my battery lasts you most surely will though, get these posts. I have nothing better to do.

Well today's travel has been long and I still have about nine and a half hours until I'm officially grounded in Vancouver. Wow. I started off by waking up at six thirty in the morning, an unheard of event for me, and I'm still disgusted at the necessity, but feel that I gave myself the perfect amount of time, unlike Bethany who I heard was seriously rushed. Poor doll. Got up, got dressed, ate and did all those boring things, and was waiting outside my door at seven ten in the morning for my cab. I'd called using a flat mate's phone the night before, took two tries before I found someone with enough time to loan out, but I figure that it was worth it. Beth had warned me, from Vancouver, that walking from our old dorms to the Leicester train station was by far the worste part of her trip--hm, she got the worste part over with first, good for her I say--I had told her of course that it would be a nasty process, but little miss girl guide wanted to tough it out. Of course, her toughing it out nearly convinced me to do the same and save the six to four pounds. I didn't. After hearing about the agony, and after having her look up which train to London I should get, I decided that a taxi would be choice. Let's also keep in mind that I'm little-miss-delicate shoulders (the bits on me hurting the most right now) I'd have probably pulled something and been in agony right from the start. Yeah, take a cab.

So the loverly cabby got me to the train station at the perfect time, he even used a short cut. I gave him a respectable tip, so he carried my luggage up a bit and didn't make me haul it on up on my own. To the train station! The people there immediately directed me to the elevators which were very very well hidden. I didn't have long to wait for my train, until it was delayed. I thanked the heavens above that my plan got me to Heathrow aproximately two and a half to three hours before my flight. The train wasn't delayed too long though and I was soon at St Pancrus station. This was a little more confusing, as it's bigger, but I figured it out without issue. As Beth mentioned the tube station that connects to it is very well laid out with lots and lots of elevators, and in one case an escelator, but I let that go. They did such a good job overall.
Now, as someone who was once prone to trying to get to Surrey when they really didn't want to go to Surrey on the Vancouver skytrain she'd ridden on a million and nine times, I was a little nervous about this whole tube thing on my own. I mean I've gotten way better at looking at signs since then (it's Beth's and my defence technique in new places, always look up, you'll find a sign--sounds spiritual) and since Beth had told me to look out for the Heathrow terminals 4 and 1,2,3 NOT Heathrow terminals 5, 1,2,3 I knew where to go. But I swear not all the signs and train departures on the Picadilly line matched with the map, though that's probably just my inexperience. I didn't make a lot of questions on the matter, but remained confused about the whole situation regarding it. "Just get on the one that you KNOW you're supposed to get on. I told myself, and so I did.

I knew I wouldn't have to stand up long, but I was annoyed by this one fellow who pushed his way in to the front of the line past people who were clearly going to be on longer than him and nearly pushed people getting off out of the way so he could grab a seat. All was cleared up about his rude behaviour (sitting in seats clearly designated for people who have lots of luggage) when I realised he was crazy. I don't mean 'a little slow' I mean crazy. He had that haze about him. That and he whacked some girl on the head with a news paper while smiling and I think trying to make a joke, but he just turned out creepy. She looked quite offended, but I still thought she knew him. She clearly didn't when she got off the train shooting him wierded out glances but obviously trying to not make eye contact.

The rest of the tube trip was nice. Got to observe a lovely Norwiegian family--the girls kinda looked like me in the face--and got to Heathrow just fine.

I must say this about Heathrow, everything is quite well organized, with the exception of the tube entrances. They really don't want you to have luggage, seriously. The tube entrance for your ticket was closed down, myself and an American lady and a pack of lovely East Indian women were disugsted, we had to wait sevevral minutes for someone to saunter out of his office to open it as useless workers of some other airport denomination stood by and stared at us. We then encountered these zig zag things that required careful manouvering and dragging to get through these things. It was rather comical "They really don't want people to have luggage" I stammer, catching my breath from this silly process.

"It is absolutely rediculous" my American friend agrees. She rushes on ahead of me and catches the next elevator full of people, I wait aproximately twenty seconds longer and get one all to myself.

Bag check was easy 19.9kg, I do believe that that's less then I came here with, but will have to consult a converter (not my head). Thus, whatever concerns I had were needless. Away with my luggage it was and onward to Heathrow shopping. I had a whole twenty one pounds left to spend and a rediculous amount of change in the form on one and two pence coins. Bought some presents, and then got a drink at the airport bar. Pomagranite juice is yum, the bar tender totally understood my paying him with the remaining rediculous coinage too. I still have a pound though, I feel like I haven't done my best. Ho hum.

As I went through customs I asked if I'd have to take my laptop out here to one of the other passengers in line. He stated that I would, and that Heathrow was pretty tight. I laughed and told him to wait for the states, they make you take your shoes off there. He was rather astounded. I still think that that's a rediculous process by the way. My shoes... pfft. Oh and I questioned the laptop thing because in other parts of the airport I was told to do stuff, but keep my laptop in the bag. It was all rather confusing.

On to the flight. Delta does nice enough international flights. Really no complaints... except one. On their forms they really should ask people about dietary restrictions. On my way to England I couldn't accept their last meal because it was a grilled cheese sandwitch *waves lactose intollerant flag* they gave me an extra fruit cup and something else as compensation, but it still kinda sucked. On my way to the States though I thought "hey I've been goodish with dairy, why make the hypo-glycemic part suffer on account of the lactose intollerant one?" So I ate the tiny piece of cheddar and it began. Nothing much actually, but I really should not have accepted the ice cream cup... which just did it. Flat out. That POOR person sitting beside me, though, she may not have noticed what with her head phones in. They could have used me as propulsion... so of course, once I settled my stomach a bit with a trip to the bathroom or three (from the window seat, I was totally the best stranger to be sitting beside) so of course, I ate the pizza with cheese on top that they gave me for a last meal on the plane... of course. And no, I didn't attempt to scrape off the cheese. Yes I'm brilliant. Needless to say it was not a plesent flight for obvious reasons.

Well we made it to Georgia. I have now seen Atlanta from above. I will start by saying that I really didn't think it was going to be this particular air port that trapped me, but uh, it's freaking huge! It's old and has art from the nineties all over the place, really nothing modern even their food areas look ancient very eighties, but it is positively huge. How huge? Well, much like Heathrow it has a train that will take you to the various concorses. Before I had to figure all this out though, it was through customs with me. Pick up my luggage, and shuffle it to a new belt, then shuffle myself to the carry on check. At least Georgia thinks I'm awesome. Seriously. To start, the first customs fellow I had laughing, yes customs agents can laugh! He thought I was a very funny Canadian. Then the people with the metal detectors, the two I delt with thought my collar was a hoot. I didn't take it off, just forgetting it was on my neck, it's very comfy. But I remembered just as I was about to go through with it on. It hadn't turned the sensors at Heathrow so I thought I was safe. Beep beep beep. "Ah, guess it's turn'n them on today" the lovely girl says grinning at me, so I take it off and put it in a bowl to go through again. I don't turn them on this time.

As I put on my shoes and snatch my collar from its bin a funny young man looks at me and says "Is that your dog collar miss?"

I smile wide and proud and go "Why yes, it is" which makes him laugh. Well I guess I'm little miss harmless in the south. I practically skipped through that process. Aw well, away I go.
I got lost, got lost until I found a guy to tell me about the train station. Took the train to concorse A where my flight was supposed to go from. I figured then would be a good time to get some food in me... in fact, thinking about it, it would be the last chance until such time as I got on my train from Seattle to Vancouver. Hm, that would be more than fifteen hours without food, I can do it when sleeping but uh, when moving around. Likely not. So I looked around: hot dog world, something or other the southern tradition, some chinese place that looked sketchy, and dunkin' doughnuts. None appealed, but hey, there was a chilie's I could go to. Never been there before, but as it was a sit down resturant I figured it had to be better than hot dog world. How right I was. One of the best chicken sandwitches I've ever had. They even had hot sauce on it, which I adore... unfortunately it also had ranch. Kind of a double edged sword that, on the one hand it tasted amazing, on the other... DAIRY! Not much, but in my current state it didn't help. What ever. I pissed the poor waitress off by not tipping her (the only southerner that didn't think I was the cutest damned thing--seriously, going to spend time in the south one day, if you take away my tendancies towards bohemianism for a month or two I'd fit in well I think--but I didn't want to 'cause I wanted to make a call, unfortunately the person I was calling didn't answer and I couldn't leave a message cause the connection wasn't good enough. The waitress and I remain pissed off about that.

As I mentioned about the clocks, mine was off. I was pretty sure that it was supposed to be seven something, but mine kept telling me that Atlanta time was eight somehting. So I asked some people about that and generally amused them as well. "My iPod liiiieees" perhaps they thought I was immitating southern inflection? Dunno. Wasn't. Off to my gate. Or what I thought was my gate...

It was the gate on my ticket at least, and apparently I wasn't the only person fooled by the sudden change. It started to dawn on me when, very close to my own boarding time people were just finishing boarding at the gate for Florida. Suspicious, yes.I asked the nice people at the gate about that and they informed me that yes, my flight was relocated to gate B23. I was at A25. Remember the comment about BIG airport? At that moment a very flushed man ran up beside me and yelled "what's that B23? Where's this damned flight going to now? Seattle where do I go to get to Seattle B23?" He asks the person at the desk, who nods yes "B23?" He asks in a flush, I nod and hurry that way with him.

"Our flight leaves at 9:35, it's not 9 something" he informs me, and runs off. I don't run. Not only have I not had time to take my asthma meds since I first left Leicester, but I also happen to have a huge back pack and carry on. I'm not running, especially when I realise how many motorized side walks there are and how close B actually is to A--far closer than D was. So I get there just as they starte boarding real people. I get on just fine and get my spot. I don't mind being one of the last people borded, I know I have a seat, so what's the big hooplah, right? I get on board and sit and meet my seat mates who are far more tolerable than the ones from Seattle to JFK were. The flight was delayed just over an hour. My ass was already starting to numb and we hadn't left the ground yet. It was something about their weights being off. Whatever the case, as soon as I got my refreshing beverages I was off to the land of nod (I had to wake up for the drinks, practically, actually). That's five hours of sleep. Good for me! So far I'm going at 13 hours over three days. Hey, there wasn't a movie on this flight to keep me up. The one to Georgia was showing this one show called "Ghost Town" which was fun, "Journey to the Centre of the Earth" which was the part of the flight I decided to sleep through, and to my upmost joy "Wall-E" that just thrilled me to bits, and was an adorable movie. Absolutely adorable! If I was a kid though, I might not have liked it. Damned those target audiences eh?

So now I am in Seattle, my waiting time here is slightly less than it would have been, especially if we take into consideration how long it took for my bag to arrive on the carosal. I've met some lovely Chinese girls who are going to Victoria, I've exchanged about half of my Mandarin with one of them in saying "thank you" because she looked after my bags as I made yet another trip to the bathroom. My organs still haven't forgiven me the dairy, or maybe now it's the lack of sleep, they're always quite bad at that. It is 3am now, and writing this has taken up a goodly chunk of time. I am listening to the tiny bifs that live in the airport at this moment as they chirp around the fake trees hung with iceicles that bear a great deal of fake snow that occassionally falls from the sky to the sound of wind chimes and lovely music. It is wintery but warm. I like Seatac.

I guess that's a good thing. I now wait for the coach that will take me to the shuttle which will bring me to the train station which will provide me with a seat on a trian that will take me home. You won't have read this in time but, wish me luch anyhow.