I did not fly directly back to the United States. Instead, my flight for Oregon did not leave 'til 18 December 2012. I did that for two reasons: 1. I thought I was going to have to take the train back to London, and I wanted to give myself enough time to get back without missing a flight (and it's cheaper to not fly out on weekends), and 2. I wanted a mini vacation in one of my favorite European cities. So I had a four day layover in the UK. I had many adventures during those four days, and I will admit that I wish I had had more time (and more money) to do more things while I was there, but I did get some really nice pictures.
When I first got there my flight out of Italy had been delayed, so the directions I had printed off based on time no longer helped. Also, I had heard from the woman sitting next to me (a really nice person who actually let me use her phone so I could call the hotel I was staying) told me that the directions I had received made little sense to her for where I was going. We got separated at the visa station (since she was a resident of the UK and they had their own line), and while I was getting my passport stamped I had to explain to the lady that no, I was not in the UK to work, I was just stopping over on my way back to the States. It took a couple tries to get that across, but eventually we understood what the other was saying. I met up with my seatmate again and we discussed how I would get to my hotel, which was over by Heathrow, while I had flown into Gatwick. We got our bags and made our way down to where the trains were, and we asked the guy at a table--I think he worked for the transit system, but I can't remember for certain--the best way to get me to my hotel. He asked why I did not just get one near Gatwick? I spent a few minutes explaining to him that my hotel room had not been purchased by myself, and I did not want to waste the reservation, and that I would be flying out of Heathrow Tuesday morning. He told me to go over to the ticket station and buy a specific ticket combination so I could use both the train and a bus when I needed to get to my final destination.
So I get on this train (sans seatmate, because she had a car and had left me when I told her I felt comfortable), the "Gatwick Express", and we head off towards King's Cross. About halfway through the ride a ticket inspector comes through to take a look at our tickets, and I discover that my ticket was not the correct one for this train. There really wasn't much he could do, though, so he left it at that. I felt like a moron, though.
The train stops at Kings Cross, and I have to figure out what to do next. One of the Tube employees very nicely told me to take the Victoria line for one stop, and then transfer to the Picadilly line, since that was the only line that went out to Heathrow. I managed that with no problem, though I got off a stop earlier than I should have (which I learned the next morning) to catch the bus. I saw the Holiday Inn Express Ariel--which was where my directions had pointed me to--and got off at the stop and made my way into the hotel. By now it's about 2200. I've been up for over 12 hours and had contacts in. I've been lugging around a suitcase that had all the clothes that I had kept plus my presents in it, and a little messenger bag full of books. I walk into the lobby and there's a party going on in the dining room, which makes it almost impossible to have a conversation at a normal tone. After giving the hotel concierge my name, I get hit with bad news: I'm not registered. They checked my name, they checked my mom's name, they even checked the reservation number... Nothing. Luckily, this guy calls another Holiday Inn Express that is right down the road from this one, and I was registered there. I was given two options of how to get there: I could go back out and take the bus, or I could get a cab. By this point I do not want to deal with the buses, so I opted for the cab. It cost me £15, but I got there and got checked in. I go up to my room to collapse, and hit my next stumbling block: I have no idea how to turn the lights on in the room. There are a couple that had been on when I entered, but for the most part none of them are working when I hit the switch. It made for an entertaining time brushing my teeth.
The next morning I realize something else: I'm on a limited budget here. I can't feasibly spend the money I have willy-nilly because I need to save some for when I get home. So my breakfast becomes one chocolate ball that was part of my present from the family and a cup of tea with the little milk carton they leave in the room (similar to the single serving creamer cartons here in the States, but they use actual milk in these.... And it didn't kill me. Go figure).
After using the business center to check email, classes, and get directions, I head off in search of how to get around London. It turns out that there are certain buses within a set range of Heathrow that will pick people up for free and they can ride to the airport (this factoid becomes a lifesaver later). I get to the line to buy Tube tickets, and find out that the smartest way to work things is to buy an Oyster card with £20, using a £5 deposit on the card. With that purchased, I make my way down to the train.
My first day was spent wandering around Covent Garden looking for a specific shop. On the way I had someone try to sell me face wash that uses 24 karat gold flecks as an exfoliant. I never did tell the guy that I was more of a winter than a spring for my complexion, and that gold would do nothing to help my overall coloring (which was directly competing with the "People actually spend money on this crap? The hell are we coming to?" thought process), though I did impress him by correctly guessing that he was French and not Italian. He asked me to come back to the shop even if I did not buy anything. I quickly got out of there.
After about 5 hours of wandering (oh, and Subway has/had a deal where you could get a six inch sub and a drink for £3. I like that deal much more than the $5 footlongs that aren't a foot long...) and swallowing my pride to ask for directions, I finally found the store I wanted, got what I went to purchase, grabbed a celebratory mug of mulled wine (since you could walk around and drink it and not get in trouble), and made my way back to the hotel. I ate dinner at the hotel restaurant--and probably scared the wait staff, since I got a roast beef sandwich with horseradish, and proceeded to have my eyes and nose water because of the spiciness--went back up to my room, and read. That was day 1.
Day two started out more or less the same, though this time I got off the Picadilly line at Hyde Park to try and see if I could find the hotel I had stayed at the first time I was in London. I didn't, but I did learn that during the Christmas season Hyde Park has one section that turns into a giant carnival with vendors and rides... And the Brits do know how to build a roller coaster. After wandering around there for a while (if I can ever afford to, I want to go back and see if I can find some of the things I saw while I was there), I went off in search of the hotel. Long story short I failed miserably, though I did manage to get over to Grosvenor Square, and I think I found the American Embassy without meaning to. While out wandering I got hungry, so I went in search of food and found a little Lebanese restaurant on a side street. I got an order of shawarma to go (insert Avengers reference here). I also managed to walk over to Buckingham Palace during that tour, and ended up catching the Tube back to Heathrow from Green Park instead. Dinner was once again at the hotel restaurant, and passed out.
Day three started like the other two, though this time I managed to get a hold of my British friend that I met while I was in Torino, and we set up a tentative time to meet up. So with that out of the way, I went into town again, once again heading for Hyde Park, because hey, carnival! After having mulled wine both in Italy and at a good stand in Covent Garden, I decided to see how the quality of it fared at this carnival. Long story short: it sucked. After wandering around there for a while but really not seeing anything worthwhile, I left again and made my way to a shopping center. I found a bookstore where I grabbed a copy of Jane Austen's Northanger Abbey, and before checking out saw a book that I would have purchased had I had more money: 1001 whiskeys. I was tempted, but I didn't want to drop £20 on a book that I did not have room for in my luggage. I did use that book to determine whether or not a type of whiskey actually existed that a friend asked me to see if I could find. It did; I just couldn't find it. I went back to my wandering and found St. James Square and the Piccadilly Arcade, including a statue of Beau Brummell (cue Regency England nerd girl squeal here). Eventually went to a pub and got a sandwich and a cider for lunch (no mulled wine; they had run out for the day), then made my way back to the hotel to wait for my friend. Getting him to my hotel room turned out to be a feat in and of itself, which sucked because he did not have a lot of time to hang out because he had a co-worker's party to go attend. Since I did not have the entire 100 euros to repay him, he told me to not worry about it. So I made him take all my loose change--both euros and pence--because he would be able to use it before me.
After I got him safely on his way I stopped at the hotel restaurant to get some room service sent up, because I wanted to read and relax. As I was about to pay my order, though, three men came up all wanting to get cashed out at the same time and swarmed the desk. The waiter took care of them first, and I waited and smiled, because I understand how it feels to have everything hit all at once. After he took care of them he took my order, apologizing for making me wait. I told him I was in no rush and that he didn't have to apologize for doing his job. I don't what transpired, but he decided to waive my room service tray fee.
That Tuesday I woke up around 0545 because that's when my body decided to wake me up. I had set a call for 0630 (or so I thought), so I grabbed a shower and turned on the television to keep me company while I repacked. When the phone rang at 0613 I realized why the front desk had sounded so confused when I asked for my wake-up call. I guess they say it "half" of the hour instead of "thirty".
Got to the airport without a problem, and got a little over £5 back from returning my Oyster card. The flight to Dallas was long, and I watched three movies because I could not sleep. In Dallas I had the tomato seeds I had purchased confiscated because the Ag people were not sure that they would be safe and non invasive, and then had to play musical terminals to get to my plane, which flew out of Dallas later than I had heard of originally. Also, I actually used a payphone to call the friend who was letting me crash and my parents. I think I gave that payphone more money in one sitting than it had seen in a long time (in other news, I still miss my old cell phone). I made it back to PDX, managed to meet up with the friend who was picking me up at the airport (another feat since I had given the wrong time about when I was getting in), and made it safely back to Corvallis.
And that, my friends, was my three months in Italy. I hope you enjoyed reading about my travels. Thank you for your support. <3
~J
