Trainus Interruptus - or: Bonus Time in London

 Going to jump way out of order here. I know I still owe you the rest of my time in Kerry (I haven't even started on all the fun stuff!), and the highlights of the last couple of weeks in London. But for right now, I'm going to tell you about this morning, because UGH. 

Long-time readers may recall a short trip I took to London during college, in which the first day was A Day That Will Live in Infamy. It actually wasn't that bad, if I were to lay it all out, but it was just very frustrating and tiring and everything seemed to go out of its way to go wrong. This morning has been a bit like that, though it is finally looking up. 

After several days of dithering about perhaps cutting my trip a few weeks short due to the skyrocketing Covid numbers over here, I finally decided on a middle ground of heading to the relative isolation of the countryside for a week and then heading home a week earlier than planned. I was supposed to take the train from London to Windermere today to start the final leg of my European jaunt. It was all going well - I got all packed up and checked out of my London hotel without incident, walked the few blocks to get to the train station with direct service to Windermere, and the train station at Windermere is only a few blocks from my inn. No transfers, no taxis, no nonsense. So smooth and simple. 

Well, no. 

Apparently there is some sort of "severe weather" event going on somewhere along the tracks, and all of the trains going to Windermere have been canceled. The workers at the station kept assuring me that my ticket will work tomorrow, but well, the ticket isn't really the concern! Having no place to sleep tonight is the concern. My place to sleep tonight is over a hundred miles away! 

I spent about an hour trying to find a cheap hotel that wasn't a hostel dorm (not willing to go that route during the pandemic). That wasn't working. I tried finding hotel rooms in Preston, the furthest town the train was actually going to. Shockingly devoid of any places to stay whatsoever. I finally remembered that I have travel insurance, and surely this sort of thing must be covered. Couldn't get anyone on the phone since apparently they keep US business hours, and my not having a place to sleep tonight was not deemed an "emergency." But I was finally able to dig up a copy of my policy, and confirmed that there is indeed coverage for up to two nights of "trip delay" reimbursement. I found the absolute perfect place, just a few minutes walk from the train station and cheap enough to qualify for full reimbursement. One room left. I pulled away from the screen just long enough to double check the conversion rate of pounds to dollars, popped back in literally less than 90 seconds later, and in that time someone snuck in and booked the room out from under me. 

Can I just tell you, in case it isn't already immediately obvious, a last-minute booking in London for a Saturday night, especially when there are probably several hundred people all in exactly the same boat as me, is not easy to come by, nor is it cheap. I tried two more hotels that were less conveniently located, but still "affordable" (a laughable usage of the term by any other standards). Again, they were sniped while I was trying to book them. I finally ended up in a pretty posh place that is over the reimbursement limit in the heart of the West End. Hopefully my insurance reimburses me for part of it, because this was literally the best I could do! But I finally just went for it before even something that expensive was no longer an option, and even if my claim somehow gets denied, hey, that's what the emergency savings is for. Emergencies like having nowhere to sleep! 

Still more drama trying to get to the hotel, lugging my enormous backpack the whole way. For some reason the Euston Underground was temporarily closed for about 15 minutes, and security guys were blocking all of the entrances, and it was just this chaotic crush of people. I had my mask firmly in place, which of course made me a sweaty mess, and kept causing my glasses to literally slide off my face and onto the ground if I so much as glanced at the floor. Took over 20 minutes to just get to the Tube (for reference - the Euston train station and the Tube station are one and the same, just above ground vs below ground. I didn't have to walk anywhere, all I had to do was go down). I had the good sense to wait for the second train that was literally a minute behind the first, which the entire backlog of people packed onto, and I was able to just float over to a seat on the next one. 

And once I finally got to the hotel, I was too early for check in and my glasses fell off TWICE as I was trying to offload my bags for the porter to stash. I also didn't know it at the time, but my hair was sticking out in about eight directions, and as previously mentioned, I was a sweaty mess. I did not feel up to snuff for a swanky hotel. 

But I was able to finally remove the massive literal weight from my shoulders, and wander around Leicester Square for 45 minutes - there was a little Christmas market set up in the middle of it! I wandered through a protest in Chinatown, saw the movie theatre they held all of the Harry Potter premieres at (and sadly did not go inside in deference to the lack of vaccine and mask mandates here), and found a side street that consisted entirely of Italian restaurants. And now I'm finally in my room, and it is darling. Cool view over the rooftops of London, a robe and slippers, and a big squashy armchair. 

Not entirely sure what the next day or two shakes out like. If the ice or whatever it is clears overnight, then I'm going to continue on as planned and take my train up to Windermere and enjoy a week of hiking around in the Lake District. If trains are cancelled tomorrow as well, I think I'll just heed the Very Loud message from the universe and move up my flight home. Off to research Covid testing centers in case I need to do that! 

Grecian Islands: Santorini, Part I

First, let us start with how I got to Greece. I woke up veeery early in the morning (we are talking shortly after 3am), to catch the shuttle bus to the Edinburgh airport. It's a pretty cool deal- leaves at all hours, costs 3.5 quid, has free wifi, a camera on the luggage storage area that broadcasts to the upper deck so you can feel safe leaving your luggage, outlets, tables, the whole shebang. It was actually a little disappointing that the ride was only 30 minutes! After all of the epic bus journeying I did that week, 30 minutes positively flew by. My concept of time's passage has really altered in these last few months, I think. I'm used to spending three hours in class, riding on buses for hours on end, etc. etc. It's going to be absolutely bizarre to have 50 minute classes at Trinity this fall!

The flight from Edinburgh to London was quick and easy. It's when I got to London that things got a little hairy. EasyJet flies into London Gatwick airport, which has two terminals- North and South. Unlike SeaTac, where once you are through security you can get to any gate, Gatwick is one of those annoying ones where you have to reprocess through security between terminals. I flew into the North Terminal, but left on the South Terminal. I had checked my bag in Edinburgh, and assumed that I would just find it waiting for me in Athens. You know, like with most airlines.

Hah, no.

Turns out EasyJet isn't a "transfer airline," which means that you need to pick up and recheck your luggage at each stop along the way. It would have been fantastic to have been told this online when I arranged to check my bag, or in person when I actually checked it. Nada. By some amazing chance, I happened to ask an EasyJet staff member about this- once I was out of the North Terminal and through security in the South Terminal. The staff member sent me to the information desk, where I waited around for 20 minutes for an escort back out through security. Turns out that once you are through security, the only way you are supposed to leave is via an airplane? Not really sure how that works, but at least I vaguely feel that there is a reasonable security-related reason why. Anywhoo, some poor guy had to walk me out of security and then another guy had to pick me up and walk me through the special staff security at the North Terminal, and take me around to find my bag. Which wasn't where they said it would be. So I was escorted through more security. But we found in eventually, and I was re-escorted back around. All in all, I went through security four times in less than an hour. I finally get back to where I check my bag for the South Terminal. They need to reprint my boarding pass, obviously, since I already used it once to get in.

"I'm sorry, I can't do that until two hours before your flight."

Did I mention that my lay-over was 8 hours?

Eventually, I just gave into the inevitable and found a spot on the floor for a few hours, and paid through the nose for a Boingo WiFi hotspot thing. My bag eventually got checked, I went through security again,  and got on my flight to Greece. It went quite fast (see previous mention of new concept of time), and suddenly, I was in Athens!!

At which point I realized that I didn't actually know where the hostel that I was meeting everyone at was, or even what it was. Clever planning on my part.

Fortunately, my computer had about 20 minutes of battery left and the Athens International Airport sweetly offers 60 minutes of free wifi, so I was able to find the information on our Facebook thread, look up the hostel online, and get the metro directions.

Sadly, the view from the bus shuttle (a nighttime view) was about as much as I was going to see of Athens, save the areas directly around the hostel and the ferry terminal. I got in at almost midnight, left on a 7am ferry, got back in a week later at 1am, and left on an 8am flight. Athens and I, like ships passing in the night. Almost literally.

 On our way to the ferry, I got the first of what would be many "cheese pies." Sometimes these were spanakopita, sometimes just cheese. Spanakopita (if I am spelling that at all correctly) consists of that really flaky phyllo pastry around feta and spinach. This particular one was just feta. It was amaaazing. I am hooked. I only have this one picture for you from the ferry ride to Santorini, because my camera ran out of battery- and because I bought a seat inside after freezing on the deck for about an hour, and slept for the remaining seven. Yes, the ferry ride was 8 hours long. I have a vague memory of actually posting to this blog while on board- a post that I had written prior, during my time on the floor at Gatwick.

View from the back of the ferry as we left Athens

Eight hours later, we pulled into the ferry terminal on the island of Santorini. The water was ridiculously blue, the sun was warm- just lovely.

Now, there's this weird little thing I do sometimes, something I've been doing pretty much at every stop along my journeys here in Europe. Whenever I get off some major mode of transportation, and get through the exit, there are always the people waiting with the signs. You know, the chauffeurs and tour guides and what have you with their little papers that say "Mr. Davenport" and the like. Even though I'm traveling alone, I always check. Not because I actually think I'll see my name there. But I always check. Just in case? 

And this time, I had a sign. It wasn't my name, it was the name of my hotel, but still! There was a huge queue of people with the various signs, and our hotel owner had come down with his van to pick us up. So we got to look for the "Stelio's Place" sign. It was terribly exciting. 

Stelio's Place. It's actually a hotel, unlike all of the hostels I have been staying at, and it's right next to the beach. Perissa Beach, apparently, which is what the little town was called. The other main cities are the adorable ones that are perched on hillsides, but they are a) more expensive and b) less beach-accessible. 

Obviously, hitting the beach was one of our first priorities. 

Once I walk out of the driveway from our hotel and turn left... Mediterranean! 

We made some new friends

Hanging out at the pool at Stelio's

Heading out on a different excursion

The first two days were pretty lazy- a nice break after my whirlwind time in Scotland and then the hectic travel day. But on the third day (I count the ferry day as Day 1, since we were at our hotel by 3), we went crazy. We went ATVing!

ATV- All Terrain Vehicle, also sometimes referred to as Four-Wheelers. All 11 of us got them, two to an ATV, and we zipped (or rather, loudly trundled) all around the island for the entire day.

My intrepid driver, Emily. I don't drive, and she loves to, so we were a perfect match.

Some of the ladies on their own ATV

If you look carefully, there are several donkeys/mules/horses in the background. I suspect mules.

Rocking the Helmet Chic.

Our first stop was to the famous Red Beach. Perissa Beach is supposedly a black sand beach, but it seemed rather similar in color to the sort of dark slate that you find on many Seattle beaches. But I suppose to those used to golden sand, it would seem black. The Red Beach was pretty red, though. Absolutely gorgeous, and my toe shoes got another workout.

Some of the ladies and myself

Crashing waves!

Up next: the lighthouse.

Peeling out 

Hiking out to the lighthouse

Yeah, it wasn't much to see

But it was situated on an absolutely wonderful cliff!

Doesn't even begin to capture the color of the water

After the lighthouse venturing, we spend a few hours in the main city of Fira, mainly window-shopping (and yes, a little actual shopping as well), and then continued on to Oja, home of the world-famous sunset.

Rocking the super-chic ATV windbreakers 

Oja! SO CUTE and exactly what one expects from a Grecian village

I like to pretend that these are olive branches, thus making this the perfect shot of Greece

Just one little problem with our world famous sunset... it was kind of a dud that night. Sunsets are such a hit-and-miss science. Observe the following two photos:

Sun is still partially there.

Sun is no longer there.

That was pretty much the extent of our sunset. We hung around until it was pretty dark, and no pretty colors ever emerged. But it was still an absolutely lovely way to spend an evening.

We almost picked up a new family pet on the way home. An adorable little dog absolutely attached herself to me, and I reeeeeally wanted to take her with me, but a) she had a collar (though it was pretty worn, and she had no tags), and b) I couldn't figure out where to stash her for my remaining time in France. It was beyond heart-breaking to drive off an leave her- she actually followed our ATV for a time. If it was a movie, some tear-jerker song from the 80s would have been playing, and everything would have been in slow-motion.

There's my girl

We wound our way back to Perissa Beach, and zonked for the night. Original plans were to go to a karaoke bar, but suddenly we were on our beds and it was the next morning....

London: Day One

Oh, London Day One. What an interesting day. Looking back, I'm actually very grateful for it- this may sound silly, but I feel like it has fundamentally changed my time abroad, for the better, and in doing so perhaps changed me a little for the better as well. At the time, however, it was almost enough to overcome my extremely well-trenched optimism and sense of whimsy.

The day started out fairly promising- I woke a full half an hour before my already very early alarm (set for 4:55am), and so was actually able to sneak a few bites of breakfast and put on makeup before I went down the street to catch the first Metro of the morning a little after 5:30. I had no troubles with anyone unpleasant on the Metro, and made all of my transfers quiet easily. The lady at the train station gave me quite a few disapproving looks when I had her print out my tickets, but after an oddly long wait I got them. Security and customs were easy, if a long wait, and then I dashed up the platform in the wrong direction for my car, but halfway through my dash back down the platform, a nice lady informed me that since they weren't sold out and had no stops, I could just sit anywhere I liked. So I hopped on the middle of the train and settled in.

I believe you already know how the train ride went, so I'll move on!

At St. Pancras International- all of these place names just seem so very British!

I arrived at the St. Pancras International train station. I can't help but read "St. Pancreas" every time I see that, but there you go. It's a lovely train station, and lots of convenient currency exchanges that don't rip you off.

I grabbed a free map of the London Underground (or the "Tube" as it is more commonly termed), and boldly set off. No idea where I was going, but jazzed to be in London. It's pretty! It's historic! They speak English! I had vague ideas of wandering into the heart of London, but it was starting to close in on 9am, and I had told my hostel that I would arrive at 10. 

Fortunately, my time in Washington DC and Paris have given me a pretty good understanding of metro systems, and I was able to navigate my way to my hostel with little issue, passing many thrilling stops such as Baker's Street on the way. My Underground even became an Aboveground towards the end of my journey, which always makes me happy. 

The hostel was pretty comfortable and cute. I checked in, though I could not move into my room for another 4 hours. At this point, I was feeling the early start and my legs were randomly quite sore, so I opted to curl up in the lounge and use the wifi rather than stash my baggage somewhere and head back into London. It felt wonderful, but was probably Mistake No. 1. 

I found the coinage very fun 

Four hours later, I moved into my room, and still wanted to curl up and watch movies for the rest of the day. But no, I told myself sternly, the whole point of getting here a day early was to actually see London! So I went to the front desk and learned how to get to Oxford Street from the hostel (the female front desk person had assured me that this was the place for reasonably priced shopping). The front desk guy told me that the bus that passed directly in front of the hospital actually went straight to Oxford Street. But he wasn't sure which side of the street. The one on the other side, he thought. I know a fair bit about bus systems, and so wisely asked in which direction I should take the bus. "To Oxford Street." Excellent. Easy to remember. I purchased a ticket for the Original Tour, so that I wouldn't have to decide what to see with my time, and resolutely marched out into the crisp London air.

As I crossed the street, I saw a bus about to pull up to the stop, and booked it. I had only glanced at the stop on the closest side of the street, just enough to see that it didn't list "Oxford Street" as an end-point. Therefore, I reasoned, it must be the one on the other side. I climbed aboard, and went up top.

Cute English homes, as seem from the bus

The bus announced that it was heading to Holborn, I believe. Hobourn? Regardless, this didn't sound correct. Then, out the window, I can see a bus from the same line, going the opposite direction. On the front of the bus, I see "Kilborn - Oxford Street." I realized that I must be going in the wrong direction. I decided to give it two stops so I wouldn't look silly, then hopped off the bus and crossed the street. I waited patiently for 10 minutes for my new bus, and didn't look at it when I got on. I just knew it was the right number, now clearly going in the right direction. Right?

Well, I got on, and pretty soon the bus was announcing that it was heading to Willesden Bus Garage (pronounced like "carriage," except with a G in front). As I was already in Willesden, this seemed suspicious. I hop off of this bus too. Immediately behind it, another bus on the same line pulled up- and this one said "Kilborn - Oxford Street" on the front! I excitedly ran up and got on. The driver looked at me, bemused. I scurried up to the top, very pleased with myself. 

Two stops later, the bus pulled into to the Willesden Bus Garage and ended its run. I finally figured out that all of the buses on this line say "Kilborn - Oxford Street." Turns out, Holborn is on the end of Oxford Street. So the first bus was the right bus all along. I walk a little bit and locate a stop. So, about 40 minutes after I first walked out the door of the hostel, I am finally on my way. On the same side of the street as I started. Ai yi yi. 

I finally get down to Oxford street, and wander for about 30-40 minutes looking at shoes. I can't find a pair of flats that is cheap enough to motivate me to... actually buy flats. I almost died at the collection of reasonably-priced adorable heels and hats at Marks and Spencers, but firmly reminded myself that I was only looking for walking shoes. 

Oh, and remember that peanut butter and Nutella baguette I was slowly eating on the train (see Train post for details)? It was now about 4pm, and that, plus a small bag of peanut M&Ms, was still all I had eaten at this point. 

I decided that it was time to move on and find my tour bus. I never did pick up a proper map of London in the entire weekend, but I did have my little map of the tour route, which included a few cross streets and the like. I set about trying to find a stop. 

An off-shoot from Oxford Street, as I recall

My first telephone box!

I had been walking for about 20 minutes, getting turned about several times, when suddenly my left foot went wonky. I didn't step wrong, I didn't land on anything, just one step it was fine and the next step something was wrong. I still don't know what went wrong, and it's still acting up a little. After another 3-5 minutes, it was getting seriously painful, and I looped back around to Oxford Street and ran into the first cheapish looking store I saw and bought the cheapest pair of shoes they had- which rather unfortunately turned out to be flip flops. In London. In February. 

I'm going to fast-forward through most of the rest of the evening. Basically, I wandered around for a very long time, getting lost on multiple occasions, and when I finally found a stop for my bus, it was getting dark and the tour buses had stopped running for the evening. I have to tell you, it took some serious powers of optimism and rational thinking to not burst into tears right there on the street. But I prevailed, and I knew my ticket was good for two days as part of a winter special they had going on. So I found my way back to my hostel, via the Tube this time. I picked up some almonds, a bottle of water, and chocolate on my way back, in case I didn't like any of the food offered by the hostel. Fortunately, that night was "Mexican Night" (I gather it is more of a long-stay hostel, so they try to jazz it up with theme nights and game nights and the like), so they had nachos that evening! So I limped back to the hostel, and spent the evening watching more of The West Wing and eating my nachos and chocolate, and then I went to sleep. 

The super-cool old-fashioned double-decker bus (enough hyphens for you?) I came upon

So, Day 1 was interesting. If you are on Facebook, you probably saw something to that effect on a status update. But I resolved that it was an experience to go down in history, and that the next day would be better.

And it was.

To come: London, Day 2....