There’s no such thing as jet lag; you just set your watch to the local time and get on with it. The adrenalin running through your system keeps you going anyway, so just prepare to sleep when you get back home!
Monetary adjustments work the same way. The United Kingdom is not part of the Euro-World, so you put English Pounds in you pocket and forget trying to convert anything. They cost what they cost, and if you want it, you buy it. No problem! From food to souvenir trinkets, I did my part in boosting the British (and Scottish) economies.
We (my fabulous traveling companion Rick came along on this trip, too) arrived at Heathrow around noon on September 28, after flying overnight from Portland to Chicago to Newark to London. We planned it this way. The steerage adventure of traveling from Los Angeles direct to Rome last year, totaling almost 13 hours in one nonstop plane was not to be repeated, so we decided to take a more leisurely route by booking it ourselves.
Except that it turned out anything but leisurely. In Chicago, United Airlines couldn’t make up their minds about which gate we would depart from. We arrived at Gate C22. They sent us to B3. This took two elevators and a trolley. Then we were sent to C9. We took the trolley and elevator routine in reverse. Then, a scant few minutes before we were supposed to be boarding, the gate was changed to C31, just nine gates from where we’d originally entered, and delayed again! I guess I should be glad we remained in Terminal 1, as there are five to choose from at O’Hare, but by this time, we were two and a half hours behind schedule, and it looked like it would be a fast trot, or perhaps a gallop, through Newark to catch the final leg.
Fortunately, United’s Newark to London flight was running an hour late as well, or we really might have missed it. Our last six airborne hours were uneventful, and we arrived in London shortly after noon on Friday, having left Portland at 9 a.m. on Thursday. I’ve never slept on a plane, and this trip was no exception, but as mentioned previously, the adrenalin kept me going.
We checked into the hotel about 1:30, walked a couple blocks to “The Earl Court Tavern” and ordered our first “authentic” fish and chips. And I thought I knew fish and chips! This meal, consistent throughout the United Kingdom, comes with mushy or garden peas. I chose garden. And the fish… The fish is one continuous slab of cod, deep fried of course, but so large it overshadows the entire plate. How I wish I’d ordered only the “Fish Nibbles” from the appetizer offerings, which, I saw too late, were plenty enough!
We walked around a little up and down the avenue, taking in the number of eateries in awe. There were no less than 20 restaurants in just a couple blocks, hailing from India to Italy and Thailand to Turkey, I kid you not! And then I got a quick nap before we met our traveling companions at the welcome dinner. There were only 21 of us on this tour, only 2/3 the size of the group we had in Italy in May. Sixteen women and five men. In hindsight, I wish we had gone around the table and had everyone introduce themselves right off the bat. It took a few days to learn all the names and start to get to know each other, and it would have been nice to get a head start on that process.
Our YMT travel guide, Sue Wardle, is a spunky little thing, and combined with the British accent, she’s just plain old adorable. Already she has allowed us the opportunity to sign up (and pay, of course) for the “optional” tours of the Tower of London, the Scottish Dinner and Entertainment, and the steam engine and boat ride in The Lake District. She promises we’ll have one “gastronomical day” which will include a Cream Tea and Fish and Chips (not together), later in the tour. We have already vowed not to miss a thing, so quickly put “Yes!” behind each extra excursion.
I went to bed, almost too excited to sleep, like the night before Christmas when you’re eight. Or maybe when you’re 58 and about to experience “The Best of England and Scotland!”