On the road to What-May-Be

Trip Log (26 Sept 5pm US/ 11pm UK)

On the plane and off at last! Made it through the luggage check and security with some degree of trepidation. My bags weighed in at 50.0 and 50.3 pounds. Thank goodness for the unspoken 3 lb. leeway and a nice lady at the counter. My brilliant idea to pack a carry-on has turned out to be a good plan, unless you’re concerned for the state of my shoulder muscles. I feel a little like a mule, but will be thankful as I settle in, I think.

Rusty the Sloth in O'Hare waiting area

I wasn’t willing to leave my iHome in the States, but it has turned out to be trouble. I had to dig it out of my quite tightly packed backpack so security could test it for hazardous materials with a little strip of paper. They were very efficient, but it was a pain trying to repack everything just so. Soon, I was on my way once more.

A two hour wait lay ahead, but it seemed to pass quickly. My attempts at wireless connection were to no avail. So instead, I listened to music and tried to relax. Boarding was quick and efficient, and the plane took off directly. Much better than the Nijmegen flight, when we were delayed on the runway for over an hour due to a security problem in Canada. So far, the plane trip is uneventful, and I am hopeful about the idea of sleep…

Trip Log (Monday! In the UK)

Having arrived safe and sound at Heathrow, am currently sitting in the waiting area, with 2 ½ hours to go until the coach leaves for Leicester. The arrival was something of an adventure.

The plane ride was clam, but I couldn’t get comfortable. I think my ability to sleep on planes is linked with having a window seat, as that gives me something to lean against and isolation from passersby. I did my utmost to sleep, and slept on and off for a few hours. The girl next to me was from Poland, and on her way home from a vacation in Florida. I didn’t envy the length of her flight. The food surprised me: dinner consisted of a spiced rice and chicken-vegetable curry, with a real salad (and an interesting ginger-sesame dressing). I think I could get used to eating curries on a regular basis.

I almost wish the plane ride had been longer, so I could have some interrupted sleep, but the building excitement as we wound through the terminal after disembarking made up for everything. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach, and I was overwhelmed by the thought: I’m really in London! Then came the customs line. Excitement over.

The line clipped along at an efficient pace, and I snatched intermittent chances to go over my penciled-in Boarding Card with pen. Before I knew it, I was nearly through. A sign caught my eye with the heading “All New Students to the UK.” It announced that we must have:

1)      Passport (check!)

2)      Offer Letter (check!)

3)      Boarding Card (mostly check, depending on whether they got mad if it was in pencil AND pen)

4)      Pre Departure Entry Clearance or Health Check…. Wait… What?!?!

The bottom of my stomach dropped out. My heart thudded. I hadn’t seen anything of the sort on any of th UK Border Agency websites or handouts, and I checked! Although this may surprise everyone who knows me, I somehow managed to stay calm and collected. I think I’d credit the fury. The idea of being forced to get on a plane and go back to the US because of arcane bureaucracy started tingling of rage, not panic. Do they want people to travel to their country or not?!

Just as I was about to get a little nauseous, a lady asked me if I was a student, and upon my affirmation, handed me the health check form. Just like that. Big relief. It had a section for personal information and a few questions. Have I or anyone in my family had TB lately? Fever? Night sweats? After lugging 2 huge carry on bags, I certainly looked like I should check those last tow. I finished the form and went right through. Another stamp on my passport!

Next was the trek to the baggage claim. Heathrow is huge and full of twisting pathways leading you on and on through the maze. I spotted my bags right away, but maneuvering with these four monsters was a bit of a trick. I had to maneuver around a low wall built of suitcases, obviously built to keep the Scots from pillaging our luggage. I then found a bench and repacked one of my carryons into the luggage. Somehow, I managed to cram everything in, although the result was a rather unwieldy set of suitcases.

Then began the Long March. I didn’t know it was going to be a Long March, and was heartened by the bright signs. I checked my Welcome Week itinerary: meet officers in Terminal 3. I checked the signs around me: Terminal 1. Oh well, I thought to myself, there are nice bright sides with arrows pointing the way to Terminal 3. I’ll just head on over. In retrospect, I have decided that signs should be required to tell you distance as well as direction. “This way to Terminal 3” is a big deceptive, when what they really mean is “this way, then that way, then back a little, then round a corner, then up a ramp, then down a ramp, then continue on some more, then another corner, then a bit further, more ramps… Carrying 3 HEAVY bags made it into the world’s most painful, un-ending scavenger hunt. All along the way, the cheery yellow signs announcing “Terminal 3” with their short little arrows of lies and deceit mocked me with their bright optimism.

Rusty does not approve of deceitful yellow signs!

Moving with all my junk was unwieldy and potentially disastrous. I took up whole aisles. My bags were tipsy, and although I bustled along quickly at first, I soon slowed, feeling a big like a sumo wrestler trying to run a marathon. I was probably hauling a good 150+ pounds of luggage. My hands started to ache. Already warm form the crowds and lack of air conditioning, I was soon dripping sweat. Literally dripping. Good thing I tied a bandana to the outside of my suitcase, or I would have been a mess when I finally met the Welcome Week staff. I kept getting hopeful with every new direction sign, but soon, they successfully squashed my hope entirely. When I finally found the ramp up to Terminal 3, I think I nearly cried. Once in Terminal 3, I found a baggage cart. If I had one of these from the beginning, this whole ordeal would have been far less painful. Live and learn…

Trip Log (later Monday)

The wait at the airport turned out to be another ordeal. Upon arrival, my first act was to buy water and a Coke. I needed caffeine desperately, but couldn’t handle hot beverages. I then turned to the next most important task: letting my family know I was still alive. My attempts to connect to the Heathrow wireless, however, were as successful as my attempts to connect to the O’Hare network. No luck. Fortunately, I noticed a small kiosk offering 10 minutes of internet access for 1 £. That was enough, I decided. Plugging a pound coin into the slot, I then set about attempting to type on the ancient, well-worn metal keyboard. The keys stuck, but I eventually managed to navigate to my email and jot off a short note to let my parents know I was alive. In retrospect, it was a good call not to wait until I arrived in Leicester…

The wait for the coach became more pleasant as more people arrived. I talked to Juliette, an undergraduate law student from France, and Judith, a postgraduate English student from Germany while waiting. Sadly, we were all in different accommodations, so they split us up when the buses arrived. Or should I say, most of the buses. The Opal Court/Nixon Court bus, we discovered, was stuck in traffic. Not Iowa stuck in traffic, either, but Big City Stuck In Traffic May Never Be Seen Or Heard From Again. During our long wait, I tried desperately to stay awake. We all hunkered down in the terminal, many of us with eyes that drifted shut only to snap open again a few seconds later. One hour passed, then two, and the Welcome Week staff kept apologizing and frantically calling their colleague on the bus. At last, around 1:30pm, our coach arrived. We gratefully filed out of Heathrow, poured onto the bus, and sank into our seats. Most of us slept. I don’t think I lasted far beyond the airport, and slept for the entirety of the 2 ½ hour drive to Leicester.

They got on the intercom to announce our arrival in Leicester, waking most people. I didn’t get much of an idea for the layout of the city, as I was simply struggling to regain consciousness. We all unloaded at the Student Union, out into the cold misty weather of Leicester. Then, we had to wait for the minibus, which turned out to be a rather large van with lots of cargo area. It could only take 8 people at a time, so we had to go in batches. I was the second batch, so I spent even more time waiting, trying to prop up my bags and stay awake. At last, I managed to grab the back seat amidst the luggage, blocked in by suitcases and tucked precariously above the wheel well. Then, we were off.

If any of you have every read the “Harry Potter” series, and are familiar with the Knight Bus, you will understand how this trip felt. It started with a bang, and went hurtling down streets, turning and careening around corners with abandon. It seemed to be going far too fast, considering the streets we were on, and sped down streets and narrow alleyways alike, seeming to utterly disregard the pedestrians that went about their business around it. Finally, I was deposited in front of the tall bastion of Opal Court, and able to go up to my room and settle in at last. Home sweet home, and ready for the next part of my English adventure!

<<End Trip Log>>