It has officially been over two weeks since my trip, and directly proceeding, I rushed through two more big weekend excursions, so processing took a back seat (as it often does). I think I left off my recounting with a harried and angsty description of booking the flight. So now for the saga.
Thursday afternoon, Jilli and I left to walk to the Florence train station with plenty of time to spare. We were taking a train to Milano Centrale, and a connecting bus to the Malpensa airport, where we would catch our EasyJet flight to London Gatwick. We made it onto our train, got settled, got very silly, and maintained the giggles for the whole ride, during which we marveled, multiple times, at how plush the train was and how proud we were of ourselves for getting on it. Too giddy to even close our eyes for a minute, we pulled into Milano Centrale in seemingly no time. We caught some views of a very drizzly Milan, and arrived just in time to see a bus waiting to make it's trip to the Malpensa airport. Another smooth transition made. Again, we reached the airport with ample time to spare before our flight. We were feeling golden. We were dumped from the mouth of the bus right into the EasyJet terminal where we were to check in, and so we bounced right up to the counter, placing our faces humorously close to a pair of well-made-up eyes and perfectly polished nails. This woman proceeded to squash the air out of our lungs (forgive her; it wasn't her fault). After a short call over to some other department, we were pitiably informed that our tickets were, in fact, for March 14th, not February 14th. The moment that followed was Kodak in the worst way. Jilli and I locked eyes, as our guts fell out through the gaping holes in our chests. Nothing was processing, so we probably made some pathetic and fully unintelligble noises, first to each other, and then in the general direction of the EasyJet employee. With all the understanding I'm sure she could muster, she told us to go over to the customer service desk. And so it began.
I can guarantee we bargained with the customer service window at least eight times. The two of us alternated between crying, sighing, angrily ranting to no one in particular, and marching up to the window, only to walk dejectedly back after we had made our latest case. And all to no avail. The string of emotions we were tugged through that night felt like living through a life cycle in its entirety. There were phone calls to parents, bleary-eyed glances exchanged, wretchedly sympathetic looks thrown our way, by people passing on their way to flights they had correctly booked...all the ingredients for a miserable night in the airport. We weighed options: get a hotel in Milan, explore the next day, spend too much money on buying tickets to London for that night, get back on the train back to Florence, arriving late at night, dejected and miserable. After painful deliberation, we decided to fork over our wilted credit cards and get ourselves to London.
The plane ride over was full of turbulence and gave new meaning to the expression "red-eye flight." The two of us sat in near silence, our eyes clouding with sleep, heavy and raw. Touching down in London brought quiet jubilance. As we got in quite late, were about as functional as a pair of newborns, and had no idea where we were going, we were strongly advised by a compassionate employee to spend the night in the airport. Alas, there would be no restful slumbers to alleviate our exhaustion. We found the least foreboding-looking benches in the place and settled ourselves there. From the hours of 12:30am to roughly 6am, we attempted to get some semblance of sleep amidst industrial lighting, never-ending foot traffic, and excessive air-conditioning that pushed us to wear every single article of clothing we brought with us. Around 4am, I craned my neck and looked next to me to see Jilli putting on a full-blown winter hat and gloves. We were strangely thankful when 6am rolled around and it was acceptable to get up and find a bus. However, sometime during the night, we had turned from young girls into walking dead. Everything was too much effort, it was nonverbally agreed upon that there was nothing important enough to say that required breaking the silence we had stumbled deep into, and there was no question that dragging our limp limbs was an acceptable form of walking. We changed and brushed our teeth in the airport bathroom and went downstairs to find our bus.
Sitting outside the terminal in the shockingly still, cold, deep blue dawn air, we tried to absorb the fact that we had made it to London. But nothing was penetrating the system. The yawning, sterile coach bus took us in warmly and we curled up in our respective seats, trying to steal back a few minutes of sleep. I ended up spending most of the ride looking out at the suburbian English landscape, as the morning rustled it from slumbers. There was no grand heralding of the day, as the sun stayed hidden behind mist and drizzle. At least this reassured us that we had made it to the right country. Our bus took us into Victoria, where we stepped off and into this fantastical city: suddenly, we were electrified. The streets were wide, the building facades were elegant, everything looked sparkling clean, and people were rushing by. The British accents made everyone seem important, as we found out during breakfast at a tiny cafe, and, of course, One Direction songs played in our heads from that point forward.
We were soon confronted with the minor snag of not knowing where our hosts for the night lived. It was a connection Jilli had made through her school, but she did not know this young man personally, and neither of us had any experience with the infamous tube...we somehow made our way out to the suburb where he lives. An American student studying at the London School of Economics, he shares an apartment with a rotating number of young Brits. When we arrived, we found Halloween decorations spinning on the ceiling and a bunch of wonderful people who urged us to the couch, covered us in blankets, and brought us Ramen, tea, and chocolate. We thought we had accidentally stumbled into heaven. It was everything we needed. We made conversation for a while, although I faded in and out, wanting nothing more than to close my eyes. Rain battered the window outside, so we tried to plan our day accordingly. We decided on possibly museums, and so we unpeeled ourselves from the couch and went back into the fray.
It had stopped raining by the time we got off the tube in Victoria again, so we made our way to Buckingham Palace, and wandered from there. London was already striking me as such a vivacious city, though with far more elegance and culture than the bustling metropoli of home. We caught glimpses of the London eye and Big Ben as we walked, promising ourselves, of course, that we would go to see them in earnest the next day. We made our way around Victoria for a few hours, doing nothing in particular but seeing a lot and making plans (echoes the way life can be sometimes, huh...). it began to rain again, the kind of rain that made our umbrellas thrash every which way, so we took shelter in first a coffee shop and then a little falafel place for dinner. When the rain subsided - and it eventually did - we got back on the streets, traipsing through pools of rain and streetlamp light. After a time, we returned home on the tube to where our temporary housemates were having a gathering that involved animal costumes, techno, and lots of wine. As much as I wanted to participate, drowsiness was calling me to bed.
Day two, we woke up ready to tackle absolutely everything. We first had to migrate to our next sleeping arrangement, which was a friend of Jilli's mom's cousin. As the description suggests, neither of us had ever met this woman before. Her and her family turned out to be the most lovely people imaginable, and Jilli and I still speak about them as if they are our closest friends. We were taken to a completely charming (sorry to be so cliche...) house in the suburbs, full of light and colorful furniture, given coffee and cake, and introduced to the father and son, both of whom could not have been more warm, funny, and loveable. Jilli and I kept exchanging incredulous looks, while resisting the urge to eat the whole cake. Our "new dad" wrote us out a list of places to go and a map of how to get there, while our wonderful host mother made us lunches to take with us. I will never fully understand why or how these beautifully special things happen to me, or anyone for that matter, or what makes certain people so generous, but we could not have been more grateful or downright elated. This was directly encouraged by the sunshine that greeted us when we stepped back outside. We got on the tube bound for Westminster and our day had begun. Now for the whirlwind: the Houses of Parliament, the National Gallery, the London Eye, Big Ben, the Westminster Abbey, Borough Market, the London Bridge, the Tower Bridge, Covent Garden and finally Camden. We even managed to put some (lots of) food in our mouths, have laughing fits on several bridges, look for One Direction around every corner, and meet up with my two friends from school at their apartment. I felt like I was in a pamphlet for the World Fair. Everything felt huge, exciting, important - like what I imagine some people must feel going to NYC for the first time. I never expected to feel so fondly for London (I always imagined myself to be more predisposed to Old World Europe), but the culture was amazing.
It was silly but fitting that we ended our Saturday night with Italian food. We just can't stay away. And coming back to Florence, that's exactly how it felt. I will refrain from employing the cheesiest sentiments, but there really is nothing like home sweet home.
** General disclaimer on the above events: through the lens of my previously discussed struggle to find meaning, truth, and honesty in my travels, I realize acutely that such "travel blunders" as the ones described should not be taken lightly, and I don't take them lightly. Another person - probably even myself, in another situation - would not have been able to get out of that scenario because of a lack of resources, or any one of a whole host of obstacles. I am putting a lot of effort into learning what I need to learn here, and I understand the reprecussions and the context that accompany this particular kind of learning.
The plane ride over was full of turbulence and gave new meaning to the expression "red-eye flight." The two of us sat in near silence, our eyes clouding with sleep, heavy and raw. Touching down in London brought quiet jubilance. As we got in quite late, were about as functional as a pair of newborns, and had no idea where we were going, we were strongly advised by a compassionate employee to spend the night in the airport. Alas, there would be no restful slumbers to alleviate our exhaustion. We found the least foreboding-looking benches in the place and settled ourselves there. From the hours of 12:30am to roughly 6am, we attempted to get some semblance of sleep amidst industrial lighting, never-ending foot traffic, and excessive air-conditioning that pushed us to wear every single article of clothing we brought with us. Around 4am, I craned my neck and looked next to me to see Jilli putting on a full-blown winter hat and gloves. We were strangely thankful when 6am rolled around and it was acceptable to get up and find a bus. However, sometime during the night, we had turned from young girls into walking dead. Everything was too much effort, it was nonverbally agreed upon that there was nothing important enough to say that required breaking the silence we had stumbled deep into, and there was no question that dragging our limp limbs was an acceptable form of walking. We changed and brushed our teeth in the airport bathroom and went downstairs to find our bus.
Sitting outside the terminal in the shockingly still, cold, deep blue dawn air, we tried to absorb the fact that we had made it to London. But nothing was penetrating the system. The yawning, sterile coach bus took us in warmly and we curled up in our respective seats, trying to steal back a few minutes of sleep. I ended up spending most of the ride looking out at the suburbian English landscape, as the morning rustled it from slumbers. There was no grand heralding of the day, as the sun stayed hidden behind mist and drizzle. At least this reassured us that we had made it to the right country. Our bus took us into Victoria, where we stepped off and into this fantastical city: suddenly, we were electrified. The streets were wide, the building facades were elegant, everything looked sparkling clean, and people were rushing by. The British accents made everyone seem important, as we found out during breakfast at a tiny cafe, and, of course, One Direction songs played in our heads from that point forward.
We were soon confronted with the minor snag of not knowing where our hosts for the night lived. It was a connection Jilli had made through her school, but she did not know this young man personally, and neither of us had any experience with the infamous tube...we somehow made our way out to the suburb where he lives. An American student studying at the London School of Economics, he shares an apartment with a rotating number of young Brits. When we arrived, we found Halloween decorations spinning on the ceiling and a bunch of wonderful people who urged us to the couch, covered us in blankets, and brought us Ramen, tea, and chocolate. We thought we had accidentally stumbled into heaven. It was everything we needed. We made conversation for a while, although I faded in and out, wanting nothing more than to close my eyes. Rain battered the window outside, so we tried to plan our day accordingly. We decided on possibly museums, and so we unpeeled ourselves from the couch and went back into the fray.
It had stopped raining by the time we got off the tube in Victoria again, so we made our way to Buckingham Palace, and wandered from there. London was already striking me as such a vivacious city, though with far more elegance and culture than the bustling metropoli of home. We caught glimpses of the London eye and Big Ben as we walked, promising ourselves, of course, that we would go to see them in earnest the next day. We made our way around Victoria for a few hours, doing nothing in particular but seeing a lot and making plans (echoes the way life can be sometimes, huh...). it began to rain again, the kind of rain that made our umbrellas thrash every which way, so we took shelter in first a coffee shop and then a little falafel place for dinner. When the rain subsided - and it eventually did - we got back on the streets, traipsing through pools of rain and streetlamp light. After a time, we returned home on the tube to where our temporary housemates were having a gathering that involved animal costumes, techno, and lots of wine. As much as I wanted to participate, drowsiness was calling me to bed.
Day two, we woke up ready to tackle absolutely everything. We first had to migrate to our next sleeping arrangement, which was a friend of Jilli's mom's cousin. As the description suggests, neither of us had ever met this woman before. Her and her family turned out to be the most lovely people imaginable, and Jilli and I still speak about them as if they are our closest friends. We were taken to a completely charming (sorry to be so cliche...) house in the suburbs, full of light and colorful furniture, given coffee and cake, and introduced to the father and son, both of whom could not have been more warm, funny, and loveable. Jilli and I kept exchanging incredulous looks, while resisting the urge to eat the whole cake. Our "new dad" wrote us out a list of places to go and a map of how to get there, while our wonderful host mother made us lunches to take with us. I will never fully understand why or how these beautifully special things happen to me, or anyone for that matter, or what makes certain people so generous, but we could not have been more grateful or downright elated. This was directly encouraged by the sunshine that greeted us when we stepped back outside. We got on the tube bound for Westminster and our day had begun. Now for the whirlwind: the Houses of Parliament, the National Gallery, the London Eye, Big Ben, the Westminster Abbey, Borough Market, the London Bridge, the Tower Bridge, Covent Garden and finally Camden. We even managed to put some (lots of) food in our mouths, have laughing fits on several bridges, look for One Direction around every corner, and meet up with my two friends from school at their apartment. I felt like I was in a pamphlet for the World Fair. Everything felt huge, exciting, important - like what I imagine some people must feel going to NYC for the first time. I never expected to feel so fondly for London (I always imagined myself to be more predisposed to Old World Europe), but the culture was amazing.
It was silly but fitting that we ended our Saturday night with Italian food. We just can't stay away. And coming back to Florence, that's exactly how it felt. I will refrain from employing the cheesiest sentiments, but there really is nothing like home sweet home.
** General disclaimer on the above events: through the lens of my previously discussed struggle to find meaning, truth, and honesty in my travels, I realize acutely that such "travel blunders" as the ones described should not be taken lightly, and I don't take them lightly. Another person - probably even myself, in another situation - would not have been able to get out of that scenario because of a lack of resources, or any one of a whole host of obstacles. I am putting a lot of effort into learning what I need to learn here, and I understand the reprecussions and the context that accompany this particular kind of learning.
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