I’m nervous. Not because of the adventure I’m about to have, but because I don’t like to fly and in about eight hours, I’m going to be on a long flight. When I say long, I mean friggin’ eight and a half hours long. In an airplane. Thirty some odd THOUSAND feet above the Earth. Granted, it’s one of those really nice Delta planes with the fancy beds and what not. I won’t be enjoying one of those. Nope, I’ve got a confirmed window seat just over the wing, on Delta flight 0038. It’s a Boeing 767, whatever model that is. I leave tonight at 8:45 PM and land at London – Heathrow airport at 10:15 in the morning tomorrow. My excitement almost over rides my fear. Almost. I didn’t sleep at all last night and have so far spent the morning making sure I have everything in order. I packed fairly light. One really nice dress and heels, two casual skirts; four pair of khaki style slacks, two pairs of jeans. I have a pair of comfortable walking shoes, a pair of dress flats, and my sneakers. A light windbreaker, a heavier rain coat which I’ll wear on the plane, and then a thick cardigan I can wear over every outfit except the dressy dress. I didn’t pack any jewelry. I’ve heard horror stories about tourists getting mugged and such. Not a fan of that. I’ll buy a few of those point, shoot, develop cameras once I’m there, along with toothpaste, deodorant and such. I just didn’t want to pack a travel kit you know. I hate having to keep up with what I can take on the plane, what I can’t. I’ve got enough going on in my head without having to worry about all of that. They have stores in London, I can pick up what little things I need once I get settled.
Speaking of settled, I got lucky. So lucky. Through some wonderful contacts I’ve made in this Meet-up Group I belong to, I was able to sub-lease a flat in Notting Hill. Yes, as in the place the movie was named after. I don’t expect to meet my version of Hugh Grant (and Heaven knows, I’m so NOT Julia Roberts). The family who owns the home is going away on holiday to their summer place in the south of France. That’s so cliché I almost didn’t believe it but it’s true. After a few long distance interviews, a reasonable deposit, the keys arrived two days ago. If it’s half as nice as the pictures, I’m in love. The husband is a food writer for goodness-sake, the place sits just minutes from a famous market. I can’t wait!
But wait I must. Not only for my ride to the airport, which should be here right at 5:30, but then there’s the two hours I have to wait in the airport for the flight to leave. At least I’ll be spending time in the newly finished International terminal. Hope they have free wi-fi. Speaking of wi-fi…well, not really, I mean it sort has to do with, oh never mind. What I’m trying to type is I got this cool international calling chip thingy for my phone. I will be able to make and take calls and text messages while I’m abroad. Don’t ask me how it works, and even fewer questions about what it’s going to cost me as I barely understood the fine print the dude at the wireless store was telling me about. Bottom line is my same number will work while I’m wandering loose in the UK.
Okay. One last check of the bag, and then I’m off to find something to occupy my mind for the next eight hours. Geez. I can’t believe I’m about to do this…wish me luck.