In 2005 I was given the chance to travel to the UK. It was a random happenstance that will probably never happen again - though I'm constantly hoping it will. I was teaching at the time, and one of the families I was close with traveled a great deal. They were headed off to London right after Christmas, and wanted someone to go with them to watch the kids a night or 2 so they could have some alone time in the city. Since the kids were lovely and the family was lovely, I was totally cool with that arrangement.
Seeing as the family would pay for my plane ticket, as well as my hotel, the trip was virtually a no brainer. That is why I found myself flying to London - completely on my own (they had left before Christmas and I was due to meet them there a few days later.) I've never felt so brave or bold. There's not much I remember about the flight - 8 hours in a plane next to a snorer so I probably blocked most of it out. I do remember I read "700 Sundays" by Billy Crystal and proceeded to cry silently over that for at least an hour. Fun times.
As I'm writing this I'm just realizing I don't even remember anything about Customs or baggage claim (even then I hadn't mastered the ability to only pack using a carry on.) As someone who's landed at Heathrow twice since, I can't believe I ever found my way out of there onto the Tube and then into a cab. I get lost in my hometown all the time, and this was a foreign country in a HUGE city. How am I not still wandering around Heathrow? Blocking all of that out, the very first thing I do remember is the ride in the cab to the flat in Notting Hill. I managed to call a cab and find the flat all by my lonesome - yet another feat of bravery on my part, even if I do say so myself.
I was amazed at the row of houses on Edgware Road. This was like no apartment I've ever seen. When Americans think of apartments, they picture tall buildings not beautiful brownstones. And yet here I was, on the second floor of a walk-up entering a cute flat where I'd be staying for the next 4 days. It was Christmas-time. It was snowing. I was in London. And it was GORGEOUS!
The family never did ask me to watch the kids, even though I offered many times. We all went out together to see Tower Bridge, the London Eye and do some other sight-seeing. They even gave me time to myself one day. That's when I discovered wandering around. I hadn't a clue where I was and I could most definitely not read a map. So I wandered. I walked around Carnaby Street and through Picadilly. I found Fortnum & Mason and bought massive amounts of tea. I walked the Portobello Road market - imagining bumping into Hugh Grant a la Notting Hill the entire time. I even went into a pub - The Blue Post - and had Bangers and Mash. It was quite perfect and utterly wonderful.
After 4 days, I left and flew home, alone again as they were headed to see family in another state. I don't remember anything at all about that flight either. Though, I'm assuming I slept since that's what I do in any moving vehicle that I'm not driving. It was a quick trip, but it sealed the deal for me. I would have the travel bug for good now. And I was bitten by the specific European travel bug - the one that says, why stay in the states when you could visit somewhere more exotic? (I suppose exotic isn't the first word you think of when you think of the UK, but you get the picture.)
That one small adventure taught me how to travel and how I like to travel - food, shopping, wandering, no set in stone plans, as often as I can- and I'll always be eternally grateful.
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