January 19, 2010

Wrapping My Mind Around Passing Through Three Different Time-Zones in Twelve Hours

Lately I've only been blogging from the road. First bolt bus, then the care ride back from Quebec, and now I'm sitting in London Heathrow, waiting around (with no wireless internet – really, London Heathrow? Even $15 Bolt Bus is better than you. You should be ashamed of yourself. A two-story Harrods and no free internet? For shame!)(in fact, since I can't publish this now, by the time you read this, I'll be tucked in and asleep at my aunt and uncle's place in Rome. I just wrote it when I was/am sitting in Heathrow). I have another hour until the departures board even tells me which gate my flight leaves from. It doesn't help that my body clock is already like, “WTF is going on?!” See, for me (in Boston time) it's barely 1 am. Not early, but it certainly doesn't feel next-morning late. My flight was technically from six to midnight (but midnight in Boston in 5 am here), so I feel like I've just had a late evening and I'm starting to feel ready to go to bed, while London Heathrow is all, “Good Morning Sunshine!” To which I want to reply with a sincere, and locally appropriate, “Bah! Humbug!” By the time I arrive in Rome in four hours – which is one hour ahead London, which in turn is five hours ahead of Boston - it'll be noon, I won't have slept at all,and my body clock will be like, “Seriously. WTF?”

Sorry if I'm a horrible blogger when I travel, but at the moment I can't decide if I'd rather have a nice soft pillow and blanket in a dark room, or a steamy latte to help me face the day, and this indecision is throwing me off my game.

But it hasn't stopped me from noticing that London Heathrow – aside from having no wifi (for shame!) - is nothing more than a giant shopping mall with a few exit gates and airplanes conveniently placed around the perimeter. Granted, I haven't seen a casino yet, or a “resting area” with pillows strewn about, like in the Amsterdam Airport, but still, this airport is quite commercially oriented. As I write this, they're raffling off two Lamborghinis upstairs. I would play, but the raffle tickets are 20£ and I honestly don't know where I'd put my Lamborghini – it probably doesn't get good enough gas mileage for me to drive it to Madrid (plus I already bought my plane ticket) and I certainly can't leave it at the beach house with the rest of my stuff in boxes. Yeah... it's probably best that I don't win the Lamborghini.

But seriously. From my perch (between Pret a Manger's organic-100%-recycled-and-saves-baby-seals-in-its-free-time Fast Food Bar and the Chanel Parfum kiosk) I count four, yes four, separate World Duty Free stores. Not even one big giant World Duty Free store; the same shop in four individual locations. I can also see an Apple Store, a Starbucks, and a Sunglass Hut.

I honestly can't think of a time that I'm less in the mood to shop as when I'm carrying around fifty pounds of hand luggage (albeit pretty, coordinated hang luggage), I smell like airplane, and am still confused about what day it is.

If you've gotten this far through my pseudo-rant, you deserve to hear the perks of having a two and a half hour layover in Heathrow – the boys. I'm not sure what kind of employment policy the airport has, but I think it has something to do with only hiring adorable British boys. Ok, so maybe it's the fact that they all have British accents which makes them adorable. But a bunch of them are cute before they even start talking. And they are so polite! I'd kill to see the airport staff at Logan trade in “nah lady“no problem” for “I'm quite sorry, miss” and “certainly, madame!” Even while in the process of taking off your shoes and being treated like a potential terrorist they still manage to make you feel like you're doing it with a little dignity. And they ain't too hard on the eyes, either!

Alright. I'm going to use these last twenty minutes before I find out which gate I leave from to go try to get a cute British airport employee to say something like, “Goodness, miss! That bag looks positively dreadfully heavy! Might I carry it around for you? Of course it isn't an inconvenience! What a delight being able to help such a lovely lass as yourself!”

Haha, in my head is a weird place to be at five in the morning.


instatick said...

Ugh, I love going to far way places, but, generally, I hate the getting to them bits. Especially when it involves overnights and different days.

Julia said...

i know, so annoying right? although who am I to complain. I went from Boston to Rome, via London, in 12 hours. And I got to watch movies the whole time. That used to take 12 weeks. On a boat. Full of screaming children and goats. In what I can only imagine were less than hygienic conditions. Perhaps I should hold my tounge :)

Rose said...

I have also wondered, how is it that a cheap ass Bolt-Bus ticket will get you wifi when all of these other rich and frou frou places either don't offer it, or make you pay some fee? LAME