So to go back a bit, the flight over wasn't as cramped as it could have been - I had an aisle seat and the other guy had the window, so the middle seat was empty. We had a bit of leg room to stretch out, which helped a bit. My hip almost popped out a couple of times from cramping and flexing, but alas, cheap seats are what they are.
The jackasses in front of me were two young boys on their way to London and Manchester. They were brothers, I think, and both rude, ignorant idiots with Justin Bieber hair and pissy outlooks on life, which they were loud and vocal about. They made fun of people within earshot, the laughed at the staff's accents, and, in my opinion were just all around shitwits. But the kicker for me was that they had an iPad and insisted on watching videos at full volume. I asked them numerous times to turn it dow or use headphones, each time getting an eye roll and "yeah sure, lady". The worst of it was when, during the night when everyone was sleeping, they turned on some program that involved building a generator. From scratch. Expolsions, people yelling over equipment... it was completely ridiculous. SO I did what anyone would do -- I tattled. I went to the back and brought an employee up to their seats and had her threaten to confiscate the device if they didn't turn it off.
Well, of course, this immediately pissed the boys off and they started to opine on my nature in a vocal way, until the man sitting next to me, a quiet British dude with bad socks and worse teeth, finally snapped. He slammed the backs of both the boys seats, told them to sod off and if they didn't shut up, he was going to have them arrested once we landed. I'm not sure how he thought he was going to manage that, but it scared the boys enough to shut them up. The lovely man then turned to me, and, bless him, apologized to me for his outburst, and went back to sleep. Rule Britannia.
The rest of the flight was as noted above.
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| View from my hotel window - St Pancras Station |
London - Monday
My day in London was shorter than anticipated. Due to the lack of sleep on the plane, I was completely exhausted by the time I got to my hotel and checked in. I fell asleep hard for 5 hours and woke up at 7:15 feeling better, but still groggy. I got dressed and hopped on the tube to Leicster Square, which was closest to the bar at which my friend Geoff worked. On the map, it looked easy enough to find, but once I got above ground I was completely blown away and hadn't the foggiest clue in London Town as to where the hell I was supposed to go. The lights were dizzying, the crowds all seemed to have destinations that I was in direct conflict with, and I felt like a little kid at the 149 day Tuesday sale at Woodwards. I saw a taxi waiting at a light and hopped in, knowing I was fully about to sound like a tourist (which is stupid, because I AM a tourist, but whatever) -- "I need to get to 13a Gerrard Street. I know it's right around here, but I have no idea where." He smiled politely and drove me less than 2 minutes away to Chinatown, which is one street, walking only. For 4 euros, I was happy to be in the right place. I never would have found it on my own.
I walked up Gerrard Street, counting numbers up the right hand side, looking for the Far East restaurant. There were all the typical Chinese restaurants, with ducks in the window and the familiar acrid and savoury smells I've grown accustomed to back home. I found the door - an unmarked, non-descript black door with a peep hole. A man in a bow tie in front of it asked if I had a booking. "No," I said, "But I'm here to see Geoff." FOr a second I thought he wasn't going to let me in, but his eyes suddenly lit up and he said "You're the Canadian?" Yesirree, that's me, the only Canadian in London and in I went.
Up a narrow flight of stairs and I was in a charming bar, not much bigger than my living room. A decent size marble bar, with Geoff coming out from behind it, was stocked with all things familiar and new. A hug and kiss and scoot onto a bar stool had me at Geoff's whim, as usual. The entire "club" itself is on three levels. The main bar, in which I sat, a third floor bar, slightly smaller, upstairs, and the fourth floor with a small kitchen for charcuterie and cheese and the toilets. The decor was anything but Asian, which I had envisioned. Instead it was comfortable and slightly Victorian. Well-apoointed, but not stuffy. And of course, the drinks were lovely. All 5 of them.
I sat and chatted with Geoff about back home, his plans and such, when I suddenly saw a menu being passed and realized I was in the Experimental Cocktail Club. I didn't know the place even had a name, but the ECC boys have a great reputation, the owners being from such places as Milk and Honey NYC and the like. AND they have a bar in Paris, or so I was told back home. But no, they have three bars in Paris, I learned. By the end of the night I had a list of names and addresses for all three, in case I need a break from wine and have a hankering for a decent drink during my Paris stint.
I took a taxi back to my hotel and had no problem falling fast asleep.
I awoke the next morning early. I had wanted to sleep more, but my body was against the idea. I packed, got dressed and headed down to the basement for breakfast. Two sips of bad coffee and a few mouthfuls of yogurt later and I realized I did not feel well at all. I went upstirs and laid down, feeling nauseated. I was worried - I didn't want to be ill, and this wasn't a hangover, so what was it? I tried to relax and rest for an hour when it dawned on me. It was nerves. I had been in transit and getting from here to there that I hasn't stopped to acknowledge that I was really on this trip, that I was heading to Paris in less than 2 hours and that I was doing it all on my own. Fancy that. I laughed to myself and got up, still feeling a bit off, but relieved that I wasn't really sick, just jittery.
A short walk to St Pancras Station and check in to Eurostar left me waiting in the waiting area for the train. Once our platform was announced, we all herded up the escalator and sorted ourselves into our coaches.
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