Little Red Flags for the Most Prepared American
Most importantly, I've arrived in London safely.
Importantly, but not as important as being alive, I have a new piece of advice for travelers. Never underestimate the value of Mary Poppins.
Firstly, the flight was actually really pleasant once I came to terms with the fact that I'm kind of an idiot. I had a window seat. Except not really because all that was to my right was a wall. Our plane had been switched, considering I had opted for a different row than the emergency exit row. Sure, more leg room, but more pressure to be a hero. And considering I see myself as more of a lovable, quirky sidekick, I'll leave the heroics to someone more willing to accept the responsibilities. Like Batman.
But, upon boarding the plane, I found that my seat became an emergency exit seat. At the very front of our sections. This had been met with excitement mixed with bitter disappointment.
Pros: An unmeasurable amount of leg room for stretching out and getting comfortable. No obnoxious children in front of me (and none behind me either, so three cheers for the elderly). Getting to stare at the flight attendant when he sat in his seat in front of me for take off, who also slightly resembled Karl Pilkington and I couldn't stop laughing. Being right where the bathroom was (which could also be a con, possibly, but proved not to be).
Cons: One little compartment above us for our row, which another person had already taken (and I had stolen other spots in other overhead compartments because their lives were now in my hands so I deserved it). No window, despite it being called a "window" seat. No screen like everyone else (which later had been rectified when the attendant showed us the secret compartment in our chairs where we'd find a tray and how to pull out the screen for our viewing pleasure). No place to charge our phones (which I had located later in my armrest and opted to not take advantage of).
We were given two meals. Breakfast before we arrived was a simple croissant (Because apparently we are going to France?) and some jam. Fairly delicious although I couldn't fathom how they'd mess up something so simple. I chose the chicken for dinner (as did the super nice woman next to me) and still regret my decision. The chicken was orange. Like almost highlighter orange. So bad sign there, and kind of tasted how I suspect evil might taste.
And while I couldn't find an hour of sleep (though did manage about fifteen minutes), I also watched some really great films. Finally watched Her, which I enjoyed more than I thought I would, and decided the casting had been perfect. Then I watched Frank, which I was also incredibly and extremely funny, although the ending had become a bit lackluster. Tear-worthy, maybe, but a bit more cookie-cutter than I would've expected for such a bizarre little film. Still really loved it though and would recommend both to anyone who enjoys a good film to pass the time.
We were informed at around 5:15 that we'd be in Heathrow shortly, and told to adjust our watches, which made me feel like I'd been invited into a club as me and the man waiting for the bathroom in front of me took off our watches to change the time. Didn't have a moment for the secret handshake, however. I could see out the window of the emergency exit door across the plane (ours was blocked to my eyes, thanks to physics or something else I don't quite comprehend well enough to discuss) and was concerned about the mountain range I could see in the distance. I wasn't aware that London was close to a few mountains, but I didn't question it further. I know next to nothing about the geography of this area.
A bit of turbulence led to a quick bump onto the runway, which I had not expected cause all I could still view were mountains. Until I realized I had been staring at a shadow on the plane wing. It was dark. Ish. Leave me alone.
What has surprised me the most on this journey has been the lack of lines I've faced. No line to check in my bag in Philly. A line of about six people in security. Jumped right into Chickie and Pete's for a beer and some crab fries before I left, which had been a good decision for my last American meal. After I arrived in London, there was no line at immigration either. I went right up to a nice man to be let into the country, and if this is the only bump on my journey than so be it.
Small card filled out, passport and boarding pass handed over, I figured this would be rather quick and painless. And it was, don't get me wrong, but the man working must take pride in turning people away as well. For one thing, he was incredibly funny, holding that odd combination of sarcasm and kindness that has become the reason I love the East Coast (we aren't that mean). After asking me how long I'd be staying, he was slightly alarmed to hear six months and informed that sent up little red flags.
He asked me next where I'd be staying and I told him all about Mark, handing over the email I had printed out confirming where I'd be staying and the postal code. He enjoyed the picture of the fireplace that printed itself onto the paper as well. Then he asked me when I planned to go home. Giving him the date, I also fished out my flight information for him. He simply nodded, giving no physical indication on his face that he'd let me in and it became suddenly horrifying that the rest of my trip balanced in this man's hands. His final trick asked about my means of paying for six months here. At this point, I felt slightly proud. All I really needed was my passport but I didn't want them to find anything wrong with me (except maybe fashion sense or something shallow). I gave him my bank statement with all the funds I had saved over for this trip.
"Did you rob a bank?" he asked with wide eyes and all I could do was laugh. Assuring him that I did not, in fact, steal from my own country, he found little wrong with me.
But he was curious as to London, as to why I chose it. And after giving as little detail as possible, because there are few reasons why I had chosen here, he lamented that London lacks it's old charm and complain that you could no longer feed the birds in the parks.
"But that's in Mary Poppins," I remarked, not wanting to really join in the bird debate that I didn't really understand and he seemed to agree that Mary Poppins is a good enough reason to bring back bird-feeding.
Stamping my passport, he put on a sigh before telling me he could find nothing wrong with me and complimented me but stating that I am the most prepared American he's ever seen. I found out from him that Americans are actually the visitors turned away the most from the country. He handed back my things so I could tuck them into my bag and I asked him where exactly I was going, because before me looked like little cubicles and I didn't want to suddenly step into their forbidden offices. The guy behind him pointed in front of me, where the little desks were that I'd be going past but my little trickster of an immigration officer said it the best. "To London, madam."
I'll ignore the fact it makes me sound like an old woman.
