An Unexpected Detour

Sigh.

The trip back to the states just gets harder on me every time.  I already don’t want to go, don’t want to spend the money, don’t need the hassle.  What I do need are the replacement credit/debit cards that (hopefully) awaited me in my P.O. box.  And since they can’t come to me …

Packing to leave a place has become second nature to me.  The only times it’s a problem are when I’m leaving an apartment/location that I like or when I’m preparing to board an international flight.  In this case, I HATE having to leave Portugal (the place truly makes me happy) and I HATE going back to the states (what I said about Portugal but the opposite).  I could leave the apartment and Costa da Caparica, though.  Neither were my favorite.

Having to ditch perfectly good items isn’t my favorite thing either.  While traveling within the same country, I am the crazy woman carrying way too much food, paper products, and a big bottle of Persil.  Why purchase these items before I have to if I can just shove them in an Uber and move on to the next place? 

Of course, the thought of lugging these things around an airport … not so much.  Those trips require having as little as possible for me to carry and have to worry about remembering.  Then there’s airport security.  More on that later.

Uber has been incredibly convenient in Portugal, particularly in this location as cabs were harder to come by than in Lisbon or Cascais.  The driver spoke pretty good English and I was impressed with his driving skills.  Unlike most Portuguese I’d met, he didn’t drive like the cops were chasing him and was very adept at maneuvering out of the tight parking lot in front of the apartment.  We did get stuck in traffic just before the gate at the airport and he mentioned that it was always bad in this area.  I scoffed.  Buddy, you’ve obviously never been to Atlanta.  Now THAT is some bad traffic.  This was just a minor hiccup.

Getting through the airport was easy enough and I was quickly becoming more familiar with Lisbon Airport.  And I ended up having so much more time than I thought as my flight that was supposed to leave at 11 a.m. just … didn’t.  No explanation, just a whole bunch of people milling around a gate waiting for a boarding announcement that never came.  We had gotten so far as to line up for boarding, with some people already let through, only to watch those people get off the plane in disappointment. 

Then we all waited.  And waited.  And waited.  And watched our gate used for another flight that did take off on time.  Then watched as the gate sign changed back to our flight number, which at this point, should have taken off a couple of hours earlier.  Yeesh.

Eventually, we did take off.  It seems that the plane had mechanical difficulties and they’d had to call an engineer out to repair it.  The flight went smoothly (thank goodness), but any chance of me getting to my connecting flight was completely shot.

The airline was prepared for this, though.  As soon as we landed in Heathrow, agents were waiting to give us vouchers for food and transportation to a nearby hotel.  Guess I’d be spending the night in London.

But not with my luggage.  I asked about picking up my checked bag before I went to the shuttle and the guy said I wouldn’t have to.  Uh, but I kind of want to.  Not only were all my clothes in there, but I didn’t like the idea of, once again, being separated from my bag and not knowing when or if I would see it again.  But I would just have to deal with it.

It was raining when we arrived in London (surprise).  The shuttle took forever to reach us, forcing a bunch of people who didn’t want to be there to huddle under an awning in the windy gray weather.  Not my favorite memory from this trip. 

We arrived at the Arora, a simple-looking brick structure surrounded by row houses.  I shared my disappointment with my fellow passengers as we had passed a nicer looking Hilton hotel just before this one.  But, beggars can’t be choosers.

Check-in was easy enough as the hotel was expecting us.  As for the rest of it … not so much.  The first of the two elevators I tried refused to move.  I pushed the button for two, it lit up, then went dark again.  The doors opened and another woman entered.  The same thing happened when she pushed the button.  We both then exited and went to the other elevator.  The couple coming out of it were also in the hotel because of British Airways.  We mentioned the elevator issue and they told us about not being able to use the safe or adjust the thermostat in their room.  They also helpfully suggested that there was a liquor store in walking distance.  Not that we’d have need for booze during such a short stay …

I did like everyone’s attitude during our unexpected side-journey.  Instead of dealing with a bunch of angry entitled Americans, there was a sense of ‘we’re all in this together so let’s just get through it’.  I appreciated that.

I felt for the staff though.  They did their job as well as they could, but it can’t be a morale boost to work for a hotel that no one wants to be in.  The Arora wasn’t anyone’s choice, it wasn’t a go-to destination in London.  It was just a way station for tired, displaced people to crash for a night. 

The room was clean and serviceable except for the toilet.  Sometimes it flushed and sometimes it just didn’t.  No reason; it was just temperamental.  The thermostat could not be adjusted and the safe was indeed unusable as I’d been warned.  I didn’t care so much about that.  The wi-fi was decent and the bed comfortable enough.

The dinner was comped with the room.  Nothing special and no alcohol, but they did have a butter chicken that was very tasty.  I know that Indian food is big in England, but I didn’t expect to have such good food in a bargain basement, last-resort hotel.

I did face a dilemma after dinner.  Was it better to shower knowing I’d have to put on the same clothes as the day before?  Or was it best to just not shower and keep the same clothes on?  I chose the latter option as the thought of putting dirty underwear on a clean body was just too gross to consider.  At least I had my deodorant with me.  I slathered it on the next morning and hoped for the best.

Breakfast wasn’t much more than boxed cereal and coffee.  I grabbed a packaged croissant, a cappuccino from yet another wonderful machine, and took a walk around the neighborhood.  It was a bright and gorgeous, if cold, morning in the town of Slough (is it pronounced like ‘slow’ or ‘sloff’ – I have no idea).  It slowly warmed up as everyone began to gather out front.  The shuttle was again late so we waited a while, but I had no worries as my flight didn’t leave until later in the afternoon.

Back at Heathrow I ran into a problem.  Please remember that by this point, I’d been traveling for seven months.  I’d been through at least 20 airports and had learned what will get through airport security and what won’t.  Early on, Dublin security proved tricky because they did not accept liquids in the gallon size Ziploc bag that everyone else accepts.  They insist on quart bags that they provide for customers at a station where you’re expected to throw out anything that doesn’t fit in the bag.  That was highly annoying, but since I was flying back to the states, it didn’t bother me too much.  I knew I could just replace the items while there (and have no problem leaving the country with them).

Heathrow was set up the same way.  Only quart bags, throw everything else out.  Sigh.  Okay.  Whatever.  So, imagine my annoyance when my bag got flagged even after doing this.  My belongings have been flagged multiple times on this journey and my cursing gets louder every time.  I’ve lost lotion, shea butter, conditioner, toothpaste, and that rare jar of Jif Extra Crunchy peanut butter that I found in Bangkok (found it there and couldn’t get it out of the country).

This time I lost a pair of hair shears that were too long to board the plane and my bottle of deodorant.  I’d left the states with these items, been through multiple airports without issue.  And now they get pinched?  Are you sh(%%ing me!  Believe it or not, I was more upset about the deodorant than the scissors.  It’s deodorant for crying out loud!  And you’re throwing it away because the bottle held more than 100 ml even though, by this point, the bottle is half-empty? 

I needed a moment after this particular run-in with security.  There were way too many people around me, I was wearing the same clothes as the day before, I was facing yet another long trip across the pond, and I’d had just about enough of planes and airports.  And just think – if I had caught my connection as planned, I may not have had to go through this.

Pissed off and already tired, I wandered Heathrow in a daze.  I still had hours to go before my flight so I began the hunt for food.  And since I was in England, why not have some fish and chips, mushy peas, and my first cosmo in months?

As I mentioned, the airport was insanely crowded and I hate being jostled.  Walking through the Harry Potter store, however, as a big fan of the series, did put a smile on my face.  I didn’t buy any of the overpriced souvenirs, but I liked walking around the heavily themed store.  They had a big assortment of wands that just tickled me.  I liked Belatrix LeStrange’s the best.  It looks like a big twig, suggesting you don’t need a lot of ornamentation to be powerful.  Just put a bunch of crazy behind it and you’re good to go.

The flight went well enough.  No issues reuniting with my bag and I was grateful to be landing in Atlanta before midnight, unlike the last two times.  At least this time, I could pick up my car and not have to get a cab/Uber for this shortened mail stop.  Well, in theory, I could pick up my car.  If the desk were open. 

While it was 10 at night when I arrived at the rental center, the other desks in the area were open.  But not Alamo.  Not even their kiosk could help me.  Sigh (again).  I briefly stood in line at Enterprise, said screw it, and went over to the line-free Budget counter.  “Just give me the cheapest thing you have available for one night”.

That car turned out to be a red Kia Soul, a decent car.  While I’m not a fan of driving at night in an unfamiliar car, the lack of traffic on the road made it easier.  A quick night in Woodstock then off to the usual errands. I was expecting three cards in the mail.  Bank of America, for the second time, refused to send my new debit card, but at least the two credit cards arrived as expected.  I dropped off some summer gear at the storage unit and then it was back to the airport.