Happy New Year everyone!
I've got weeks and weeks of travels and adventures to update you all on. We'll see how much I can squeeze in.
I packed my duffel full of shorts, t-shirts, flip-flops and swimming suits, and realized I will be spending two days in London, and one in Canada. So I unpacked everything and tried to figure out the best combination of clothing for three weeks of travel, through three shockingly different climates, that would fit in one carry-on, based on four airlines' standards. I eventually just threw a bit of everything together, stuffed in some turrón, a little contraband jamón ibérico and perilously oversized hygiene gels/liquids, and flew out the door. Wearing a good five pounds of clothes and carrying at least 25 more in hand, I schlepped across town to the bus station. The bus arrived at the airport in plenty of time and I boarded my 3:00 flight to London without a hitch (Border control: zero, Contraband: 1).
It was a quick flight and after a nap I heard the captain announce our approach to the London area. He regretted to inform us, however, that we would not be stopping here as all airports in the south of England were closed owing to the immense threat of snow and ice. Instead we, and all other London-bound flights, would have to land in Manchester, some 200 miles (320 km) to the north. Once safely on the ground, we waited more than 2 hours aboard the plane for them to sort out all the redirected flights and the baggage and the accommodation, etc. We eventually did get off the aircraft and boarded a bus to return us to Stansted Airport.
At 10:00 p.m., following another stomach-rumbling hour of waiting, the bus departed. So much for cocktails and shopping in London, I thought. At 2 a.m. I arrived at Stansted Airport, boarded another bus, and at 3:00 was in Victoria Station, London. By this time I had used up the measly 2€ that remained on my SIM card and could only pray I'd be able to figure out the rest of the way using just the address. I finally wrangled a cabbie who knew the address and from there it was a brief, if costly, drive to Beth's friend Sara's house in Streatham . Once inside I collapsed on the couch.
The next day was bitingly cold, but we kept warm shopping at this enormous and trendy "mahl". "I feel like you have to say it like that with an American accent because it's the closest thing to an American mall in London," Sara told me. There I bought some socks from Uniqlo which I love so much and before long it was time for Beth and Sara to catch their train to Wales and for me to check in at my hostel.
On Wednesday, the 23rd of December, I boarded my AirCanada flight to Honolulu via Calgary (Border control: zero, Contraband: 2). It was easily the lushest airplane I've ever been on. Every seat had plenty of leg room and a personal movie player in the headrest opposite. They gave us a full meal, drinks every hour, ice cream, and a hot pie (like a HotPocket but less trashy) before landing.
After 9 hours in the air, we landed in Calgary a mere 2 hours later that day. In Calgary I got to experience Canada's stern Passport Control personnel. I was quickly singled out and banished to the office of Immigration. Now you know as well as I that I had zero intention of immigrating to Canada in the dead of winter. Nonetheless, I suppose they found my story a bit suspicious: A 22-year-old American flying from Europe with a preposterously heavy carry-on, says he's got a 24-hour layover and can he please go into town where he has no hotel reservation to speak of--a bit sketchy, I'll admit. Once I got a chance speak with the immigration officer, though, I explained that I will be couchsurfing, yes that is staying on a stranger's couch, yes I am quite comfortable doing so, and no I will not be secretly starting a new life in Alberta. She let me through.
I took a cab into the city and met up with my pre-arranged couchsurfing host Mark just as dusk fell (4:00 p.m.). He was an extremely generous host, giving me a little food to eat, letting me use his computer, and taking me out for a chill night on the town. Given that it was right before Christmas, it was more active than I'd thought, and we went to some hip and VERY Canadian locales This one tavern was like a ski lodge, with wagon-wheel chandeliers and various plasma screen televisions broadcasting looped video of a crackling fireplace (the best was when, every few minutes, a hand would appear and stir the fire haha). I met a few of Mark's friends and we had a lovely time conversing and telling jokes. The only thing I disliked about the evening was the ferocious cold; -25˚ Celsius (-15˚ Fahrenheit) with a bitter wind.
Next morning, Christmas Eve, Mark kindly drove me to the airport and I said goodbye to my first couchsurfing host. This stunning example of hospitality and the richness of a bilingual, bicultural nation left me with only good things to say about Canada.
I could not have been more excited to move to a warmer climate, however; on the road again. Interestingly, in Canada you go through U.S. Customs and such before leaving the country, on the way to the U.S. terminal. The U.S. security was easily the most thorough I went through and, sadly, my 3.5-ounce (100 ml) face wash had to take one for the team; the bootleg jamón lived on (Border control: 1, Contraband: 3).
After another 7 or so hours in the air, I finally finally touched down in tropical Hawai'i. Even though it may not be the most prototypical image of the United States, I was back in my country, mi patria. My final flight of the voyage took me from Honolulu to the island of Maui, where my family were all waiting for me with a big ol' box of Chinese food leftovers. While I inhaled the kung pao chicken I told them about my trials and tribulations over 4 days of travel, 11 time zones, and over 8,000 miles (13,000 km). I told them about Spain, about my life there, we caught up on all the goings-on in the family, what my brother Kyle's been up to, my sister Hannah, mom, dad, grandma, aunt, uncle, cousins, cousins-once-removed (or whatever the hell cousins' children are called, I can never remember) . . . whew!
We drove back to our condo, where I promptly stowed my contraband ham in in the fridge, ate myself sick on chips and hummus then passed out on the murphy bed. Paradise.
I've got weeks and weeks of travels and adventures to update you all on. We'll see how much I can squeeze in.
I packed my duffel full of shorts, t-shirts, flip-flops and swimming suits, and realized I will be spending two days in London, and one in Canada. So I unpacked everything and tried to figure out the best combination of clothing for three weeks of travel, through three shockingly different climates, that would fit in one carry-on, based on four airlines' standards. I eventually just threw a bit of everything together, stuffed in some turrón, a little contraband jamón ibérico and perilously oversized hygiene gels/liquids, and flew out the door. Wearing a good five pounds of clothes and carrying at least 25 more in hand, I schlepped across town to the bus station. The bus arrived at the airport in plenty of time and I boarded my 3:00 flight to London without a hitch (Border control: zero, Contraband: 1).
It was a quick flight and after a nap I heard the captain announce our approach to the London area. He regretted to inform us, however, that we would not be stopping here as all airports in the south of England were closed owing to the immense threat of snow and ice. Instead we, and all other London-bound flights, would have to land in Manchester, some 200 miles (320 km) to the north. Once safely on the ground, we waited more than 2 hours aboard the plane for them to sort out all the redirected flights and the baggage and the accommodation, etc. We eventually did get off the aircraft and boarded a bus to return us to Stansted Airport.
At 10:00 p.m., following another stomach-rumbling hour of waiting, the bus departed. So much for cocktails and shopping in London, I thought. At 2 a.m. I arrived at Stansted Airport, boarded another bus, and at 3:00 was in Victoria Station, London. By this time I had used up the measly 2€ that remained on my SIM card and could only pray I'd be able to figure out the rest of the way using just the address. I finally wrangled a cabbie who knew the address and from there it was a brief, if costly, drive to Beth's friend Sara's house in Streatham . Once inside I collapsed on the couch.
The next day was bitingly cold, but we kept warm shopping at this enormous and trendy "mahl". "I feel like you have to say it like that with an American accent because it's the closest thing to an American mall in London," Sara told me. There I bought some socks from Uniqlo which I love so much and before long it was time for Beth and Sara to catch their train to Wales and for me to check in at my hostel.
On Wednesday, the 23rd of December, I boarded my AirCanada flight to Honolulu via Calgary (Border control: zero, Contraband: 2). It was easily the lushest airplane I've ever been on. Every seat had plenty of leg room and a personal movie player in the headrest opposite. They gave us a full meal, drinks every hour, ice cream, and a hot pie (like a HotPocket but less trashy) before landing.
After 9 hours in the air, we landed in Calgary a mere 2 hours later that day. In Calgary I got to experience Canada's stern Passport Control personnel. I was quickly singled out and banished to the office of Immigration. Now you know as well as I that I had zero intention of immigrating to Canada in the dead of winter. Nonetheless, I suppose they found my story a bit suspicious: A 22-year-old American flying from Europe with a preposterously heavy carry-on, says he's got a 24-hour layover and can he please go into town where he has no hotel reservation to speak of--a bit sketchy, I'll admit. Once I got a chance speak with the immigration officer, though, I explained that I will be couchsurfing, yes that is staying on a stranger's couch, yes I am quite comfortable doing so, and no I will not be secretly starting a new life in Alberta. She let me through.
I took a cab into the city and met up with my pre-arranged couchsurfing host Mark just as dusk fell (4:00 p.m.). He was an extremely generous host, giving me a little food to eat, letting me use his computer, and taking me out for a chill night on the town. Given that it was right before Christmas, it was more active than I'd thought, and we went to some hip and VERY Canadian locales This one tavern was like a ski lodge, with wagon-wheel chandeliers and various plasma screen televisions broadcasting looped video of a crackling fireplace (the best was when, every few minutes, a hand would appear and stir the fire haha). I met a few of Mark's friends and we had a lovely time conversing and telling jokes. The only thing I disliked about the evening was the ferocious cold; -25˚ Celsius (-15˚ Fahrenheit) with a bitter wind.
Next morning, Christmas Eve, Mark kindly drove me to the airport and I said goodbye to my first couchsurfing host. This stunning example of hospitality and the richness of a bilingual, bicultural nation left me with only good things to say about Canada.
I could not have been more excited to move to a warmer climate, however; on the road again. Interestingly, in Canada you go through U.S. Customs and such before leaving the country, on the way to the U.S. terminal. The U.S. security was easily the most thorough I went through and, sadly, my 3.5-ounce (100 ml) face wash had to take one for the team; the bootleg jamón lived on (Border control: 1, Contraband: 3).
After another 7 or so hours in the air, I finally finally touched down in tropical Hawai'i. Even though it may not be the most prototypical image of the United States, I was back in my country, mi patria. My final flight of the voyage took me from Honolulu to the island of Maui, where my family were all waiting for me with a big ol' box of Chinese food leftovers. While I inhaled the kung pao chicken I told them about my trials and tribulations over 4 days of travel, 11 time zones, and over 8,000 miles (13,000 km). I told them about Spain, about my life there, we caught up on all the goings-on in the family, what my brother Kyle's been up to, my sister Hannah, mom, dad, grandma, aunt, uncle, cousins, cousins-once-removed (or whatever the hell cousins' children are called, I can never remember) . . . whew!
We drove back to our condo, where I promptly stowed my contraband ham in in the fridge, ate myself sick on chips and hummus then passed out on the murphy bed. Paradise.
You are a very talented storyteller - perhaps you should write a book! Thanks for sharing the interesting tale of your Christmas adventures!
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