I can't tell you how many times I've muttered the word "fuck" or some variation thereof today. "Fucking move," I muttered (no one heard) to the people at the airport who thought it a good idea to stop in front of several hundred people who just disembarked from various international flights and who were trying to get to customs. "What the fuck?" I muttered to myself when the Google Maps directions I printed out a week ago failed to get my to my hotel and I had to stop in the middle of a random square to consult a real map. "Should've fucking taken a cap," I muttered. What should have been a mile jaunt from Paddington Station turned into at least two miles.
Travel is odd, you know?
But wonderful. I'm in London!! After eleven years away, I'm finally back, and it amazes me how natural it feels. The money doesn't freak me out, I haven't nearly been creamed trying to cross a street, and while I had one moment of, "Oh, that's right, they drive from the other side of the front seat of the car!" I haven't been too shocked by anything else.
As expected, I cried when the plane landed. Big, happy tears accompanied by a big, happy grin. It's so good to be back.
Fortunately, my room was ready when I arrived, so I was able to check in early. I threw my stuff in, then walked out to get some food. I was nearly delirious with hunger and lack of sleep, but I managed to navigate a Marks and Spencer (they have a potato salad named after the new Princess, I'm not kidding). Then I came back to my hotel to unpack a little, shower, and crash. I only slept an hour but I feel like a new woman. Tonight, after going to see Cirque du Soleil, I know I'll crash.
Tomorrow, I reacquaint myself properly with dear London.