Rowan's Most Excellent Adventure - Day 1

As some of you know, I have been invited to present a paper at The Oxford Round Table in Oxford, England. I left yesterday for England and decided to share the travelogue. It started at the Portland Airport where I was to catch a 1pm plane for Newark, New Jersey. I was to have a 45 minute layover to catch the next plane to Gatwick Airport in London where I would arrive at 10am Friday. As you might guess, things did not go as planned.

As an aside, I just have to say something about airport security. It is a major process getting through. Off with the shoes and coats. Computers out of bags, other electronics up for grabs. All onto the belt. Step through the metal detector. Collect your 3 bins of gear. Hop on one foot putting on shoes while trying to coral coat, computer and carry-on. Those TSA workers must have to struggle to not break out laughing. Anyway - I went through that dance three times yesterday.

So I dutifully show up at Continental for my flight to Newark. I arrive at 12:15 at the gate and there are two passengers - unruly children in tow, occupying the two available agents. The plane was supposed to be boarding at 12:30. I get a sinking feeling as the ongoing mayhem happens at the desk as the minutes roll by. 12:30 comes and goes. 12:45 comes and goes. Finally I step up to the desk with the rumor spreading that the plane I am supposed to get on is delayed for mechanical problems. I look at the Continental clerk and say "I'm not making that flight to Gatwick am I?" "No" says she, "but you can stay over night in Newark and take another flight to Gatwick." I told her I would like another option. So she scans around the computer and comes up with an Alaska Airlines flight to Seattle (leaving at 3:00) with a flight via British Airways to Heathrow leaving Seattle at 6:40. "I'll take it!" says I. Heaving a sigh of relief I wouldn't be spending the night in the Newark Airport, and that I would be reasonably on my itinerary. I double that she calls for my checked baggage to be shifted to whoever, so it ends up at Heathrow when I do. Then it is off for a jaunt all the way to the other end of the airport to wait.

Alaska takes off on time, while I sit sweating and waiting. I am an almost non-smoker, but could have used one in the two hour wait for my new flight. However, the vision of going back through the 30 minute security line dissuades me.

The flight leaves almost on time with the lead flight attendant having delusions of being an entertainer. She sings instructions and information to us, to pop songs like "somewhere over the rainbow." I am not making this up.

I arrive in Seattle and head over to British Airways. It is not only all the way over on the other side of the airport, but you have to take the last leg on a subway. Off I go, up to the two floors from the subway to the terminal and trot around to BA. Nobody is home and I have no boarding pass. Back down the stairs to the subway. Back to the main terminal. Out of the secured area to the ticket counter. Get the boarding pass and instructions.

I figure "What the Hell, I have to go through security again, I am going to have a smoke." So I exit the terminal, but smoking is only allowed on the lower level. Of course there are no signs to direct the nicotine addicted on how to get there. Ultimately, I find it. I take the opportunity to make a quick call home to share my arrival information and get some moral support. I am exhausted already and I am not 200 miles away from home.

Back into the airport. Back through security. Down to the tunnel to catch the subway to the terminal. Back up the two stories to the terminal (with all this running around I can see why smoking may be a bad idea). Finally, we load up.

This is a big plane - a Boeing 777 - and I wonder at it leaving the ground empty much less with a couple a hundred of us on board. My seat is all the way at the back of the plane, in the center aisle, but at least I got an aisle seat. That is a blessing. We load up, lock up and ... wait. There is some kind of baggage problem (not mine) where someone's bags are onboard but they are not. We wait. We loaded at 6:00. The flight was supposed to leave at 6:40. We finally get off the ground at 7:20.

My back is screaming and there are 9.5 hours more before we are to touch down in London. I am in economy, and I decide you need to either be a gymnast or a contortionist to ride there. I wonder if maybe I am a gumby that I can't get out of my seat without crawling up the back and perching on the arm to squeeze out. The an elderly gentleman ( at least in his late 80s with a cane) makes the attempt to get out of his seat. I'll be damned if he isn't going through exactly the same contortions. The rows are so close together, there is simply no way to exit them without going over the arm.

It is a bumpy flight a we are going the northern route - through Canada, the Northwest Territories, by Greenland and Iceland. Sitting in the middle of the plane, I can't see anything but the seat back in front of me and a crack of sky off to one side. There is a small window back by the lavatory, and I tick off the flight attendants by claiming the porthole as my own - I do share with others though.

Dinner, which was scheduled for 7:30 finally makes the rounds by 9:00. I guess that's a "Continental" dinner, but my stomach gave up a long time ago. Shortly thereafter, they dim the lights and close all the cabin windows. I search through the viewing possibilities on the little monitor residing on the back of the seat in front of me, but can't find anything more fascinating than the 3D graphic of where we are followed by elevation, temperature, distance to destination, and time. I watch it for the entire trip. At 10:00 I get up to see what the terrain looks like. Mountains and lakes, and virtually no snow. We are somewhere way above Calgary, and it seems like there should be more snow on the ground than there is. The other discovery - it is still light. Not midday light but bright sunset light. We are far enough north that the sun doesn't set at this time of night. I am awed and honored by the site.

Likewise, when I check at 2am, we are moving into much brighter light, and by four, it is incredibly bright. Of course no one seems to know or care except me, and maybe the flight crew. They are irritated that I keep opening the shade to marvel at bright sunshine in the middle of the night.

As you can tell, I am not getting much sleep. Every time I have even gotten close, we either hit turbulence, or the baby that is about 8 rows up starts wiling like a cat with its tail caught under the rocking chair. Not to mention, my back hurts so bad that there is no way to get comfortable enough to sleep. I do doze off at one point for about 30 minutes. My aisle mates are long gone having taken Ambien hours ago. I close my eyes hoping to sleep. I open them after what seems like a long time to see the trusty readout on the seat-back in front of me shows that 3 minutes have passed, and that the air temperature outside the plane is -59 degrees (at a cruising altitude of 36,000 feet).

Finally we arrive at Heathrow. I go through the strip down again for customs and get interviewed by a customs official. I guess he approves my entrance into Britain and tells me I can pass. I wait with everyone else for my suitcase, and heave a sign when it comes round.

Now what? The directions I had gotten were to get to Oxford from Gatwick - not Heathrow. I try asking several people for directions and get sent here and there with luggage in tow. Several tell me to take the underground, but I know that can't be right. I figure out they are trying to give me directions for Oxford Circus rather than Oxford. One "courtesy clerk" points me in the direction of the "coach master" who I will recognize by his yellow vest. There are only about 30 people within my line of site who are wearing yellow vests. I approach one and ask him if he is a "coach master." He looks at me like I have lost my mind and points me back the way I have come.

Ultimately I get pointed in the right direction and wait for the bus. When the bus arrives and the driver steps down, I ask him if this is the bus for Oxford, England. He looks at me askance and say "Where else?" I tell the short version of my story and being directed to downtown London, and he take pity on me. He sells me a ticket with a return, and tells me how to get back to Gatwick (versus Heathrow).

I get on the bus, and groan at having to sit for any longer, but sit I do. I am so glad I did not take the recommendation to rent a car. I never would have made it out of the airport.

As we go along, I am most struck by the fact that the vegetation looks so much like the home. I had expected something much different, but architecture aside, the fields and trees and bushes could be Portland or Salem (in fact it is identical in many ways when I started walking around Oxford). I last for about 30 minutes before stalled traffic overcomes my ability to stay awake. I get my first sleep in almost 24 hours and wake up about an hour later on the outskirts of Oxford. I have no idea where I am, just that I am aiming for the Galaxy Hotel. I know I am getting off at Gloucester Green (which I ultimately learn is the bus station in Oxford). We finally get there after another 40 minutes tied up in traffic. I alight and hope I can find a taxi. I ask a couple of ticket agents who vaguely wave (I am getting used to this) and say "go that way."

Hauling luggage I "go that way" and see no taxis. In fact, I am in a pedestrian only area. Roaming in widening circles, I finally hear a car. I look around and it is a taxi!. I trundle over and ask the driver if he has a fare and he says "No." I ask him if he can take me to the Galaxy Hotel on Banbury Road, and he loads my suitcase into the taxi. We arrive and I alight.

Entering the hotel I am thinking, "this doesn't look quite like what was advertised." (See their virtual tour>/a>) I am directed to take the lift to the second floor and the manager will meet me there. The place is a maze, fire doors everywhere with two steps up and two steps down. My $140 "suite" is a 10x10 room with a small bathroom. The bed, a side table, a phone stand and phone (no phone book and amazingly no Gideon Bible) are the basic accommodations. The bed is a mattress on a board, but at least I can stretch out and I'll settle for that. I already know there are virtually no other rooms in Oxford, so like it or not I am here.

There seem to be a lot of young folks at the hotel - real young I'd say. Very rowdy group. This evening I find out they are students here from Kazakhstan. I ran into them outside and a couple of them launched into "where are you from?" The United States I say. "California?" No Oregon - it is just north of California. "Are you Republican or Democrat?" Democrat - kind of. "Are you voting for Barak Obama?" I say he's a good candidate, but we don't even know who will be running yet. And so on for a conversation that I really am not up to on less than an hour's sleep.

But I am here in Oxford. I move over to the University Sunday afternoon. My hope at this point is to get a good night's sleep and adapt to the 8 hour time difference. My watch says that it is 3:30 at home, and despite the darkness outside, I feels like afternoon to me. I am hoping that exhaustion lets me get more than a nap. However, it is Friday night in a University and tourist town and rowdy revelers seem to be running the street.

Posted by rowan at July 13, 2007 1:55 PM | [eMail this article!] |