Day One, Two, and Three

 For the record, my co workers were right. No sleep was to be had the night before my departure.

Airports are strange places. It's a sort of in-between place, where time moves differently. It jumps and lags and skips all over the place.
  On my flight to Canada, I was the youngest person by about thirty years. I was feeling a little nauseous, but I had some ginger and it helped a little. The flight time was about four hours long, which wasn't terrible. They had free satellite TV, and so I watched reruns of HGTV.
  The view from my window was cool. Especially over the Great Lakes area, when the blue of the water and the clouds beneath us made it look like we were on the ground instead of in the sky. It was a little vertigo-inducing. I had to remind myself of gravity and where it was pulling me. The view of the red and orange trees was beautiful as we came close to Toronto.
  The Toronto airport is more like a mall than an airport. Shops and cafes and stores and lots of random seating and open promenades. And, the Sky Harbor airport is better air conditioned.

Canada's beautiful, eh?

So after making my way through customs (where the lady was very angry) and security (where they were surprisingly lax, I didn't even have to take off my shoes) and walking the miles to my departure gate, I found a quiet place near a bathroom to sit down and rest. I tried sleeping, but to no avail. Too excited I guess. 

It was a 6 hour layover, which wasn't too bad. Lots of time to sit around and people watch. I saw a guy in a black t-shirt, camo shorts, knee-length black socks, and green crocs. I might have been questionably dressed for travel, but at least I wasn't that guy. 

  I boarded my red-eye flight at 8:30 PM. It was one of the newer models, with a center column and two aisles. And, instead of screens, you just went to the app on your phone and chose which movie you wanted to watch for free. I chose Cinderella.

 I slept a few hours on that flight, and chatted with the lady sitting next to me. She's attending her daughter's wedding in London. I told her I'm backpacking Europe. She asked me if I was scared. I told her I was terrified but not to tell anyone. She laughed at that. She was also extremely helpful with guiding me through the Gatwick airport. 

  

Tell me, why do they make you walk about fifty miles in the airport? 

Anyway, since I have no checked baggage I just zipped through. The customs agent was more friendly this time. He has a daughter who lives in Texas. He thinks I'll miss the heat. 

I don't think I will. 

The weather and feel of London is kind of like that of Portland or Seattle. Rainy, lots of greenery. Only, there is older architecture and parks and INSANE DRIVERS. 

First of all, why all the roundabouts? Do you like going in circles?

Second, if you CHOOSE a LANE you won't get in an accident. 

Third, don't cut off the buses or trucks. They are bigger than you are. 

The most popular choice of car is a Range Rover. I only saw 1 Fiat 500 (sorry mom) and a few mini coopers. Not a single Ford F150. That was when I knew I wasn't in Kansas anymore. 

Because I took the bus to Victoria Station, we drove past all the local landmarks of London. It was cool seeing the cottages covered in moss, the parks, the famous streets and bridges. It was cool, you could see which areas were pre-1940 and post-1940. Some of the bridges had clear markings of age. 

So we're driving along, and my nose is glued to the window. We're moving farther into the city and I see signs for different squares and landmarks. Then suddenly, out of nowhere, we are crossing the Thames. 

You can see the London Eye and some of the more famous buildings. I had to scramble for my camera and quickly snap a photo. 

So we make our way through the south of London to Victoria station. Which, I found out, the arrivals is on a different block than the departures. Which makes no sense to me at all. But there it is. 

I got a tiny bit lost on my way to the departures for my connecting coach to Manchester. Thankfully there are helpful signs everywhere and eventually you just follow the other people with suitcases. 

 A word about coach stations. 

Filthy. 

Also, it should be illegal to demand payment for using the restroom. Connie, I think you'd kill someone. 

So I waited in the coach station (with no free wifi, which is also a crime) and eventually got on my connecting coach to Manchester. 

The English countryside is gorgeous and just what I like. Green hills, trees, hedges marking fields, sheep and horses, and ivy covering everything. 

Also, the sun is in the wrong place. These pictures were taken at 1 in the afternoon. The sun should be higher. I guess since England is at a higher latitude the sun doesn't peak in the middle of the sky like it does at home. It threw me off. The light at 1 in the afternoon is the same light as at 5 PM back home. Only weaker, you can't feel the warmth of the sun's rays burning your skin. 

So I got to Manchester safe and sound. Since I'm cheap, I looked at the map to my hotel. It said 2 miles from the coach station, and I thought "psh, two miles? that's easy. I can do that half asleep." So I walked. 

Big mistake. 

I forgot that 1) I'm sleep deprived, 2) I just changed elevations and things a whole bunch over two days, 3) I'm lugging around an extra 30 pounds, 4) I've been sitting behind a desk for a year. 

So. I walked but it wasn't fun. I stopped and rested a bunch of times, and enjoyed the city. I felt very warm and sweaty when in reality it was about 45 degrees outside. But I made it to my airbnb. 

And I'm going to be ripped when I come back

 I was welcomed in and I pretty much collapsed (after I connected to the wifi). 

The morning of the third day (today), I woke up and started getting ready for the day. And then I started vomiting. 

So that was fun. 

So instead of going out and exploring Manchester or at least taking a walk to the park, I'm in bed. I'm also planning how to get from this home to the airport, then from the Brussels airport to the next home. And on top of that planning my next booking. No rest for the weary, eh? 

Still, this place is cozy. My room is basic, but I don't care about that. The house is tiny, with small hallways and short doorways and a weird kitchen and strange bathroom. 

The stairs are sketchy. So steep it's better to slide down them, small depth, and not very wide at all. It's a hike to climb to the bathroom. Mom and Dad would likely die on these. 

 Still, it's a good place. The family is nice. It's warm. And I haven't been bothered at all. So Yay for scoring a good place for my first stop. 

Tomorrow I leave for Belgium at unholy-hour-o-clock. No worries, I'm not walking to the airport. I'm taking a taxi. 

Til next time, 

Nita