I would reccommend skipping this anecdote for now, and reading my airline atrocities first. Chronological order is splendid!

New York City : The Bronx ; London : Wherever the Fuck I Was

Being the eager little tourist I am, I insisted to myself that, even though I was dead bloody tired, I would spend as much of the evening as possible travelling around town, hopping from bars to bars and clubs to clubs and whatnot. So, I walked a bit, played with the Tube a bit (London's subway system, officially called the "Underground"), got lost a bit...no, correction: got lost a lot. After about 12:30, the Tube shuts down for the evening, leaving any nighowls to play London's answer to russian roulette, called "THE NIGHT BUS." These night buses, as far as I was concerned, were worthless, directionless, and foolish. I wouldn't have even caught one, except while I was stnding in a grand doorway waiting for a classic case of London rain to cease from pouring, a gentleman approached me literally out of nowhere and handed me his umbrella. I lost that umbrella, as well as my dignity and sleeping time, on N25: Chariot to Hell. N25 just happened to be the bus I stepped onto at about 1:00AM, and remained on for the next 1.5 hours.

World lesson: London's grand old mass transportation systems are all set up on a zone plan: central London is Zone 1, and the further you travel from London's main hub of commerce dictates which zone you end up in. The zone go up to 6. I know this because I was IN zone 6. I stayed on this mystery bus because I figured it would eventually have to return back to central London in a matter of minutes. BUt no--it just pressed on towards the east, until I was no longer in London, but a Bronx-like suburb of London.

At the second-to-last stop, a group of three clean-cut-yet-reminiscent-of-Trainspotting young Brit boys (That's boys, not "bois"--they were decidedly and proudly in favour of Sarah Michelle Gellar, Charisma Carpenter, and even the late Aaliyah. And not for their talents either.) boarded the bus. They were freshly snoggered, and not nearly ready to discontinue their evening of debauchery and misconduct. It was clear who was whom in teh group: David, whose 22nd birthday was the cause of this revelry, played "Leader." Michael, his younger brother (I'm assuming younger) played the attractive sex-going alcohol fiend. He later was sick for a bit and recovered, not remembering who the hell I was. (I'm getting to that) The rebel-rouser and comedian of the trio was aptly played by Kev. Kev was an outgoing, no-holds-barred fat boy who just liked chain-smoking American cigarettes and reenacting scenes from movies that were rather popular maybe five years ago. They were loud, obnoxious, odoriferous. Their "flat" should have been "flat"tened after the dawn of anti-bacterial disenfectants. But more importantly, they were kind, funny, sometimes intellectual, and more than hospitable to me.

You see, because I had no idea where the fuck I'd gotten myself, Dave invited me to stay with them at his mother's house, which was at the next stop. It was really more like this "Pue47se s&$ay a£ 8my m*m;s h~#'e with oos." I could barely understand their goddaned cockney--it was then that I rememberd why I had to put ubtitles on for "Trainspotting."

So, we talked about politics, American things, sports, and girls--half of which I had no real grounds for coversation with them, but played the part magnificently. They insited I stay for the football game (England v. nigeria), and then go pubhopping with them, drinking "Britney Spears" (Non-Cockney English: beers) with them and having a regular old great time. I was supposed to not sleep, AGAIN, and pick Theo up in teh morning at Victoria station. (Running out of time)

I didn't sleep at all last night ,as the song goes. They decided to stay up all night, but then passe out all over the house, leaving me with the dilemma: do I turn teh blaring BBC off, or just ignore it and try to get some sleep? Well, if you know me, you know what I did.

After I came off the tube at 1:00 this afternoon, I realized that that may have been one of the coolesst and most interesting experiences I'll ever have.

  posted by Brian @ 14:36

 
I utterly despise this computer. Or rather, the keyboard.

On to the stories.

Preparing for Takeoff Moment No. 743

I have never been delayed at O'Hare for more than, say ten minutes tops. Until Monday afternoon, that is. Because of severe weather, i.e., a microburst on the runway, my AA flight to New York-La Guardia was delayed for six hours. Now, what could one possibly do for six hours in a claustrophobe's nightmare, you may ask? Well, the thirtysomething divorcee seated next to me answered that question. Being a CEO for Smirnoff vodka, this woman (Mary Ann?) decided to prepare me for Euope by, what else, feeding me cheap bottle after cheap bottle of some terribly terrible white wine. So, needless to say, the wait hradly bothered me. Especially when one considers the $20 the gentleman to Ms. Smirnoff's right slipped me as we exited the tin can of hell. "For wine," the TV station exec. chuckled to me.

Naturally, I missed my connecting flight from NY-JFK to London. By three hours. I was pleased to find that the reservations officer was more than happy to book me a complementary room at the local Ramada (Hey, it was free...). He was also able to give me a complementary dinner and breakfast, as well as cab service to and from my hotel and the airport. I didn't sleep much--about three hours--because my next flight was at 8:30 AM.

  posted by Brian @ 14:11

 
I had written out a very, very long summary of the past forty-eight hours, and went into amusing detail about all the adventures I've already had, but then the computer shut the browser window down because it ran out of £s, and for wahteer reason I couldn't put them in nearly fast enough. Bloody bollocks. When I'm not as angry, I'll be back. This keyboard is sticky anyways.

But, to reassure all of you--I'm fine, just very tired (three hours of sleep in forty-eight hours sound healthy to you?). I am having a good time, and will have fun stories to post later on this evening. (I suppose it would be your morning, wouldn't it?)

  posted by Brian @ 08:37

 
Alright--suddenly, the prospect of being in a foreign country by myself does not appeal to me. I'm just glad I let someone get the foolish idea out of my head that traveling alone would be the most optimal way to explore Europe. I'll only have 48 hours to spend solo--it shouldn't be THAT horrible.

I have a dreadful amount of clothing to pack. I may not be sleeping tonight.

  posted by Brian @ 23:55

 
I depart in 23 hours and 45 minutes. Scared? Yes.

  posted by Brian @ 15:12