The Transit and Arrival

Hello! First of all, I'd like to reassure all of you who haven't seen on Facebook or email that I am indeed safe, well, and in England!

My flight into London Heathrow was uneventful in the good way, though I did have a few memorable moments in airports throughout the journey.

In New York, after I managed to lug my bags to the international gates, I happened to sit down next to a lovely great-grandmother named Mary, who also, it turns out, travels and blogs. She and her twin sister Martha have been all kinds of places over the years, and what started with her wondering where there was a restroom and me wondering where there was food led to a lovely conversation about our respective adventures. You can follow her adventures (if she doesn't mind my sharing) at www.the-traveling-twins.blogspot.com.

About the time that first class started boarding, I got up to do some ballet stretches by the window, since it was effectively the last time I would be able to move for six-and-a-half hours, and while I did so, a Jewish man stood up further down the window and appeared to do some kind of prayer. Pardon my complete cultural ignorance of Jewish custom, here, but he appeared perhaps particularly Orthodox or Hassidic, with a long black coat and large black hat, a full beard, and the curled locks of hair by his ears. He took off half his coat, rolled up his sleeve, and wrapped a complex set of leather straps around his bare arm and over his head, then stood before the window with his arms upraised. I stood at a short distance, watching his deep calm as I bent sideways over my leg, propped up at ninety degrees on the window ledge. There seemed to be something introspective and self-sufficient about him, as if he were content with conversations and experiences held inside himself, and therefore observed and perhaps enjoyed the passing world, but could also easily drop it from his mind for bigger things.

On the plane, I got an aisle seat, which is fortunate as I really can't sit down for six hours at a time, and people do make such a fuss when I have crawl over them every hour or two. I actually fell asleep for a little bit, with the aid of a lovely mix CD I had with me. First time I've ever slept on a plane, and it did much to improve my mood upon arrival.

After the jetway got stuck in midair about halfway to the airplane, and the engineers came and repaired it for us, I had to pass customs, which is a thing not lightly done in any country, I am coming to discover. There was a separate line just for International Students, and so I joined it. The vast bulk of the other students in line were Asian, many Chinese as I could see by their red passports and the English labels on their Chinese health certificates.

Having a long time in line, I observed all of the non-student comers to the non-UK/EU passport line, and learned that, while of course no country is clearly distinguishable all the time, by and large one can identify other Americans as the people with the blue passports and too much luggage. Above my line, there were scrolling screens and televisions that aired short programs, without the sound, sponsored by VisitBritain. Sometimes I have heard Americans wonder why things like Wills and Kate and the monarchy, or old castles and quaint villages, can become such a big deal to people in the US. Surely, the subtext runs, those are very stereotypical things to excite you about modern Britain? Well, if they are, then I can tell you conclusively that stereotypical things must sell, because the VisitBritain short films I saw detailed various areas of England, in all its pastoral, castle-filled, Royal Wedding glory.

However, the screen with still slides was actually my favorite. Mostly it was dull information about which documents students needed to show to pass customs, but one screen warned of "Detector Dogs at the UK Border," and featured a large picture of a thoroughly goofy Springer Spaniel, standing next to someone's bag with it's pink tongue lolling out of its amber-eyed, droopy-eared face, and its tail half-wagging behind its liver-and-white spotted body. It was the least intimidating, friendliest photo of a drug-sniffing dog that you could ever imagine!

After customs, I went to collect my bags. I found the carousel marked, and started to get a sinking feeling as minute after minute went by and the same bags, none of which were mine, trundled 'round and 'round. After about half an hour, I worked myself into a state of some panic, and started wandering anxiously around to all of the carousels. On the way, I ran across an American Airlines kiosk, where apparently American had already pulled my bags and had them waiting for me, I suppose because I had taken so long to get through customs. At any rate, I strapped all my four bags together and off we went.

To be continued...

(Time for shower and bed, here.)