Anarchy in the UK: Part 8: Homeward Bound

Alas, Saturday morning I had to prepare to head back home. I can always tell the extent to which I enjoy a vacation by how much I am not looking forward to returning. And here’s the killer part: Saturday was the first beautiful, sunny day in London since I got there. Doh!

Steven drove me to Heathrow (taking another scenic route through London since there is no easy way to get from the East End to Heathrow), well in time for me to catch a 2:30 plane. Check in and security were actually much brisker than I was expecting and I thus had two hours to kill. I wandered through a few W.H. Smith’s (I had this urge to buy a Dickens novel, but they had none, strangely). I ambled over to a Harrod’s and bought some souvenirs, and still had a few pounds left. I found a pub (it was after noon), and had a couple pints of liquid courage.

The flight back was just as uneventful as the one over, although I fortunately had an aisle seat this time (although the guy in the middle seat was a member of a species that evolved into just elbows, as he was writing something in a notebook for the entire seven hours and kept jabbing me in the chest with his elbow. I did some reading, actually slept a bit, and then watched the movie Hot Fuzz (by the makers of Shaun of the Dead), which I liked a lot. I also became obsessed with the little readout that tracks where the plane is.

After circling Newark for 15 minutes (traffic was backed up, apparently), I began humming an appropriate Fountains of Wayne song:

Seatbacks and traytables up
Stow your newspapers and cups
We’re about to touch down
Midwestern town through the haze
Customs a massive expanse
And I’m digging into my pants
Is this Oklahoma
I remember this place
Trade one town for another
Delayed, now why did we bother
An X on the calendar square
New city, same stuff
Seatbacks and traytables up
Seatbacks and traytables up

We landed at about 6:00 p.m., and immigration and customs were actually quite brisk. It was the baggage claim that took rather a long time. Another Fountains of Wayne song came to mind:

Michael and Heather at the baggage claim
Tired of playing the waiting game
Every bag has got a different name
Michael and Heather may never get home again

Michael and Heather at the lost and found
Looking for luggage that's soft and brown
“Sir, I’m so sorry, it's just not around”
Michael and Heather are glad to be on the ground
...

I caught the ironically named AirTrain, a monorail that goes from the terminal to the New Jersey Transit station. I had just missed a Penn Station-bound train, and, it being Saturday night, it was quite a long wait until the next one. And, man, was it hot and humid—I was used to cool British weather. I had tickets for a 9:45 train back to Albany, but had hoped to make the 7:45 one. Nothing doing, alas. Arriving at Penn Station, I decided to have dinner at Houlihan’s (I had time) and finally the train was ready for boarding. And was I tired (still on British time, it was basically 2 a.m. as far as I was concerned). I really just wanted to go home but, Amtrak being Amtrak, we sat in the station for 45 minutes while, as the announcement put it, the conductor was upstairs “filling out some paperwork.” Oy. I had been pretty mellow throughout my travels, but I was getting decidedly cranky at this stage.

I ultimately got to Albany about 1:30 a.m. (6:30 a.m. to me) and drove back home. I collapsed almost immediately and slept in much the next day, although I did hunker down and spend an hour or so going through the 1200 e-mail messages I had (99% spam). Despite this article from the WSJ, I have to say, I enjoyed very much the fact that I was incommunicado for a week. (My mobile didn’t work overseas—heck, it barely works here. And I didn’t feel like trying to hook up my computer to Steven’s network.)

Were there things I wish I had done in England? Of course; I didn’t make it to The Village (a five-hour train ride—one way—requiring a pricey overnight stay, really, and more advance planning than I am into these days). I did want to get down to Stonehenge (I was told it was overrated) and/or the White Cliffs of Dover. And I would loved to have walked the zebra crossing on Abbey Road (but I forgot where it was).

At any rate, a great trip, many thanks to my gracious hosts (and to Audrey for popping by to make sure my house was still standing while I was away), and I hope to get back over there sometime next year.