Jet Lagged

(Originally Posted on July 3, 2007)

Never underestimate the power of jet lag.

My flight (and yes, I’m here!) was an 8pm departure from Logan Airport landing at 7:30am at Heathrow in London. Easy enough, right? An over night flight usually is the way to go for long distance travel but it was only, really, a 5 hour flight! By the time I was situated it was too early on American time to sleep and by the time I fell asleep it was only a few hours before I’d be awaken for landing. How would 3 hours of sleep get me through my first exciting day in London?

It didn’t.

If I thought I was tired deboarding the plane it would feel insignificant to how tired I was by the time we arrived at our flat. Between the plane (which landed at 7am British time) and arriving at our destination (which occurred around 10am) I lugged (with the help of Chris) my 2 overstuffed, giganticized suitcases through Heathrow airport (after dealing with Immigration) and to the Tube. Then I nearly got separated from my luggage and Chris since the tube is a voracious opponent when it wants its doors closed. Forty minutes later, with much shoving and pushing, we tumbled off the tube and into Russell Square.

This is the good part of the story. About how I already love the British. Here I am, all 5 feet of me, with 2 suitcases that I can barely handle (Chris was a big help, to be fair) and I’m faced with the daunting task of climbing stairs. I finally determined it couldn’t be done in one trip so I was set to leave behind one of my bags when very nice (and handsome) British gentlemen offered to lug my 70 pound bag up those stairs. (I have to wonder if he knew what was getting himself into.) Oh yes.. and after those stairs we had to patiently wait for a lift (elevator for all those back in the US) to take us to the ground level. Apparently there’s something to be said about how deep underground the Russell Square tube station really is.

A few blocks later, and no incidents, we arrive at our destination! We’re promptly greeted by a very charming porter and shown the way to the lift. After stuffing ourselves and our bags into this ancient lift we ascend to our 5th floor flat. Open the door and voila! Home.

By any stretch of the imagination it’s a nice flat and the location can’t be beat. Yet somehow after all that traveling (and jet lag), all that anticipating, and all those stairs I felt a little let down. A few hours and a short nap later, as I write this entry, I realize that it’s the kind of flat that grows on you. No need to be magnificent or outstanding if it can be turned into a home.