UK update 28/9

I'd like to do regular updates on what I've experienced, lessons I've learned, and just general rambles.  This will be less of a well-thought out blog post and more of a list of random-ness.  Unfiltered Deanna.  Proceed at your own risk.  :P

• Woof.  Traveling.  I have never given birth, but I have a sneaking suspicion that traveling by plane is a lot like giving birth – in the sense that people who have given birth often say that as soon as they’re holding their baby, they tend to forget the pain they just experienced.  Sitting in a tiny seat for 7+ hours, praying that your Melatonin kicks in soon, and trying desperately to find a relatively comfortable position in which to fall asleep is not for the faint of heart.  
  
• But, Deanna, didn’t you pay extra to be in the business class rather than economy?  Why were the seats so tiny?  Let me tell you a story!
  
• There was some issue that came about, ending in Melody and I getting moved to the economy section.  Even now, I’m not entirely sure WHAT happened.  Melody and I were sitting next to each other but not in the same row; there was an aisle between us.  Apparently, the woman next to Melody (we’ll call her Betty) was complaining to her companion (a man in the window seat, we’ll call him Thomas) about something and then declared, “It’s not fair! I’m going to complain!” She then rose and stormed off to the front of the plane.  Meanwhile, Melody leaned over and asked Thomas if Betty was upset over something she had done, and he assured her that that wasn’t the case.  
  

Suddenly, a flight attendant showed up and told Melody that she’d have to move seats but wouldn’t say why.  They just kept insisting that she’d be in the emergency exit row, and thus would have more leg room.  Me, being me, was blissfully unaware of what was going on for the most part because I’d already stuck my headphones in my ears and was listening to ASMR (soft spoken, not chewing sounds).  It’s only when I heard Melody ask the attendant, “Can my friend come with me?” that I paid attention. 
Long story short (for reasons we don’t know) Melody was moved to economy and Betty got to have the seat next to her open.  Melody said I didn’t have to come with her, but I wasn’t going to not sit next to her on the plane so I followed.  We sat in the front row of the economy section, in the middle aisle.  Yes, there was extra leg room, but the seats themselves were definitely smaller.  We also had an empty seat between us, which was nice.  Every time we tried to ask someone why we had been moved, no one had an answer.  I was more than a little cranky by now and probably wasn’t a good sport about the whole thing, but it was extremely frustrating not to (at least) know WHY Melody was forced to move.  All the flight attendants just kept insisting that our new seats were an upgrade, given the extra leg room.  I’m sure that the issue involved Betty (who seemed extremely delightful *sarcasm* and the flight attendants were just trying to make the best out of a bad situation.  But overly tired Deanna just crossed her arms and was huffy about it.  In the end, we survived.  And we got our glass of wine (and they ended up giving us each an extra breakfast bag).  

• Sunday 22/9 (← I have to get used to writing the date like that) was a tired, messy travel day.  I had no idea what to expect from the customs process so I gave us (in hindsight) WAY too much time.  I remember when I entered Dublin back in 2019, I had to wait in line for what seemed like a long time and had to present a variety of items (my passport, proof that I had booked an outgoing flight, etc.) so I simply assumed that coming into London on a Visa would require even more time and energy.  (Also, while the UK immigration website had told me that because I was a student, I didn’t need to pay customs, I was skeptical of that that sure that somewhere along the line, someone would magically pop out of nowhere, screaming at us for doing it all wrong.  In the end, the customs process involved me scanning my passport and having a quick picture of myself taken.  That was it.  Move along.  Welcome to the UK.
  
• One of the big things I’d worried about when arriving was how I was going to transport all of my luggage from London to my housing in Colchester.  Taking various trains and buses is no big deal, but carting three 50 pound suitcases (plus my carry-on and backpack) across all that public transportation was daunting to say the least.  In the end, Melody and I decided to book a private van to pick us up from the airport and take us into Colchester.  And it was great.  I recommend Britway Airport Transfers…if you’re ever in need of a transfer.  So many places only operate within the London zones, but Birtway was up for the challenge.  There was a bit of a snafu trying to actually find our driver because I had told him to meet us at Terminal 1, only to discover that Terminal 1 was actually shut down.  Luckily, Melody showed me this amazing thing called WhatsApp and she was able to contact our driver (yeah Suresh!).  We met him in the car park and he effortlessly loaded our bags while Melody and I collapsed inside the van, exhausted.  I barely remember the ride from Heathrow to Colchester because I slept most of the way.
  
• During so much of this journey, I find myself quoting the Richard Burbage character from Shakespeare in Love. “I don’t know!  It’s a mystery!”  There’s so much I don’t know and I can’t know until I get there.  It’s been a great exercise at thinking on my feet, asking strangers for directions, and being okay looking like a moronic tourist.  
  
• When the van eventually made it to my apartment building, I was somehow even more tired.  I was under the impression that Suresh would just pull up in front of the building, dump our luggage on the sidewalk (excuse me, pavement) and drive off into the sunset, but he very patiently waited for me to run inside and check in.  I’m sure I looked a fright as I burst into the reception desk, with my raccoon eyes and overall defeated demeanor, and unceremoniously announced, “I’m here to check in!  Where do I check in?  Do I check in here?”  A very nice gentleman (named Matt) helped check me in and offered to bring a “trolley” (a grocery cart stolen from the local Tesco) down to where my bags were and help me move in. 
  
• Melody’s housing wasn’t available just yet so we had agreed that she could just stay at my place, but truthfully, I was so tired and needed some time to myself (as did Melody) so we booked a hotel for her.  As Matt loaded up my bags, Melody and I gave each other one last hug and then we sleepily stumbled off in our respective directions. 
  
• I knew that I should probably got to sleep right away, but a new wave of adrenaline whispered, “Set up your room!  Now!  Unpack!  Do it!”  And I followed orders.  This was great except for the fact that I got so worked up in getting my things sorted that I completely forgot that the main reception area closes at 6pm.  This was kind of a big deal because all of my mail comes through there and I can only collect it by checking in with one of the receptionists there.  I had Amazon-ed several packages to my Colchester address ahead of time and one of these packages included my bedding.  Thankfully, the building had provided me with a mattress protected at the very least, but my first real night in England consisted of me MacGyver-ing a pillow out of two sweatshirts and a blanket out of one of my dresses. 
  
• Yes, I did just turn “Amazon” and “MacGyver” into verbs. 
  
• Monday 23/9 was my first full day in England, and it was mainly made up of grocery shopping, finally picking up my bedding, and getting lost.  Now getting lost is not necessarily a bad thing.  One of my all time favorite things to do while in a new town is wandering.  When you have no particular place to be, it’s a fantastic way to waste some time and get to really know a city.  My initial intention was to find a pillow (as mine still hadn’t come in), but I ended up wandering all the way into the city center and traipsing across the Colchester Castle grounds.  I never actually found a pillow and spent another night curled up on my Dramatist Guild sweatshirt (thanks, Amanda; it does make a good place to rest your head when you’re in a pinch).  
  
• Tuesday 24/9 was, of course, the London day.  As a tourist I have used the Underground and traveled by train, but that was two years ago and my anxiety of looking like a dumb tourist was hard to combat.  I simply tried to remind myself, “Well, you are a tourist.  You’re figuring it out.  Give yourself a break.”  I still spent the better part of the train rides sure that some kingsguard would randomly pop out from behind me screaming, “YOU’RE DOING IT WRONG!  YOU DIDN’T PAY FOR THIS TICKET PROPERLY!  OFF TO JAIL!”  
  
• Luckily, no one yelled at me and I didn’t end up in jail.  
  
• In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m a nerd for some things: Harry Potter, Star Wars, Doctor Who, BBC Sherlock (Sherlock Holmes in general, but especially Benadryl Cabbagepatch’s portrayal), etc. There are so many fantastic pieces of film, television, theatre, and prose that take place in London so the city is kind of a landmine of geekery.  I want to visit as many locations as possible, but I know it’s going to take time…luckily, unlike two years ago when I was only in London for one day, I have more time.  Tuesday was more-or-less my Good Omens day, visiting St James’s Park.  At the risk of sounding dramatic (who am I kidding, I love to be dramatic) visiting that park (and THE bench) was an extremely powerful experience, one that definitely elicited tears.  
  
• Moving to the UK has been in the back of my head as a pipedream for decades.  As a lover of fairy tales, I think it was only natural for little Deanna to look at pictures of castles, misty moors, copplestone streets, etc. and dream of visiting some magical places.  Add in the aforementioned love of London-based pop culture and the UK’s excellent theatre scene.  I have wanted this for a long time, but it was always so impossible.  I don’t make enough money.  I could never figure out the Visa process.  I would probably end up living in a box on the streets, offering to write limericks for spare change.  The anxious thoughts and the excuses went on and on.  So, yeah, to walk through the gates at St. James’s Park and actually see the places that before had merely existed on the television screen…that was a huge deal.  I stood in the walkway and cried.  I had done it.  I had actually made it.  Perhaps I didn’t have this reaction when I landed or actually walked out of the airport because I was so tired and (ya know) most airports look alike  But this (the park, the bench) was irrefutably LONDON.  
  
• I ran my fingers over the section of the bench where someone had written, “This place feels…loved” and, yes, I felt a rush of love: love from the Good Omens fandom, love from the world, love from God, love from myself.  
  
• I think back to when I first started working at Starbucks.  My employment there has always been a little funny to me because for years I said, “If there’s one job I could never do, it’s a barista.”  I said the pace was too chaotic, the jargon too strange, and the people (demanding their coffee) too rude.  I took the job originally out of desperation because I needed some job; I honestly assumed I’d be fired within the first month, but if I was getting paid for the training, then at least I was making some kind of income.  As many of you know, I ended up staying at Starbucks for over nine years. 
  
• The point of this all is that I mourn the lost opportunities.  I mourn every time I ever just automatically thought, “Oh, I could never do that!”  I look back on my life at all the times I cut myself off at the knees and just assumed that I wasn’t smart enough or pretty enough or brave enough or talented enough to do fill in the blank.  
  
• I want to do as RENT taught me and live with no regrets so hopefully this be a lesson learned: don’t doubt yourself.  Hopefully you (yes, YOU, gentle reader) can learn from my story as well.  What’s the thing you want to do?  Go and do it!  It may take time and patience and a GoFundMe account, but you can do it.  It sounds so cheesy and trite, but it cannot be overstated: stop doubting yourself.  This coming from the girl who said she’d never be a barista and never live in the UK.  ​
  

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