THE MORNING OF MY DISCONTENT

I am just not having any luck with this whole trip. So I have my train ticket from Victoria to Gatwick but I find that the Underground doesn't start early enough to get me to Victoria to catch my train. This is why you do your research folks. Don't be like Eric. Normally I am better than this but I thought I had a guide and all I've been doing with any moment of free time is learning French since that is how I will get through my day by day for the next three to eight months. Two plus days in London didn't rank that high on my priority list.

So I hire a car to get to Victoria which it turns out to be nearly the same price as if I had just hired a car straight away to Gatwick, I save 10£ and lose an hour of sleep I probably wouldn't of had anyway. Yep, you guessed it, I couldn't seep once again and I was so tired when I laid down last night I was sure I'd pass right out. Six hours later I'm sitting at the edge of the bed staring at Ray's Iphone waiting for the the alarm to go off. It does. I grab my bags, do a final run through and wait for the driver. I have to admit if you're going to get a lift it might as well be in a Mercedes. The driver is nice and he wants to talk but talking and watching the curving traffic from the wrong side of the road is really doing nasty things to my stomach. So I'm sure I didn't do much in the terms of American/Pakistani relations with this fellow. What can I do? I thought the most polite thing for me to do was to NOT throw up in his back seat.

Thirty minutes later and I'm at the platform with a whole host of workers who have no idea from where the train will leave. I finally ask a young girl who looks in the know and she confirms my suspicion...no one really knows. Five minutes before the train is due to depart the one right in front of me flings open it's doors and a man steps out and I can only muster, "Gatwick?"

"Yes sir, you'll want to be in the first four cars."

First four cars huh? Cool. Thanks for that info that I'm sure would have saved me the huge hassle of dragging my two backpacks down the narrow passage of the Gatwick Express. It all sounds so Harry Potter doesn't it? Funny thing is they never even mention Gatwick as one of the stops until way down the way and after the cars had separated. I looked back at the other cars after we separated and waved goodbye to the poor non-angleterre who were now headed to the lost city of Crumpetswick or the like.

Of course I have to make my way to the North Terminal and the train pulls into the South so I catch another train and am now able to move onto my new fear. Two nights prior I get an email from Easyjet saying that if my carry on couldn't fit in the overhead or if I had two carry on that I would not be able to board and would miss my flight...NO EXCEPTIONS. The night before I pushed and stuffed and twisted everything I could into my main backpack since I now had to squeeze my camera case into my secondary pack. They made it sound as if the plane was the size of Peter pan and I practice my plea and ponder just how much I'm willing to bribe the proper person with or even how much a train from London to Strasbourg would be. The primary moment was before me as I handed over my passport.

"You pack your bag today, sir?"

"Boy did I."

"Anything explosive or hazardous?"

At that point I thought it might be a bit of fun to mention my stomach but deferred out of fear security would make a piñata out of me.

"No sir."

I breezed through security and stepped out into this extremely modern terminal with Hugo Boss and cigarettes for sale everywhere. I mention this because I had just stood in a security hall that resembled something from the 70's TV show, Barney Miller, so this was quite the sight. I find my flight on the big board and it reads...BOARDING. It's gate number 101 and I am at 53 and I come to find that 101 is nearly back to the South Terminal but what's a guy to do but hoof it...again. I really don't care as long as my bag slides inside that beautiful storage bin. I make it there in plenty of time and slide my jacket over my sack so they can't get a good bead on just how fat the silly thing is. My plan always was that if I can get past the steward or stewardess that I'm home free because if my bag doesn't fit then I can slide out my camera case, collapse the bag, and slide both of them home. All this worry was for not as my fat ass bag easily slid into the overhead bin. It's a freakin' Airbus and they made it sound as if we lost power we could all just flap our arms and blow. I really need to sleep but as you all know by now...I can't sleep on planes.

So let's see, 5am-car, 6am-train, train again, security, sprint, hide and seek, and then the plane. Where's the slap and tickle I was promised?