My husband’s sister got married on Thursday, March 29, 2012 in England. But due to scheduling issues, I was only able to get Tuesday through Thursday off (Friday and Saturday is my weekend.) And because of flight schedules, we had to leave England on Friday if I was to have any hope of making it back to work in Chico, California, U.S.A. on Sunday.
This means that we spent all day Tuesday flying in, most of Wednesday driving to the wedding site (Ilfracombe is on the coast, about 4 hours southwest of London), took a 10 p.m. train back to London on Thursday (so yes, right after the wedding) to make our 11 a.m. flight on Friday back home—which, of course, included a 4 hour layover in Paris, and a 12-hour layover in New York. Yay!
A look at our grand adventure:
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
4 a.m.: This is what time our adventure begins. We need to leave this early so we can make it to San Francisco in time for our 1:10 p.m. flight, and more importantly, have enough time to eat breakfast at Brenda’s French Soul Food restaurant. It has more than 2,000 reviews on Yelp, and most of them begin with “SO GOOD.” Also, the chef/owner is half Filipino. I almost feel obligated to eat there.
(Side note: I got off work at 2 a.m.)
4:45 a.m.: This is the time I actually wake up.
6:15 a.m.: This is the time we actually leave. My husband is unsure if we will have enough time now to go to Brenda’s. I tell him I will drive.
9:30 a.m.: After driving illegal speeds in pouring rain, nearly running out of gas and having to drive nearly 2 miles off the freeway to search for said gas in a lonely, barren landscape, hitting traffic (in Berkeley) and a stop at a Safeway for snacks, we have finally made it to Brenda’s. Brenda’s is my favorite kind of place to eat: artfully decorated, lots of light, filled with good-looking people. (Bonus: If you wear anything more than rock-climbing sneakers, yoga pants and a half-zip pullover, you are automatically the best dressed person there. San Francisco: All the intelligence and culture of New York, none of the fashion sense.)
We order the sweet watemelon iced tea, the beignet flight and the creole vegetarian omelette with grits and a cream biscuit. What really makes the meal is the grits—they’re buttery, savory and homey; they make you feel as if you’re being wrapped in a warm blanket while freezing rain batters your windows and it’s your day off.
SO GOOD.
11:15 a.m.: We have arrived at SFO airport and are shuttled to the International terminal.
11:23 a.m.: We realize we are at the wrong terminal, because although the tickets say British Airways, the flight is really on American Airlines (huh?)
11:40 a.m.: Finally at the right terminal
11:50 p.m.: Somehow, I am unable to check in, even though we are only bringing carryon luggage. We get into a horrendously long line for the counter.
12:20 p.m.: The good news: Someone from American Airlines takes pity on all the passengers that have to make the 1:10 p.m. flight and pulls us out of line and takes us straight to the counter.
The bad news: I booked the ticket under my new legal name, Jammie Karlman. But my passport is still under my old name, Jammie Salagubang, which is why I couldn’t check in at the kiosk. We are facing a $150 change fee. Life is bleak.
12:45 p.m.: After what seems like forever, the very nice Swedish-heritage lady is able to change my ticket, for free! (I am more grateful than ever to have married Bjorn).
12:50 p.m.: We are turned away from entering the security checkpoint because my bag is deemed too big to be a carryon. What the what! We plead with the guy, who is an elderly Filipino gentleman, telling him we will miss our flight. He says, “Whether you will be late or no, you must return to the counter. Whether you will miss your flight or not, you must check in your bag,” (if I weren’t so panicked/pissed I would have been amused at his formality).
I briefly debate speaking to him in Tagalog to establish a cultural connection, but decide my house Tagalog and the phrases I can speak with any authority (“Let’s eat now” and “How do you say that in English?”) probably will not help.
12:52 p.m.: We rush back to the nearest counter, which is the first-class one. They try to tell us to get in line for help. We tell them our flight time and our dilemma. They say, “Yeah, that bag is too big to be a carry-on,” and give us a blank stare. Bjorn gives them a hard stare in return and says, “That’s helpful.” Guilt creeps into their eyes and they slap a baggage label on my bag and toss it on the conveyor belt. Yay!
1:05 p.m.: Amazingly, we have made it through security, reached our gate and are now settled in our seats.
6:30 p.m.: We are in Dallas, Texas for our layover. We think we have 3 hours here. We take our time getting off the plane and mosey around for a while.
7:12 p.m.: We look at our tickets. We realize that our flight is at 7:40. More scurrying ensues…until I need to use the bathroom. Bjorn pleads with me to use the one on the plane. I just have to refuse. Those things are tiny and nasty. Side note: I really don’t understand the appeal of joining “the mile high” club in an airplane bathroom cubicle. Too many exposed parts could touch too many germy surfaces. Ick.
Around 11 p.m.— We made it on the plane and have watched “Hugo” (during which, because of the crap headphone connection, I had to keep one hand pressed on the plug to hear anything). We are in a 5-seat row with only 3 people in it, so I have claimed the empty seat next to mine as my own. I take one sleeping pill, Sominex, lay my feet across Bjorn’s lap and prepare for sweet sleep.
30 minutes later: Sleep has not come. I get up to take another sleeping pill. While doing so, I realize the woman at the end of the row had also decided to stretch out on the other seats—and her feet had been 3 inches from head. I decide to sleep with my head in Bjorn’s lap.
Another 30 minutes later: I am still awake. But whereas before I was keyed up and feeling energetic, now I feel tired, but unable to sleep. Bjorn is sitting upright, his chair is not even reclined, I am sprawled across half his body and he is sleeping like a baby.
Some time later: I have lost all track of time. The woman sitting in front of Bjorn has reclined her chair, all the way back. With my head on Bjorn’s lap, that means my head is about 4 inches from hers. I can hear the sound coming out of her headphones.
Later: The chorus of dry coughs begin.
Somewhere over the Atlantic: I start cursing Sominex in my head. I come up with “Somnisux.” At this time of night, I think it inordinately clever.
Later: I think of taking another Somnisux, but start getting paranoid that I will overdose on it. Meanwhile Bjorn is still upright, neck at a weird angle, mouth slightly open and STILL ASLEEP. I stare at him. I decide to pinch his arms. He mumbles something, and keeps sleeping.
Later: I have given up all hope of sleep. I stretch slightly. Bjorn bolts awake.
END OF FIRST DAY (or rather, the end of any sleep for the both of us)
Around the world in about 4 days – Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Around the world in about 4 days – Thursday, March 29, 2012
Around the world in about 4 days – Friday, March 30, 2012
