My final day at home was far busier than I had anticipated. I had a long list of things to do over the last week. It had roughly 30 things on it, and I got done all but two of them… however, I added about 5 on the last day. Packing was one of the tasks on the list, but considering how long it took it should have been written down at least five times. I thought it would take at tops three solid hours. Oh foolish world traveler! How wrong I was.

Here’s how packing went. I took a lot of things - out of a thing - and put those things right into a different thing - leaving the first thing. I’d go more into detail, but I don’t think I can afford the extra bandwidth charge I’d have to pay to include the true excitement of moving thing one and thing two.

I’m not really sure I got everything I needed to… my second bag was approaching the 75 pound weight limit, and I didn’t think I could get it closed… before continuing to pile more stuff in I needed to test my theory. I fought the good fight of ‘volume vs. zipper’, and shoved everything in and closed it. It was at this point I asked myself, “now, why on earth would I open it again?” So I didn’t. Done and done. I can’t remember if I packed my raincoat…

Mom who had seemed a bit scared and anxious transitioned quickly into pure sadness that I was leaving. She said it was especially hard that she couldn’t be there to help me prepare and see me off. We had a good talk about this as I was waiting to board the first plane in Phoenix, and by the time I had to turn off the phone, we were both back to all smiles.

Dad, who seemed purely sad from the beginning stood his course and stayed that way until I left. He gave me the bracelet he has worn every day of his life since shortly after I was born. My mother gave it to him as a gift before he, Uncle Barry, and their buddies sailed off to Bermuda and back. She gave it to him for good luck and love, and as Dad said, he was now giving it to me for that same reason. Dad told me over the phone after I got through security that he was going to wait and make sure the plane took off on time before leaving, just like he and Mom did when Maggie and I were really little.

I’d like to clarify now that this whole post has been written over the course of 36 hours, in which I’ve slept a total of 5. I honestly can’t remember the flight from Phoenix to New York. That’s how tired I am. More on that later though…

I think I read the entire flight. Perhaps it was just incredibly uneventful. I’m reading “Lamb” by Christopher Moore right now, which will be added to my permanent favorite books of all time list as soon as I’m done.

JFK Airport was a trip. It was like the Biltmore Fashion Center did it with Sky Harbor Airport and their secret, post-marital-lovechild was put up for adoption, sent to New York and then grew up to be JFK Airport. There were all these upscale shops and restaurants, a place with a sign saying they make their own wine… oh, and a Rolex store.

As I waited for my flight I called my parents, tried my sister, and texted furiously. I boarded my double-decker British Airways 767 sleeper plane, and thought I had it made. I walked on board and there were twin beds for as long as the eye could see. As excited as I got, I very quickly realized that the eye could apparently only see through first class. So, I step into business class and get excited again because instead of beds there are big recliners. Sweet, I get a recliner… but my seat was in row 45 and I was just getting through the teens. Business class passes me by and I make it to the section with big, “normal” first class size chairs. Fair enough, I can live with first class. This kept going.

Long story short I got to the back of the plane and sat in my regular seat along with all my fellow poor people. I was also pissed that I had a window seat until I saw: her…

Extra cutie sitting in the middle seat. You mean? If I have to get up at some point I might have to touch her leg and ask her to move? You mean I might have to start a conversation? We might have to fall passionately in love with each other in the heat of international travel only to never see each other again?!?

And then I dropped my cell phone. My backpack was already in the overhead storage locker, all of my crap was under the seat and I couldn’t see where it went. Sitting down I pawed around at the floor. Nothing. I felt around with my foot. Nothing. She’s noticed I’m doing something strange at this point but hasn’t said a word.

“I dropped my phone,” I say quietly. She stares at me blankly. My heart thumps “She didn’t respond? Could she be deaf? Could I have an opportunity to impress Extra-Cutie using my sign language equivalent to that of a retarded fourth grader?” No dummy, you’re on an international flight, she just doesn’t speak English.

Lame…

At this point I’m standing up, facing the wrong direction, with my face against the back of my chair desperately feeling around under my own chair, mollycoddling the foot of the old lady who was sitting behind me. I won’t dwell but I’ll just say she was in a crabby mood the whole flight…

I fish my phone out from under the chair, FINALLY, as Extra-Cutie is now kind of leaning the other direction watching me intently as I probably looked like I was trying to blow up the plane before it even left the ground. Victorious, I hold it up and again say “I dropped my phone.” She sees it and says “Ohhhh” and nods her head at me.

“Oh” still has not confirmed for me that she can hear… deaf people say “Oh” all the time. For many, it’s one of the only words they CAN say. I let my little fantasy live on a little bit longer in my head until the beverage cart rolls around.

“Hi folks, we just wanted to let you know we’re running an open bar until continental breakfast is served.”

WHAT? I wonder to myself as the flight attendant hands me a plastic bag, which contained a tooth brush, tooth paste, an eye shade, and a pair of blue socks.

“Red wine, please,” I order. There was only one varietal available, but it was what I would have chosen anyway. Shiraz. Glorious!

Extra-Cutie orders “o-RONGE jooz.” So fine, she’s not deaf. Big deal.

Dinner is served, Lasagna with a salad, bread, two deserts, and of course, a teacup. I declined the tea because I didn’t want the caffeine to interfere with the scant few hours of sleep I might score on the plane. That earned me a look from the flight attendant as if by rejecting the tea, I were solely responsible for Princess Diana’s death.

I put in earplugs, put on sunglasses, turned out the light and was off to sleep… and then it happened. I feel Extra-Cutie’s arm nuzzling up against mine, sort of on top of it. Granted, this was probably a kind way of saying “Hey dickhead, share the armrest!” (Seeing as she couldn’t have said it even if she wanted to…) but I didn’t care. There was that slight chance that this was my moment in history… and it was at that very moment that I threw the blanket over my lap. (With my free arm. Duh!)

As I dozed off I had the song “And I Remember Her…” by Jim Croce playing in my head.

During continental breakfast I decided it was time to bridge the language barrier… and by that I mean try and make conversation while hoping she spoke a little bit of English, because I sure as hell didn’t speak whatever she did. She told me she was “Jer-man” and that her name was “CAT-ee” (which, I’m assuming is German for Katie… go figure. The unattainable ones are always named that.) I told her that my name was David, and as we shook hands she repeated “DAY-vud.”

And that was the end of our romance… one of the greatest love stories ever told, if I do say so myself!

Customs took a total of 10 minutes before I was cleared to carry on to the baggage claim where I discovered after about 40 minutes of waiting that British Airways had lost one of my bags.

This is the second time that this particular suitcase has gotten lost during an international flight of mine. I got incredibly upset about it last time, and I’m not exactly sure why… though I remember it somehow correlated with me missing a flight. Anyway, this time it wasn’t really a big deal. There was a slight look of confusion when I said “I actually don’t have a phone number for you to reach me at when you find it… I haven’t lived here that long… oh, ya know… about twenty minutes.”

I gave them the number for the school. If it’s not here in 3 days I’m saying I had a $3,000 suit in that bag and will be perfectly happy to re-buy all of the clothes I had in it.

I carried on my little way, honestly quite thrilled that I didn’t have 2 suitcases to lug around for the next five hours. Shit, I should lose my bag every time I travel. My shoulders are happy little campers. Everyone has told me that the Brit’s are very friendly. I ask a few strangers questions, people continuously point me in the right direction.

Then I ran into a gangly fellow with an American Accent, who is getting his whole degree over here. I forgot his name within less than 8 seconds, but he too was helpful. At that point I was trying to find the bus station, which required an elevator down, taking “the tube” (subway) up one stop, another elevator, down the escalator, through a long hallway, and turn right. This fellow has done this before, and showed me the way.

He asked if I really had fit all of my stuff into my one suitcase. I told him “No, British Airways lost my other one. They’ll deliver it soon.” He asks “they didn’t lose your laptop did they?” No, I reply… and then giving more information than I needed to “It’s in my backpack.”

Half way to the bus station we pass a currency exchange station, and he asks if I got pounds already, because you can’t buy a bus ticket with US dollars. “Yes,” I said. “Did you get enough?” he asks. Right answer: “I already have my ticket.” Wrong answer: “I have 40 pounds.” As soon as I said this I realized I shouldn’t have, but rested easy knowing that I purchased a security wallet, which was dangling around my neck.

We get to the bus station and he asks if I can watch his luggage while he goes to buy his ticket back to his campus. I say that’d be fine, and do so. He comes back with his ticket. I had mentioned earlier that I was hungry, and he points out a café behind me. I ask “do you mind watching my stuff while I go get some food?” He says it’s fine.

Then I realize what I’ve just done.

I was next in line when I made this realization. My laptop, Ipod, camera, supporting documentation (everything but my passport, which was also around my neck) $2,000 of migraine medicine, and a suitcase filled with contents unknown to everyone but me, have just been left in the possession of a stranger I met not more than twenty minutes ago.

He had asked if I had a laptop AND how much money I had. We chatted about school. He showed me where to go. He established my trust by having me watch HIS suitcases (Which occurred to me at that point, could have been empty.)

I barrel out of the coffee shop, in full 5’9” 200-pound kill-mode and see the fellow just sitting by my stuff, quietly reading a book. He looks up at me and raises an eyebrow. I ask “You uhh… sure you don’t…. want anything?” He shakes his head no.

I go back in and quickly grab my breakfast. After I come out, he says, “I got an 8:40 bus ticket, I actually need to get going.” and he starts to gather his stuff and walk away. Throwing subtlety to the wind, I mutter “okay, nice meeting you” as I tear open my backpack to find what this gangly fellow has stolen, still in kill mode. Laptop: Still there. Ipod: Still there. Camera: Still there. Documentation: Still there. Medicine: Still there.

At that point I decided that this kid must either be the dumbest thief on the planet, or no thief at all. I’ll vote for the latter. (I have since searched everything. Nothing is missing, and nothing sketchy was planted in my bags.)

I’ve heard horror stories about people doing exactly what I had just done, and getting robbed blind within minuets of arriving in a foreign country. Lesson learned, possessions safe. Win-win.

And Pat, if you’re reading this (Which I’m sure you’re not, because you don’t like “words”) I heard your voice in my head right before switching into kill mode saying “Davey!?!?!?!”

I drink my coffee and eat my “That” which, was the end of needing food but not wanting to leave gangly-potential-thief with my stuff for any longer than I needed to. I quickly move into my second stupid idea which is, putting on my noise-canceling headphones and listening to music while I wait for my bus to arrive… which I will only know about via a PA system. I figure out that this is a one way ticket to sleeping on the floor at Heathrow International Airport about ten minutes before it’s scheduled to board. Two stupid things for a day were enough. I was a smarty-pants from that moment forward.

I boarded the bus bound for The University of East Anglia, in Norwich, Norfolk. (Pronounced Nor-itch, Norf-uk… you’ve got to squeeze the F into that first syllable, otherwise you sound like an idiot.)

Seated next to me was a girl named Dallas, also headed to UEA, also majoring in creative writing, also exhausted. We exchange exhausted banter the entire 4 ½ hours to school and she tells me how much she likes me, how funny she thinks I am, and how glad she is that we get to be friends. Score one for Davey!

We get to school and get our room keys and what have you. This is where the “I was so tired, I can’t remember” part starts to fade back in. I get my things brought up to my room and am too exhausted to be excited that it’s only slightly smaller than my room in ManziMo, except I don’t have to share it with anyone. I call British Airways to check on my bag, which they still haven’t found, and then realize I’ve had neither food or water in a few hours (except of course, for a bag of Swedish Fish.)

I meander in a diagonal line towards where I think food should be and somehow got there within a few minutes. I find a sandwich that seems like it shouldn’t give me an allergic reaction, and remember the advice of Miss Scott who told me to ask for “still-water,” otherwise I’ll get seltzer (which is the most foul tasting creation since photo processing chemicals.)

“Excuse me, do you know if they sell still-water here?”

“Where are you from?” he asks… picking up on the accent.

“The US.”

“Yeah, I figured. What part?”

I had just asked a Mormon, who was debating religion with a Hindu, for help. He invited me to join them for dinner. I didn’t know what conversation I had just been invited into, and probably would have accepted the invitation anyway, but boy was THAT a surprise. I didn’t even think they HAD Mormons in Europe!

I cannot express enough how difficult that conversation was to focus on while drifting by on 5 hours of sleep in the last 36.

So I said “more on me being really tired later,” earlier in this post. It’s now 7:33pm (12:33pm in Arizona) and I’m really just shooting to stay awake until 8:00 before falling asleep. Oh, and these Brits do everything in military time. So it’s actually 19:35 and I’m trying to stay awake until 20:00! I don’t have anything more to write…

I’m eating Milk Duds, and because I don’t have a student ID card yet I can’t get online, an subsequently can’t use Skype to call home, and can’t even actually post this until tomorrow so… Happy milk duds… and goodnight internet land.