Traveling is for the Strong and Patient

And I say this after making the trip home from London on Saturday, December 20th. Any way you do this trip, it's going to be a long day, and it's going to be tiring. You must be strong and patient in order to do it well.

I wanted to leave the hotel at 7:30 Saturday morning, so this meant waking at 5:30 so I could wash, shave, and pack my final belongings. That was the easy part. I still had to move everything I wasn't taking home to the lobby and write baggage tags so they could store my clothing and suitcase for the two weeks I'd be in California. I also had to review and pay the bill for the 3 weeks stay, totaling $3,000, but that only took a moment. I never, ever charge food or other incidentals to my hotel bill, and that makes the review and payment much simpler.

The hotel restaurant opened at 7:00, and I was there, ready to eat, but the food was still coming out. I enjoyed cold "fried" tomatoes, tepid beans, cool bacon, and almost hot sausages. The eggs and rolls arrived later but I passed on them. I wanted to be walking out the front door of the hotel a few minutes later.

I returned to my room, brushed my teeth one last time, and began dragging my smaller suitcase and flight bag and backpack to the elevator and out the front door. It had been cool but dry until then, but within moments it began raining, so I hurried down the sidewalk toward Angel Station, just 2 blocks away. People around me started popping open their umbrellas, but I decided to brave the elements, muttering to myself, "this isn't rain...they should be in Seattle where it really rains -- and the locals there don't even own umbrellas!"

I arrived at Angel Station with slightly spattered eyeglasses, but otherwise fairly dry, but that's because I was wearing a jacket. I purchased a one-way ticket to Paddington Station, where I would pick up the Heathrow Express to the airport. Most tube stations are connected from the surface with very long escalators, and in some cases lifts, but I remembered that I would be required to navigate several flights of stairs at King's Cross Station, where I would make the connection from the Northern Line out of Angel to the Circle Line to Paddington. Sure enough, I had 3 flights down and 2 up at King's Cross, and it wasn't very easy carrying a large suitcase, a Harrod's box, a flight bag, and my backpack through these obstacles. But I refused to complain, since I had seen elderly people dragging larger suitcases up and down the same stairs on prior trips. I arrived at the Circle Line platform somewhat winded, and also learned that the turnstile doors closed on me each time I tried to pull the rolling suitcase through. With a big enough tug, the doors would open, but I could imagine the alarms going off in some control booth nearby.

Once I made it to Paddington, there were no more stairs, just the expected escalators. I remembered to keep my jacket on the entire time (rather than packing it inside my suitcase once I was indoors) since the Paddington Station was open air and cold, although it was covered from the rain.

The Express left within 5 minutes of my arrival at the platform and I found a seat by myself at one end of the carriage. My bags, however, were in the center by the sliding doors. That wouldn't be a problem until I tried to leave the train 15 minutes later -- and I found myself holding up several people trying to board and gain access to my section while I got my luggage down and assembled for the rolling trip into the terminal. No problem, actually; the people here are very patient and say nothing about waiting. It's part of the national psyche that you wait for many things, so they are probably born with a greater amount of patience than the average American. Or they are just accustomed to waiting for people everywhere.

Once at Heathrow I remembered to exit when the announcer said we had arrived at "Terminals 1, 2, and 3". On my first trip I had to ask a fellow passenger. I was the last to leave the train, as noted above, so I followed the rest of the people up the escalators and toward the lifts, which would take us to departures. Of the three lifts available, only one was working, and attendants were frantically trying to get them started while dozens of us queued up in front of the only working one, waiting (there is a theme developing here) for our turn to board. And here was another British characteristic being portrayed -- there was no clear line (or queue) for the lift, but everyone knew his or her position in the queue and made sure not to move in front of someone who had been there longer. That would have been improper and it's just not tolerated, although I have never seen anyone actually called on it. Everyone just knows...

I gave up on the lift and just dragged my 4-piece train up the stairs, huffing and puffing when I reached the top. Now it was time to remove my jacket and pack it in the suitcase -- the one that would be checked and not carried aboard. I didn't need to carry or wear the jacket any longer during the trip, and really didn't care if it was delayed when I reached Los Angeles. I found a quiet space on the side of the corridor and zipped it inside the suitcase, and then continued on my way to Terminal 2.

That was nearly a 1/4 mile walk and when I arrived there 15 minutes later, I discovered that Virgin Atlantic was in Terminal 3. With a deep sigh, I retraced my steps and walked another 1/4 mile in the opposite direction and then a bit farther until I came across Virgin's checkin counter in Terminal 3. By now it was 9:00 and I had been walking and on trains for 90 minutes. I'd say walking held the majority.

I got into the correct line, and within 30 minutes, almost to the second, I had my boarding pass and had checked 2 of the 4 pieces of luggage. On my way to the departure lounge, I learned that trolleys (we call them luggage carts here) are free to use, unlike here, where they cost $1 or more to rent them. Moreover, travelers are encouraged to take their trolleys through security, and there is a special holding place just for them, so the travelers don't have to search out new trolleys after security.

Security is much easier to deal with at Heathrow than in the U.S. In Los Angeles, and everywhere else I've flown stateside, we are required to remove our computers from our bags and send them through alone. Not so at Heathrow. "Just leave it in your bag", they said, which was helpful, since I was carrying two of them. One was a spare that Mary had shipped me in October and I was going to return it to Gateway from my home in California. It would have been unwieldy trying to extract two notebook PCs from the backpack, since one was jammed in pretty tight.

The security checkin process was quick, maybe 10 minutes or less, and I found myself in the usual indoor shopping mall unique to Heathrow. First, there was a large duty free store, where I could purchase liquor, perfume, cigarettes, and probably any number of other things. After that were as many as 50 or 60 smaller stores and restaurants, and while the amenities were robust, the departure lounge was so crowded that just walking through the narrow aisles was a challenge. I was lucky to find a place to sit on the few occasions I wanted to stop walking, but for most of the time I wandered around, sizing up the place, and trying to avoid other passengers.



At this time, it was about 9:30 and my flight was scheduled for 12:00, so I expected to board around 11:00 or maybe a few minutes after. That gave me about 90 minutes in the departure lounge to explore, walk, eat if I was hungry, or hopefully (for the merchants) spend my hard-earned money. Periodically, I would pause at several locations throughout the departure lounge to look at the large overhead displays which listed forthcoming flights and their respective boarding gates.



These displays would hang down from the ceilings and were at least 6 feet tall, so they could be seen from all over the departure lounge. Most disturbing, however, was that most of them said "Please wait" rather than listing a gate, and I began to worry about my flight when I heard an announcement that it was delayed by an hour and wouldn't leave until 1:00. No problem, I thought, it can't leave until it's landed, dumped all its passengers, and been cleaned and restocked. It was just a matter of finding the correct boarding gate and waiting until it was time to board.

As the time progressed, and the gate assignment did not appear on the display, I began to worry more about missing my flight. I made my way to the service counter along with dozens of other hopefuls, and learned that my flight would begin boarding in about 15 minutes at Gate 8. The counter staff was not very understanding when we told them that no gate information was provided on the large displays, even though their little computers told them the correct gate number. Failing to convince them that they should take the initiative and have someone update the displays, I left the service counter with a small group of LA-bound travelers and went to Gate 8.

Only to find the door locked and about 30 people standing around outside. The individual gate lounges are quite nice, although they have no toilets or water fountains inside. The seating appeared to be comfortable, but we were locked outside in the corridor watching the cabin crew joking around and drinking coffee not 30 feet away. They tried to ignore us, but one fellow began knocking loudly on the door and finally one of the employees opened it just a crack to see what all the commotion was about. Like he couldn't see through the glass door from across the room. He explained that we could not enter the waiting lounge, and had to remain in the corridor (with no chairs, so people were sitting on the floor) -- because they were still conducting a security check of the airplane.

OK, we like the security check concept. We could see workers all over the plane through corridor windows and they looked like they were doing all kinds of checks on the plane. But as we told the employee, the plane was not in the waiting lounge! It was outside a second series of locked doors, and why couldn't we enter the lounge and wait on the comfortable chairs inside?

This had no effect on the polite, but ever-so-bureaucratic Virgin Atlantic employee, who locked the outer door again and returned to his coffee or tea, which had probably grown cold and placed him in an even grumpier mood than before.

I wandered off down the corridor to pass the time and discovered a little-known secret of baggage handling at Heathrow, and one which may explain random and unusual damage to travelers' luggage. I snapped this picture when no luggage was in transit down its steep and fast-moving slopes, but I could imagine what happened to each bag when it hit bottom. Just something to think about when you pack your breakables, and especially those potent and fragrant liquids among your only clean dress or trousers!



Just look at the steep drop-off at the end of the slide! Kind of makes you wonder if it's for baggage or for trash. Just a thought...

A few moments later, the doors to the waiting lounge opened and two women stood guard at the entrance. I was near the front, but still followed a family of 5 Pakistanis who handed one of the women their passports and boarding passes all at once. This made for immediate confusion, since the employee was not able to mentally process 5 things at once and had to pass the documents back and forth many times between herself and the travelers before they were granted admittance. I passed without any problem, but I did wonder how the next 400 passengers would ever get on the plane if this consumed 30 seconds per passenger. And we were already well past our revised departure time of 1:00.

Most of us found seats in the waiting lounge and the place began to fill up. The planned/revised departure time of 1:00 came and went. Agitation levels began to increase in the room and I heard several heated arguments with the gate agents about the delay. I sat there and read my book.

Finally, the announcement came to board the young and the elderly, the rich and the famous, first. About 50 people crowded through the door. Next, they announced that rows 55 and higher could board, but knowing how the British handle boarding I joined that group in spite of my seat in row 37. By the time I got to my seat I found that I was seated next to the guy who had been pounding the door, trying to get anyone's attention to let us in rather than leave us in the hallway. I already liked this guy, and we talked a little before the flight. His 8 year old daughter was between us, so I felt like I had more room than on previous flights, where an adult took over half of my seat.

At the time I am writing this, we are all seated on the plane, it's been delayed an additional 30 minutes (gate hold) because we can't get a departure slot, and we will be about 2 hours late getting in to Los Angeles. With any luck, we might leave at 2:00 and land before 6:00. The flight is about 10.5 hours long, and you can always figure on an hour of immigration, baggage claim, and customs, and another hour of driving. I hoped to be home no later than 8:00 Saturday night. It was going to be a long day, since I had gotten up at 5:30 AM London time and would arrive home at 4:00 AM London time.

And this is why traveling like this, or actually commuting this way, is for the young, the strong, and those with the patience of Job.
- posted by Tom Perkins @ 12/21/2003 08:27:00 PM

 
The Lord Wolseley Pub

Just around the corner from Jury's Inn, my hotel, is a pub that advertises "exotic Thai food" on large signs outside the establishment. I have always wondered about this place, since I pass it several times a week in my walks around the neighborhood. Tonight I went inside. Now I know.



It was a near-freezing night and the pub offered a welcome warmth inside. When I opened the door, a blast of heat and acrid cigarette smoke assaulted me. A soccer game was playing on multiple television sets in several rooms, and the volume was turned up quite loud. Occasional gains or losses of yardage and attempts at scoring produced loud bursts of noise from the assembled customers. I squeezed past layers of men and the occasional woman to get near the bar, and waited my turn to order a beer. I inhaled deeply of the smoke in my immediate area, and my eyes began to sting from the discolored air.

The area around the bar was very busy, and it was difficult to get close enough to order a beer. And I really wanted dinner as well, but didn't know the procedure at this pub. Not all of them offer table service, so one of the patrons explained that "we Brits haven't figured out how to combine bar service and table service in the same establishment." I continued to wait for my chance to order, knowing that it's just not proper to push my way in front of another customer. We all queue in sequence here, and I knew that.

Recognizing my predicament, the patron I had spoken with stood up, walked around the bar, asked what I wanted, and poured it. Seems he was authorized, since he took my 5 pound note and returned change from the till. I thought it was very kind of him to get me the beer. I thanked him, told him I'd be in the next room with a menu, and asked him to send the waitress around for the order.

I moved to the next room with my beer, sipping along the way because the bar tenders always fill the beer glasses to the rim and I always risk spilling them on the walk to the table. I found the table where I had left my jacket and down vest and took my seat. This was a table with 4 chairs, and I was briefly alone until two more guys came in, surveyed the room, and decided to sit at my table. This wasn't something I had much say in, and I wasn't a local, so I moved chairs around to give them room and settled in.

They lit up their foul-smelling cigarettes and pulled the ashtray in their general direction, but mostly leaving it under my nose. I remove my novel from the jacket, opened it, and placed it on the table to stake my claim for some of the table space. And I inhaled once, twice, three times, and continued to inhale the acrid, sharp, cigarette smoke. I became a confirmed second-hand smoker, and knew that I was in for the long haul now, at least until the food arrived and was consumed. "In for a penny, in for a pound," I thought.



The waitress arrived, took my order (and mind you, I pointed and talked her through this since I wasn't sure about her command of the language), and I returned to my book. The table next to mine was occupied with 4 men, 1 woman, and a boy of about 12. They were all watching a soccer match on the television and getting excited about the action. I looked around the room and realized that of the 30 or so patrons there, only two people were not smoking and one of them was me. The other was the 12 year old boy.

In the next room, an employee prepared to move a snooker table from the center of the room to the side. He jacked up the table on a rolling device and rolled it aside. Once the floor was clear, he placed a stick on the floor, and made sure the two prongs on the stick fit into holes in the floor. I had no idea what he was doing until other patrons walked into the room, toed the stick and started throwing darts. Oh, that made sense. The stick worked better than a line on the floor.

The food arrived and my table mates continued to smoke. One cigarette after another. The food was tasty, I think, but my taste buds were starting to turn off and my eyes were beginning to sting. I tucked into the rice and Thai chicken sauce and tried not to think about the smoke. I finished the food, collected my bill, paid for the meal, and prepared to leave. As I stood up, a layer of smoke crashed over me like a tidal wave until I could hardly see the television, and I tried not to breathe, knowing I could hold my breathe until I reached the door.

The guys at my table, with whom I had not even spoken, looked up when I left, and said "Cheers", so I said, in return, "Cheers, mate", as was expected. After all, we did share the table, and we certainly shared the same air.

Later, in the hotel room, my eyes still sting and my hair, my clothing and probably my skin just reeks of cigarette smoke. Not that it really matters that much, since I will shower and change in the morning. But the really good part of this is that my jacket was in the pub with me the entire time, and I have been trying to get the fragrance out of it since I had the dry cleaners launder it two weeks ago. I think I may just have accomplished this tonight.
- posted by Tom Perkins @ 12/10/2003 09:49:00 PM

 
Overused Words

Certain words seem to get used a great deal in conversations here. They are definitely words we use in conversation in the US, but not words that we use frequently throughout the day.

Indeed

This is used as a remark when one person describes a situation or event, and the second person needs to comment. For example, I could tell Alan, the guy who sits next to me, how it's no fun to make connecting flights, especially during winter with unpredictable weather, and he would be compelled to comment "Indeed." I think it's the equivalent of saying "OK" for us. It is usually accompanied with a knowing look and a nod of the head. I think it's associated with specific individuals, such as Alan, rather than everyone I work with. But I have heard others using the word since Alan showed up.

Brilliant

Now here's one I didn't expect, but have been hearing since I arrived in September. It's often used as a parting comment at the end of a conversation, and is meant as a compliment. Someone might be discussing a problem over the phone, and the person on the other end might offer a solution. The first one will sign off the phone with "Brilliant, cheers, bye" -- and the conversation will be suitably ended. I hear "brilliant" all the time around here. I suppose the US equivalent would be "great".

Right

This is mostly used at the beginning of a sentence, and it is followed by a pause and then another sentence. Someone will begin a conversation with "Right. Now here's what you do to make this Oracle transaction go through..." I don't know why they use this word, but it's so common that I am worried I will begin using it. Right. Like I would do that.
- posted by Tom Perkins @ 12/10/2003 06:59:00 PM

 
Travel Arrangements

It's always been challenging making travel reservations for US-based travel, and I remember having to do it for 8 months on the project in White Plains, New York. For each trip, which usually lasted 10 days in New York and 5 days in California (or in transit thereto), I had to manage one round-trip airline trip, between one and three auto reservations, one set of hotel bookings, and some occasional changes for all of those if my schedule changed. The only difficulty with the above, however, stemmed from setting aside the time early enough to get favorable prices from the airline and auto rental companies, since seasonable variations would have an impact on the rates. On occasion, weather impacted the flights and I would have an unexpected delay, and when that occurred, it would be impossible to book a replacement flight early enough to get to the client location on time. That only happened twice during all last winter while working in New York, but when it did, my delays were several days in length, and I didn't obtain preferred flight schedules in those cases.

Now that I am working on a London project, the travel arrangements are even more difficult. This time, however, it's primarily because I am forced to work through the parent company's travel agent in Minnesota. Don't get me wrong -- this agent is highly experienced and knows how to make things happen that the average traveler can't do. From time to time, she arranges low prices for the flights I want, for example, but overall, she doesn't do anything tremendously special.

My first two London trips were scheduled last September, and they mostly went off without a hitch. I got the seats I wanted, the flights were non-stop Virgin Atlantic from Los Angeles to London Heathrow, and not counting the $900 pilferage on the first flight, things have gone pretty well so far. I am scheduled to leave London on Saturday, December 20th, along with most other US-based consultants returning to the States for Christmas. And like most of us, I would be expected to return for work in advance of the January 5th start date next year.

That left the next round trip to arrange. Knowing that less than a month remained before January 5th, I E-mailed the travel agent Monday, suggesting an outbound flight Saturday, January 3rd, and a return flight a month later, Thursday, February 5th. Having heard nothing for 24 hours, I called her today to verify that she could arrange for this flight, when she told me it had already been taken care of before Thanksgiving! This was news to me.

And there were four problems with this. First, she had been told by the parent company to book my flight on the correct outbound day, but with the wrong return day. This meant that I would be expected to return to the US after 3 weeks at the client site. Second, she had already charged my credit card $670 for the ticket without my approval. Third, they had booked a connecting flight through San Francisco, with a very bad schedule, so that I would leave San Francisco at noon on Saturday and arrive in London at 7:00 AM the next morning. Not much of a "red-eye" flight if it starts at mid-day. (And much worse than my usual and preferred red-eye flight from Los Angeles, which leaves at 9:00 PM and arrives at noon the next day, giving me half a chance at night time sleep.) Fourth, by arriving so early on a Sunday morning, I would have a very difficult time getting into my room early that morning, and could spend half the day wandering the streets or sitting in the hotel lobby if the room wasn't ready. Even if I paid for the room the night before (and didn't sleep there) it would be possible -- even probable -- that it would not be cleaned and ready, due to shortage of weekend housekeeping staff. It had already occurred to me before at this hotel.

After calling the parent company, and inquiring further, I learned that they had decided -- without asking me -- to place me on a 3-week return cycle. And that was because most of their consultants expected to go home that frequently, if not more often. However, most of them live either on the east coast or in the mid-west. I'm the only one from California, where the travel time and jet lag are the worst. I explained to the office travel arranger that it was going to be difficult to make the return trip on the dates they had ticketed, and strongly encouraged her to check with me before charging my credit card for trips that I may not be willing to take!

Miraculously, they located a cheaper flight from Los Angeles to London, non-stop, late night departure, with a return on the date I wanted. All I had to do was complain about their presumption to make travel arrangements without consulting me!

So with this, I am hoping they got the message that I will not travel home "every three weeks" because they decide it's a good idea or because it's standard company policy for their international consultants. I hope they understand that I won't be happy if they charge my credit card for flights without obtaining my approval first. And I hope I can get them to treat me with a little more maturity than their 25-year-old new hires that don't know any better.

International travel isn't that difficult. Staying here on weekends and for many weeks on end is tolerable, and I always tell people that if you have to work in a foreign country, this is one of the best. But making the trips between work and home should not be any more unreasonable or unpleasant than it already is.
- posted by Tom Perkins @ 12/09/2003 10:26:00 PM

 
O'Riordan's -- The King's Head Pub

London, and the rest of the British Isles, is probably blanketed with pubs, and many of them are old, interesting, and unique in many ways. I've learned that neighborhood pubs -- those off the beaten track -- tend to be easier to get into, and I can usually find a seat or table when I find one of those. On the other hand, popular urban pubs are crowded almost all the time, and in the touristy areas such as Leceister Square, Piccadilly Circus, or Trafalgar Square, the weekends are particularly difficult. On one outing to Trafalgar Square, I ended up at the Sherlock Holmes Inn & Pub, and really needed lunch at that time. Since all the tables and chairs were taken, I ate my lunch standing up at the bar. My legs didn't get any rest, but my stomach felt better and I had an overall enjoyable experience in any case.

Last night, Saturday, I needed to get in some walking after 8 long hours of struggling with the Oracle system at the office. A whole crew of us were in there working overtime, and while we logged the time, I can't say that the effort was particularly beneficial for the client. So it was that when I left at 6:30, I was looking forward to a walk along the Regent's Canal, and hoped to find a pub before 8:00 so I could get some dinner.

This canal was formed 100s of years ago to carry cargo from outer areas into London, and it eventually connects to the River Thames in several areas. In recent years, the canal has been converted to a scenic walk and tourist area, and the original canal boats are now used as pleasure boats for paying customers. The best thing at night is that the canal walkway is open for most of its length, many miles in each direction, so I can walk without crossing busy streets or encountering too many other people. It's quiet, the canal is peaceful, the locks are interesting to see and hear, and there are several pubs along the way.

I passed by one called "The Narrow Boat Pub", named after the long, narrow boats still in service in the canal. I hadn't thought of this before, not living near canals, but the boats must be long and narrow in order to move several of them through the canal at one time -- and in both directions simultaneously. I looked into this pub, observed that it was a little more crowded and raucous than I wanted at that moment, and passed it by.

Within a mile I came to another one after climbing to street level and making a right-hand turn down Kingsland Road. It was apparent that I was no longer in a touristy section of town, but instead was walking down a busy commercial/industrial street. Buses were unloading and loading small groups of people, all of them looking as though they had worked a long day, but not always in a computer-related industry. Across the street from the Shoreditch Library, I noticed an Irish pub -- "O'Riordan's -- The King's Head", and the distinguishing feature was the ceiling. I caught a glimpse of the ceiling through the window as I passed, walked a few more paces, thought about it, and reversed my course to enter the pub.

As I walked in, every head turned, and I instantly realized I was the youngest person in the pub. The place was filled with pensioners and grandparents and elderly working people, and this was their local hangout. This definitely wasn't a pub that would be filled with young 20s and 30s people after a day at work, but this was a pub where local families (multiple generations of them!) would come for a pint or two and some socializing.

I ordered my beer, found a seat in the corner by the unlit fireplace, and looked up. Hanging from the ceiling was the most eclectic collection of ceramic tea pots, glass pitchers, brass pots, metal bowls, lanterns, candlesticks, serving bowls, beer steins -- and dozens of other things I can't remember.

Irish music was playing on the jukebox, the customers were visiting and drinking (and in one case, trying to find the door, but not succeeding, he was so drunk), several children appeared from nowhere to play snooker on a miniature table, and the room filled with cigarette smoke. Through all this, the tea pots and lanterns on the ceiling continued to reflect the light from floor and table lamps on the mismatched, hand-me-down furniture and I could see a dim image of each one on the highly-polished wood floor below me.

I finished my beer, thanked the bar tender, and prepared to leave, making a note of the location so I could return another day when I needed a quiet place to read or just watch the people talking to one another.

As I opened the door to leave, every head turned again, and I realized that it was a habit the customers had developed over the years to make sure they could greet or say goodbye to their friends. No one said a word to me, and I knew it would be a long time before I would be Irish, or local, or familiar.
- posted by Tom Perkins @ 12/07/2003 12:43:00 PM

 
More Jet Lag

I am writing this in the hotel room on Tuesday night of my first week back in London for this work cycle. After a week at home (November 22nd to 29th), I boarded a flight from LAX bound for Heathrow late Saturday afternoon, and it was scheduled to arrive the following Sunday about 11:30 AM. The trip was pretty easy, partly because I am getting used to the routine and the actual travel time of 17 hours door to door, but I started the trip with more fatigue than what I had expected.

Having planned for a week at home to enjoy the family and get some home projects done (not to mention a little mountain hiking), I was somewhat disappointed in how I felt physically and emotionally the entire week. Sure, I was a wee bit sick with a sinus infection (so what else is new?), but I never really felt normal from the time I got off the plane in Los Angeles. I expected some jet lag as before, but not for 7 days!

Perhaps, as I later wondered, the dust and latent smoke particles from the recent fires, combined with my usual cat allergies, all combined to worsen my sinus symptoms. That may all be part of the equation, but it's always way too busy during holiday seasons -- too many things to do, people to see, places to go. Hey, that sounds familiar. I wonder who made that up.

So I made it to the airport in Los Angeles with no problem. The usual car service showed up precisely on time at 2:00 PM Saturday and delivered me to the terminal at 3:00 PM. From there, the lines and delays were just beginning.

First, there was the line at checkin. That took about 45 minutes. Then I waited for them to X-ray my checked bag, since if they opened it, I wanted to observe the process. Fortunately, they didn't need to look inside, so my bright neon colored cable ties remained on the bag for the entire trip. These are my "signature" locking indicators -- they won't keep anyone out, but they will tell me if anyone has broken in, and it's easy to identify at baggage claim. So far, I've seen ribbons, bows, bandanas, and yellow duct tape, but I've never seen bright neon cable ties on baggage. Mine are still unique.

When the TSA X-rayed my bag, it seemed to spend about 30 seconds in a giant machine, but when they finished, the bag shot out like a bullet, hitting a barrier at the end. I've never seen luggage move so quickly, and I wondered about any damage that may occur to bags going through that machine. Strange. You know, if they would remove the barrier at the end of the machine, and turn the machine around, it's possible the luggage could be "shot" directly to the airplane with no intermediary handling. Just a thought.

The next stop was for carryon baggage screening. That involved another 30 minute line, where I queued with passengers who had previously been waiting at checkin. People were removing shoes and high heels, but I had worn sneakers and they didn't cause any problems with the magnetic sensors. My carryon baggage went through without a problem, thankfully.

Finally, the wait was over. No immigration control or checkpoints to leave the country.

I spent maybe 2 hours in the holding area waiting for the flight to board. Since I had an assigned aisle seat, I didn't have to worry much about where to put my bags once I boarded. My usual practice is to put my backpack in first in the storage above my seat, followed by a jacket and my flight bag. It all fits nicely and I keep whatever leg room is available in a coach seat. But you must get the bag up there before other passengers take the space. Later, once all the bags are situated (and usually after the flight has reached cruising altitude), it's safe to remove the bag for long periods without losing the "shared overhead space".

During the flight, I picked up a restaurant tip from a seat mate -- Carlucci's on Upper Street on the right hand side. Said to have good pasta, but I will have to find this one. I didn't see it tonight in my ramble down in that area.

On the flight I was looking forward to watching one or two movies. Well, I had no problem watching them, but my headphones wouldn't plug into the seat jack since someone had broken off their headphone plug in the jack. The airline's solution was a splitter device so I could listen to the movie on my seat mate's audio system, but that assumed I would impose on her for the right movie and adjust the volume accordingly. Not. I opted to watch movies with no sound and just tried to sleep.

That would have worked out pretty well except for the talkative toddler three rows in front of me. Normally, my earplugs block out all the necessary noise, but this time, the toddler's vocal pitch tended to penetrate my ear plugs. Everyone around me was irritated. This kid talked -- loudly -- all through the night. And her mother didn't seem to think this was unusual. Here was a 2-year-old spending the night awake when the rest of us were trying to sleep. Odd.

As a result, I got minimal sleep, in spite of the ear plugs and sedatives from the doctor. At least we got to Heathrow on time. And waited at the gate for 30 minutes because the police authorities needed to board the plane and detain several passengers. We waited and waited ("please remain seated"), and finally, the police (with guns, which is unusual in England) boarded the plane and talked to two passengers within a few rows of my seat. Everyone was curious, and the passengers didn't seem to understand what was going on or expect this special treatment.

We left the plane while the police kept the suspects in their seats. I'm sure they were terrified. But the police here are exceedingly polite, so at least the passengers/suspects weren't thrown to the floor or treated brutally. We never did figure out what was going on, but we were glad to be out of there and on our way through the arrival process.

More lines

The first queue involves immigration. At this point, I only had my carryon bags, but had completed a brief entry permit that the immigration officer reviewed with my passport. After a few questions about the purpose and length of my visit, I am through there and on the way to baggage claim. And that took about an hour. Many, many bags trundled past on the conveyor belt, but none of them bore the signature neon colored cable ties, and I knew it would be a long wait. I spoke with one of the Virgin agents, and she said there was a problem with the transfer equipment. After an hour, I got my bag and headed toward customs. There are two doors: "Nothing to Declare" and the other one. I selected "Nothing to Declare" and noticed that each table in the room was occupied with an unpacked suitcase, a customs agent, and an unhappy traveler. Since all the tables were full, I didn't get selected for inspection, but I'm sure someday my number will come up.

From there it was a long walk to the Heathrow Express, maybe 1/4 mile from customs, but I arrived quickly, just to find that the train had left and I had a 20 minute wait for the next one. Still in a sleep-deprived trance, I paid for my ticket at the machine nearby and waited with everyone else.

The Express arrived, and we left for Paddington Station. This took only 15 minutes, and I enjoyed the bumpy but scenic ride through the London suburbs. Before I was ready, we arrived and was off to find the tube station in the terminal and make two connections for Angel Station, the closest underground to my hotel. That took about half an hour.

Finally, after hours of standing in lines and waiting at the airport and train station, and several brief periods of walking and waiting at underground stations, I was on the street and walking toward the hotel.

But the room wasn't ready. Another wait. I wanted a specific room, 231, which had a decent size and a good view of the street so I could check the weather each morning. I've also had most things repaired there during previous stays, a big reason I request the same room each time. After 30 minutes, the room became available and I moved in.

By now it was about 2:00 PM, over 2 hours after landing at Heathrow. I was still a walking zombie, having missed a good night's sleep.

The first order of business was to unpack the necessary items, but more important, I needed to find lunch. The breakfast we were served on the plane was kind of meager and I was already hungry again. Hoping that I could catch a Cumberland Sausage at the street market two blocks away, I walked over drooling and eager, but the sausage vendor wasn't there. I panicked briefly but ended up at a decent restaurant nearby where I ordered chicken pasta and a bowl of potato leak soup. That was better.

I'm not sure what I did the rest of the afternoon. It was kind of a blur. I was tired, but didn't want to take a nap in the event that curtailed my going to sleep time in the evening. I managed to iron some clothing, unpack my suitcases, and walk around some more. But the time passed without much to remember. Eventually, it was late at night and I fell asleep quickly.

The first night back I sleep well, since I missed a full and deep night of sleep on the trip over. The second, third, and further nights are a different matter. It's those that make it difficult to sleep at a normal hour of 10:00 or 11:00 PM. For example, I'm up now at 1:15 AM and hoping for sleep quickly. Eventually.

It's no problem getting up in the morning and feeling productive all day. It's just a problem falling asleep the first few days after I arrive, not counting the arrival evening, when I am totally exhausted.

This is not what I expected, and I'm not sure if it's normal and will be ongoing for each return trip. But it's sure annoying and compromises my effectiveness at the office, to be sure. And that's the state of affairs here in London Wednesday morning at 1:15 AM.
- posted by Tom Perkins @ 12/03/2003 01:15:00 AM