Jet lag, lost luggage and high tea, oh my!

Left Salem by car at 8:00 am, made it to PDX in excellent time. As I waited in the looooooong line to check in I decided to put my two travel guides and my vitamins/medications bag into my checked bag because they were weighing me down. Bad idea.

Why? Because, when they weighed my suitcase it weighed 53 pounds, which is three pounds over.

offending suitcase

Which, after opening the bag and removing said travel guides and vitamins/medications (while disgruntled fellow passengers waited impatiently and signaled their unhappiness with my stupidity) was the very weight differential at fault. So I put them back into my already stuffed daypack so that I could enjoy schlepping that bag and my computer bag through airport after airport.

Aside: I usually travel lightly, often with only a carry on. But working out my Oxford attire alongside my trekking in Ireland gear (boots, poles, down bag, waterproof gear, hat, gloves, etc) so that it would all fit in one bag was a challenge. One bag: two very different needs. Still, I was pleased when I was able to mix and match and make it all work. One bag. One heavy, ugly bag, but one bag.

Portland flight on Alaska was a breeze. Barely 30 minutes in the air, which flew by fast because I was seated next to an amazing woman on her way to her 20th high school reunion and she had packed a lot into those twenty years.

Twice divorced, first, from a man with whom she had a child, who then decided he had always been a woman and transitioned. She stuck it out for a long time but things were too challenging for all of them and they divorced. Still, friends, they seem to be co-parenting with love and equanimity.

Her second marriage, only two years, was with a woman. A well known chef who shall remain nameless because she isn’t “out”. But that marriage was plagued with passion, drama, power struggles, more passion, deep love, and more drama. It sounded somewhat familiar to me so we laughed wryly in that way that kindred spirits often do.

And then we were touching down.

SeaTac was a race. Less than an hour from main terminal to the South Satellite where I was switching to British Airways, those heavy bags reminding me every moment of why I had tried to put then in my checked luggage.

The flight was packed. I was in the very last row. Yes, that dreaded very last row where your seat doesn’t go back far enough to relax and you’re going to be stuck in it for 10 hours.

British Airways has the kindness to give you free movies so I binged, watching The Dutch Girl (in honor of my Alaska seat mate and something I am honestly to tired right now in my jet lagged state to remember.

I chatted a bit with the gentleman from India who was seated next to me and then he slept and I read. They fed us, they watered us. I got up several times, apologizing for waking the nice man, just so I could do yoga stretches in the back next to the toilets.

Finally, London arrived:

It took nearly two hours to get through the border check. Such lines! So many people coming into England. Finally made it through and headed, like a zombie, to collect my bag so that I could clear customs.

No bag. I waited. No bag. I waited some more, in denial. No bag.

I trudged exhaustedly to the desk to report my bag missing, where they told me they’d been trying to call me to tell me they knew it was missing but my phone wasn’t working.

So, I made my way, with less to haul (“always look on the bright side of life”, cue Monty Python here”) to my hotel, where I connected with my step-daughter, Georgie, who said, “We have reservations for high tea at the AquaShard”. So I took a shower, put back on my travel fragrant clothes, and away we went. Georgie and Nyla do high tea

Heading for the National Theatre next for Three Penny Opera, NOT wearing the tasteful black dress I’d packed for such things, but my good old denim jeans and tee shirt. Very Brechtian, I’ve decided.