,
You realize
that you have a severely huge packing issue when your luggage is over-weight
even before you commence the first leg of your three week multi-country
transatlantic journey. Yikes!! Did I really need to pack every single one of
my picturesque travel books, colour co-ordinated travel journals, my entire
scrapbooking collection and reams of blank paper, just in case I ran out? Like, seriously? Surely they will have maps, books, paper and
pens on the other side of the pond – an enticing plethora of yet to be
discovered distinctly European paper products – some of which I would end up
purchasing nonetheless, just to add to my ever expanding paper library. So what if my love of acquiring the latest
issues of foreign fashion magazines forced me to plunk extra money down on a
new carry-on backpack, consequently heaving me over like a rickety old lady,
causing me to throw my back out and subside on pain relief medication for the
remainder of my sojourn? Like, seriously,
who does that? An entire suitcase filled
to the brim with over-flowing agendas and journals? Forget the latest designer duds and handbags
in London or Paris – just point me in the direction of a stationary goods
emporium, library or bookstore and I’m in seventh heaven!
And so the
curse of my cumbersome carry-on bags had officially begun, trailing me around
Europe, as I labouriously struggled to heave my unmanageable load onto planes,
trains, ferries and buses – all the while enduring excruciatingly evil and
loathsome stares from my fellow passengers as I strove to hurl my baggage onto
various forms of transport. My three
weeks overseas came close to virtually disrupting the efficiency of national
transportation links on the continent and beyond, as trains, planes and automobiles
had no choice but to patiently wait until my pink sneaker logoed luggage was
safely stored on board.
And thus
began my week long sabbatical in merry old England, navigating the roundabouts
whilst skillfully dodging oncoming traffic.
Hesitantly placing my pink-sneakered foot onto London ground as I exited
the bus, I nearly got sideswiped by a red double-decker trolley, coming at me
from the wrong direction! Jet-lagged and in a semi comatose state, I had
numerous close calls with vehicles, buses and bikes, all of which seemed to
have mischievously conspired to keep me on my guard at all times. Accustomed to
dim-witted foreigners not paying attention to rudimentary street signs, the
Brits seemed to have hit upon an ingenious idea, and have marked the pavement
with precise instructions as to either “look
left” or “look right” for
oncoming traffic. I can’t tell you the
number of times that this basic set of directions contributed to saving my life
and permitted my pink sneakered feet to safely scoot across the street without
fear of being taken out by a garbage truck.
And that was
just my first hour in London town. Yikes!!
Stay tuned
for more London adventures next week.
Come drive
on the wrong side of the road and stop traffic with me…enjoy the escapades of
my wandering pink-sneakers as they dart around London, from Hyde Park to Oxford
Street, all the while staying clear of the overly claustrophobic underground.
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