London: Getting from here to there

Getting ready to get ready

My travel prep consisted of:

  1. getting winter coat dry-cleaned
  2. having glycolic facial at beauty school
  3. receiving hair cut at local salon recommended on Yelp
  4. buying camera that fit in pocket
  5. taking every single thing out of my closet to see if it fit/I should take it with me

Not looking (so much) like an American

I love being an American, but Jayzu Kreestay we look like utter slobs when we travel.

When we were in Paris (oh-my-gawd I love saying that) it was so obvious which ones were the Americans—their sloppy, poorly fitting clothing gave them away every time, to whit: Whilst waiting outside the Dali Museum for friends I was stunned to see a large, puckery-butted American woman wearing white stretch pants through which her flowered underwear was clearly visible. Outside the Dali museum! You can imagine the contrast…

Any-hoo, in my wand’rings I have determined that non-Americans in non-America do not wear jeans for everything. So, my wardrobe for my three days in London consisted of:

  1. two pairs of identical black trousers in which I felt I presented a modicum of stylishness, although it turns out that one was navy but so dark that I didn’t notice the difference in color until I was walking to the British Museum in them, even though I had owned them for six weeks;
  2. two identical shirts, one white, one blue;
  3. one black turtleneck;
  4. one brown/black/white/blue stripe-y button-down vest;
  5. four pair of socks (all black);
  6. enough underwear to last the trip (or so I thought, but I was just slightly wrong);
  7. outerwear consisting of newly dry-cleaned winter coat, lovely shawl, gloves, handbag;
  8. one pair of shoes;

I have traveled long enough to know that one often re-wears clothing when one is traveling, and so two shirts for three-ish days was enough.

Shuffling off to London-alo

I knew that I was going to give up fashion for function in my choice of “Oh-I’m-Going-To-London-For-The-Weekend” shoes, but at least my Shape-Up Work shoes were black.

And my socks were black.

And my pants were black.

And black on black on black blends, right?

So nobody’s going to actually see my ugly-fugly Frankenshoes, the ones with the negative-heel technology and squidgy soles that will allow me to actually walk around London, right?

I must be of an age, because even though I know my shoes aren’t fashionable in any way (they’re waitress shoes, for gawd’s sakes) I don’t care. My hope springs eternal that I’ll have boundless energy and my shoes will be this miraculous miracle that will propel me forward with a bounce in my step and no pain in my body.

Onward and…onward

The nice things about what I was bringing was that 1) everything I wasn’t wearing fit into an carry-on overnight bag without wheels, and 2) everything could be worn with everything else.

I knew I was not going to any place that required an evening gown (sigh), so the above was perfect—perfect, I tell you!—for my trip.

I forgot:

  • shampoo and conditioner
  • sleepwear

Although I may have decided that the hotel would have the haircare-ware.


A bus, a train, a train, and a bus got from the house to the airport in approximately 50 minutes.

See, you really can get there from here

I left from Logan‘s Terminal E.

Terminal E – for all “Everywhere but Here” flights

Grabbed a sandwich, bought a magazine, then they started boarding.

And they start boarding early now-a-days, 1:25 for a 2:45 flight.

A little piddle across the pond

Flew Virgin Atlantic. Plane not full. I’m the only one in a four-seat aisle. Nice!

Actually, we flew over Greenland…


On the ground

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