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Friday 27 August / Saturday 28 August 2010:

I'm officially on my way. Out of not only my comfort zone (although it is surprising how quickly one can adapt... at least so far), but out of my country. I've never been so far from home, all by myself. It's strange. I know my husband has done this (in his younger years). And my children have actually done this. But here I am, 52 years old,flew to London by myself for the first time ever! Exciting? Eh. Interesting? Yes. Tiring? Yes, but so far manageable. Granted, I'm sitting in an airport waiting area, counting down from the first hour or so of an 8 hour wait until the next flight. And my clock says is 4:00 in the morning in my head. So, we'll see how this goes!

The flight from SFO to Heathrow was quite easy - considering it was 10 hours long. I had the luck of a window seat with no one right next to me. And my one-seat-over seatmate was an American ex-pat who's been living in London for the past 17 years. A PsychoAnalyst no less. Delightfully, she did not try to diagnose my dreams or my relationship with my mother. Interestingly, she, in fairly rapid succession, drank two personal sized bottles of wine (after admitting she'd not eaten all day, had stayed up until 1:30 the night before, and gotten up at 5:00 am). Shortly after the meal - while I was having a blissful snooze under the delicate ether of a pharmaceutical aid and a bloody mary chaser - she apparently got up to use the loo (see, I fit right in here in jolly old London already) - and then fainted. Gee, I wonder what could have contributed to that? Any way, there was minimal fuss and she was well taken care of. I only noticed that she had been gone an extraordinarily long time when I awoke once to find my personal movie had ended, used the facilities myself, dozed back off and awoke to find her just coming back . I still didn't think much of it. Maybe she found a crew member in need of emergency analysis. Maybe she joined the International Mile High Club - she is recently divorced, afteral. It was when I noticed that she had a full water bottle that roused enough curiousity for me to basically say "Hey, how'd you get a whole bottle of water?". She then told me her saga (waking up on the floor in front of the WC, being tended to in a special sort of nursing area, given juice & water, puking, being tended to some more, and finally being returned to her seat). I commisserated and tut-tutted and said she should rest, etc. As much as I hate little cups of water, I didn't want to go through all that just for my own bottle of water.

So Heathrow, here I am. So many foreigners! Oh, wait. I suppose I am one of them. Lot's of Francaise being spoken. Lot's of great British accents. Heard a lovely Scottish brogue. And then of course there’s the gutteral glottal german-speak. Lots of women in scarves, shawls, fully covered. Lot's of turbined men. Just not what we're used to in our little corner of California.

I'm hungry & getting a headache. 4:30 AM on my computer. 12:30 PM on the wall. Next flight at 7:00 PM. Good lord, it's gonna be a loooong day.