Trip from London to Venice

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Or, the Trip from Central London to Stansted Airport:

Justice and I began our respective trips to the Baker Street Tube station at around 6:45 am under the assumption that the EasyBus stop that was supposed to be near Baker Street would indeed be readily apparent. I should mention here that we had bought but had yet to print the tickets for the bus scheduled to depart at 8 am from said stop, which was, of course, not actually readily apparent. Therefore we ran around the area frantically, asking people for any guidance at all. Londoners are not known necessarily for being the friendliest, but I’ll have you know, two out of the ten people we asked for help did know what they were talking about and were willing to share that information with us.

Unfortunately, our panic required us to find two knowledgeable people, instead of only one, because we were so panicked that we were incapable of listening well to the first set of good directions.

Maybe I should reiterate that we still hadn’t printed the tickets when we finally found the EasyBus stop at precisely 8 am. Also, I had yet to print my boarding pass, and it was a priority because apparently Ryan Air charges 40 quid to print boarding passes at the airport. So when we discovered the bus stop, we were thrilled but we did not have time to celebrate our victory.

Immediately, I ran across the street to a posh-looking apartment complex where a friendly concierge informed me that their printer and fax were not working. However, he added, there was an Internet cafe around the corner with printing facilities. I was willing to kiss him but I didn’t have time, so I just said thank you instead and raced back across the street to deposit my roller bag with Justiss. I told her that if the bus came she should get on it, which elicited a look of terror. She said that she would call me if the situation came to that.

I then made a sprint for the Internet cafe, where I found myself facing a truly nonplussed man who informed me that it would be one pound for half an hour and 20 p for each copy. I nodded profusely even though I hadn’t really understood what he said and sat down at a computer to sweat my way into gmail, print, pay and race back. I found I understood what he’d been saying when it came time to pay – oh the wonders of the brain.

On the way back, I discovered that my shoes have little to no traction and are nearly useless on wet cement as it induces them to slide about in a disturbing and unpredictable way.

By the time I returned to Justiss, it had become clear that we had missed the 8 am EasyBus. We knew that another was scheduled for 8:20, though, and so we waited nervously in hopes that we would not be charged a second time or discover that the bus was full.

We were, in fact, allowed onto the second bus, where we were both so bamboozled by the experience that we mostly giggled to each other and then crossed our fingers that the giggling wouldn’t jinx us.

We also talked about food because neither of us had managed to eat.

I finished this blog post on the Tarmac in Venice, where Justiss and I agreed that getting to Stansted isn’t so bad. We really don’t see why so many people complain.

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