"A lift is an elevator, right?"

Ok, so it would be much better if I kept up with this regularly so I don't have to detox after four days of random excitement, but here I am detoxing all the same. (I'll try to be better about keeping up)

Tuesday, September 14, Josie and I arrived to Gatwick airport at 7:00 am (also known as 1 a.m.)  And, trying to make my sister proud (that's you Lucy), we looked just about as AMERICAN as is possible. There was no need to be worried that our accents would give us away- our actions did all the talking. Walking to the baggage claim, we almost blended in, as I had gotten rid of one of my 30 lb carry-ons (imagine, it was too big for the plane). But then our baggage arrived. Between the two of us, we may have had close to 200 lbs of luggage (but who's counting). Our baggage exceeded the limit for the bus, so, by process of elimination, we chose to take the train.

We got to the door toward the lifts to the trains and we were faced with our first obstacle: a sign says "carts must be dropped here." Josie connected her bags with bungee cords and we made it to the lifts (though not without a struggle). We got off at Victoria station, and bought tickets for the tube (to get closer to our hotel). But we got to the Tube entrance and... stairs. So we promptly waited for a taxi. The taxi driver watched in his rear view mirror as we threw bags, sounding like they carried bodies, into the taxi. As soon as we close the door, the driver informed us he was read for the weekend (it was tuesday). In taxi fashion, he then circled our block a few times and then dropped off at the curb of the hotel. But, most unfortunately, he did not drop us on the curb-- just right beside the curb. (And with 50 lb bags, a curb is quite an obstacle.)

I ran into traffic and finally got my bags up the handicap/pedestrian dip in the side walk. Josie heaved her bags over the side. We then turned around, and once again, faeed stairs. Four of them.  We lunged our weight up the stairs and hoped our bags would follow. At the top step, we threw ourselves through the sliding doors and the hostesses stared at us.

After checking in, we were informed we would not be able to go in our room until 3 pm, but we could go ahead and put our baggage up (it was 10:30, by the way). So, with nothing but time, we headed for the lift. The door opened, but as we were caught in conversation, it began to close again. In an attempt to salvage the ride, I threw myself towards the door, thinking a touch will make the door retract. I soon realized that in fact, i was being pushed forward, rather than pushing the door back. By this point. three hotel managers had leisurely arrived behind us. They were conversing pleasantly with each other until they arrived at the scene-- we grabbed their attention quickly.

Moving closer and closer to the opposite end of the lift opening, I grabbed one of my bags and stuck it on the other side of the elevator door as to try and make more room between me and the door closing. At this, the elevator began to ring shrilly. At the same time, I was trying to reach over and find some sort of "open door" button in the elevator. The managers stood dumbfounded, all three just watching. I was twisting around to read buttons, and had one leg and a large bag of luggage between the elevator door and its intended destination. Suddenly, by some work of one of the managers the door opened again. I fell backward a bit, but then pulled my bags in calmly. As the doors closed on me, Josie, and our wardrobes (all safely in the elevator) the three managers stood on the other side, still staring, and looking a bit disheveled.



For the rest of the day, in attempt to eat time (until we could go to sleep). Josie's friends (who are local "Londoners") toured us around and we saw Big Ben, The Thames (of course), Buckingham Placace, Covent Gardens, Picadilly Circus, and Chinatown.

A little blury, but you get the idea