England and Scotland for Dad's 70th
Day 14 - Wednesday - England/Atlanta
Our last morning in the U.K. We would be sad
to leave, but the
previous two weeks have exhausted us in a good way and we're ready to
get back. Besides, Mom will be waiting for us to take her to the
Olive Garden for dinner.
Dad and I accidentally skip breakfast (somewhere in
the communication
with Francesca last night, we didn't commit to sitting down to
breakfast, so she ate her toast in the kitchen while getting ready for
work, and we didn't bother messing up stuff since we're all leaving and
leaving on a schedule). We'll grab something at the station.
The taxi arrives, and we share it to Victoria
Station, where Dad and I
get out and Francesca will continue to ride to a different train
station. We hug and kiss good-bye, she laughing that her red
lipstick is all over my cheek and trying to rub it off, me promising
her that I won't wait another 7 years before visiting again.
Dad and I drag our suitcases to the Gatwick
Express/British Airways
counter and check in (brilliant! If you're flying British
Airways, you can check your baggage and get your boarding pass at the
train station, then let them load the suitcases onto the train and
directly onto your plane, while you kick back suitcase-free all the way
to the airport). Quickly buying a few more Cadbury bars and some
British miracle sore throat logenzes for the coming winter (picked up
on that tidbit during my first visit to Edinburgh), we scoped Victoria
for a place to grab some scones and tea and sit down before travelling
to the airport. In the wash of businesspeople pouring throughout
the station and pigeons sneaking around here and there, and the absence
of seats, we hop on our train and cross our fingers for breakfast at
the airport instead. And then I realize I still have 2 scones
from yesterday's Scottish scone bag, so we eat those instead.
Gatwick competes with the Atlanta airport for a
shopping mall
experience. Even Harrods has a gift shop there (featuring lots of
things with a picture of a Westie dog sticking his head out of a
Harrods bag). I duck into yet another shop, promising Dad I won't
buy any, I'm just looking, but there's the elusive Cadbury mint bars,
so I bought two, smiling sheepishly at Dad, who knew I was lying when I
ran in.
We finally board the plane and the seats seem
smaller (between the
large woman sitting next to me and the silly business guys behind me
kicking the back of my chair). But Dad's got a window seat this
time, and the great movies are Wag
the Dog and, ironically, As
Good
As It Gets, which pretty much sums up this trip.
Now it's the English people's turn to adjust to our
home. In
Scotland, I wore my lined trenchcoat most of the time (especially at
the beach). As we walk down the ramp from the plane into
Hartsfield airport, we can feel the unbelievable humid heat penetrating
the wall. "Ga'! Do ya' feel tha' heat?" one guy asks
another, who answers with disgust "Bloody hell!"
We take the MARTA train to our station and meet Mom,
who tells us we don't have to take her to Olive Garden, since we've
been eating Italian food at Francesca's. Of course, we have no
problem with Olive Garden. After all, Mom, who's been enjoying
having a house to herself for a record-breaking 2 weeks (even though
she and Dad admit missing each other), is going to have to hear about
Dad's trip for a long time. Might as well start with some of her
favorite food.
And that's The end.
England and
Scotland for Dad's 70th
Travel Journals
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