An English Odyssey Part One: How To Cram Two Days Into One!
Michigan: Romulus & Novi
My folks and I spent a pleasant evening in the company of my charming, charismatic, golf-addict brother Eric. Characteristically, He was really excited about golf. If you know this remarkable man, you know that the statement “Eric Schleuder was really excited about golf” is an understatement. He lives, breathes, and immerses himself in golf. It’s his religion, and he leans on it like a Christian leans on Jesus. Like an evangelical preacher, he makes you feel excited about golf when he talks to you about it. It’s enough to get you saying, “Man, I really need to check out this golf thing I’ve been missing out on all my life!” Eric has several converts and folks who have begun to explore (or re-explore) “the ways of golf” thanks to his spiritual guidance.
Eric was in town for a golf event, a significant gathering that he’d been attending for over 20 years. This wasn’t just any golf event, it was a friend gathering that an early mentor of his, a man who’d been his teacher in high school, had been putting on with former students for countless years. These outings hold a special place in Eric’s heart, and he was lit up with the light of joy one only gets when doing something that genuinely makes them happy.
I went to bed feeling the same light that seemed to have been on my brother’s face after spending the night with people I genuinely love and, occasionally, enjoy being with.
I woke up at 6:30 AM, promptly closed my eyes, and woke again at 6:45 AM. The day started interestingly. The evening with my family had been pleasant and calm. Still, when I went to bed, I’d had stomach problems similar to those I’d dealt with days ago (for more exciting details, read Prelude to an English Odyssey!) Luckily, I managed not to extrude my innards everywhere and had a pleasant start to my day. I was still feeling a little queasy when a wonderful person in a manic state entered my presence.
“Did you see this?!” my mom exclaimed, frantically pointing at her phone like a bomb had just exploded.
I looked at her with bleary, half-closed eyes, shaking my head to activate the gears and cogs that occasionally made my brain function. My weary eyes focused slowly on her phone. The hamster, turning my brain gears, started to run along its hamster wheel, slowly reactivating some of my latent cognitive function and allowing me to comprehend that my mom was revealing a news story to me that said a Windows computer update had gone wrong and caused worldwide havoc. Somehow, this update crashed many computer systems worldwide, including those at Metro Detroit Airport, the airport we were going to be flying out of.
This made our day significantly more “fun.” Travel anxiety for our maiden European voyage was already high, and this worldwide computer disaster increased the stress of some people in our group to eleven.
In the end, things worked out for the best, as they usually do. After several hours, we discovered that our flight had been delayed from 6:15 PM to 7:45 PM Detroit time. London is five hours ahead of Detroit timewise. This means leaving at 7:45 PM Detroit time would be like leaving at 1 AM London time. The flight was over six hours long, so we would arrive in London at about 1 AM in Detroit time and at about 7 AM in London time. Given that this meant leaving closer to sunset Michigan time, we welcomed this change. It would mean a higher potential for sleep on the plane.
Arriving at the airport, we were anxious but excited for our long journey. Checking our bags was challenging as we had never flown internationally out of DTW. Still, we managed to fumble through the process. Getting through security was easier than we thought it would be. The line moved quickly, and we all got through without needing strip searches or luggage openings.
Suffering the pangs of hunger, we traversed a half mile through the shining white mall like DTW and found our salvation in a Chick-fil-A that was being serenaded by a talented pianist nearby. In a vision straight out of a surreal dream, I’m pretty sure I had once, the pianist was playing Marvin Gaye’s “What’s Going On.” The chicken filled us up, but being dowdy U.S. Citizens, we wanted more!
“To the Pinkberry!” My mom exclaimed heartily.
Soon, we arrived at our gate well-fed. We had passed the first obstacle of the journey and were ready to sit and wait for close to ten hours. The eternal question of whether sleep would happen on the flight whirred through my brain as we waited for our plane to arrive.
The Plane
I’ve been on a lot of planes in my life. I thought I’d been on some big planes. This plane topped them all. A third of my high school graduating class could fit on this plane. It was indeed a marvel of modern engineering. The doors even managed to stay on!
The max flight I’ve been on was a little over four hours long. This flight was six hours and some change. It was a smooth ride, and I managed to find things to pass the time; I started the journey with a classic Denzel Washington flick called Fallen. It is a thrilling tale in which a detective is pulled into the supernatural world when he discovers that the serial killer he helped put to death is actually a malevolent entity that can switch bodies. I highly recommend it if you haven’t seen it.
I drank a Ginger Ale and enjoyed a delightful pasta and quinoa meal. Soon, it was time to attempt to sleep. And oh, attempt I did. I have always struggled with sleeping on planes. To sleep on my ordinary days, I need to be curled in a fetal position, with a pillow tucked between my legs, to keep my bony knees from waking me up. This requires me to be on a bed, lying on my right or left side with a fan blowing in my face. This probably makes me a “high-maintenance sleeper.” I did try some “sleep aides” to try to prompt sleep.
I often listen to an audiobook before I go to sleep. On the plane, I listened to the first Harry Potter book on Audible; I dozed off here and there. At one point, I gave up and played a Harry Potter Quidditch game. I tried to sleep again and was mildly more successful. I awoke to the sounds of toddlers and babies screaming bloody murder as if someone had tortured them to reveal some dark secret. They screamed in a way that only children can. They were so ear-piercingly loud that I would of felt sorry for them if my ears hadn’t been bleeding.
We finished our plane journey with tea, an egg sandwich, and the ear breaking cries of the young and innocent.
Arriving in England
We shuffled off the plane and into Heathrow. My first impression of Heathrow was that it was very similar to DTW, only with many more green walls and less air conditioning. We had no idea where to go. All we knew was that we needed to find an Uber driver.
Uber-bound we were! But where to bound was the question! To the help desk we went where I tried to figure out some directions. I had misheard the wonderful person working at the desk, so we went to short parking three!
We arrived on the first floor of short-term parking 3, only to discover (thanks to a lovely English stranger) that the Uber pick-up was on the 3rd floor. We rushed to the elevators and immediately picked the one with the broken button. The elevator went to every floor but ours until Mom realized she had to hold the button down.
We finally reached the Uber driver, who drove us to our hotel and gave us an informal tour of the city he loved and called home.
The landscape shifted from vaguely Midwestern features to a city entirely of age and splendor. It was like entering a Dickens novel.
The hotel was adjacent to the Underground and next to an alley that felt like the modern-day equivalent of Diagon Alley. We entered the revolving doors and were greeted by a gorgeous blonde French hotel desk clerk who greeted us with a sunny smile and a deadpan sense of humor. We were early to our hotel, so we took a two-hour walk around the city.
The jet lag demons were attacking us, so in an attempt to ward them off and work up some energy for our walk, we sampled coffee from a local coffee shop. The valiant efforts of the heroic liquid did nothing to stave off the unrelenting bone-deep weariness of our bodies, but we soldiered on anyway.
Despite our bodies, our spirits soared at the city’s beauty and life surrounding us. Buildings and streets that seeped with age and beauty wrapped themselves around us and entranced our senses. We were so enraptured that we hardly noticed our physical state. We wandered to the Guard House and watched guards trot by us on horseback. Passing Westminster Abbey Dean’s Gate, we came upon a road that took us to the statue of a blue corgi. Following this friendly hello from the spirit animal of Queen Elizabeth II, we decided to walk to Buckingham Palace.
Buckingham Palace was the most opulent sight I’d ever seen. Surrounded by gold and finely crafted works of art, the sight was almost too much to behold. I felt conflicted. I appreciated the beauty around me but thought some riches should have been spent on less frivolous things.
The walk back to our hotel was challenging. Jet lag had begun to take over from boundless wonder. It was still too early to check in, so we dined at the hotel restaurant. It was a place that felt like it’d been transported straight from Buckingham Palace itself. I was underdressed in my t-shirt and cargo pants. But the staff was incredibly welcoming and friendly, and the food was slightly rejuvenating.
Even after our food, we were still done a little too early before check-in. It was time for caffeine part two, brought to you by the hotel Starbucks. Moderately successful with our Starbucks stop, we finally made it to our room at about 2:30 PM London time (9:30 AM our time).
Sleep happened despite our best efforts to stay up. Then, we showered, changed, and attempted to get dinner. Unfortunately, my body decided to be sick at this moment.
After fumbling around to find our destination, we discovered it in an alley straight out of a Harry Potter story. My folks enjoyed the fish and chips, and I found the ginger beer and still water sublime.
After losing our way to our room in the hotel (the floor signs said floor 1 on one side and floor 3 on the other), we finally returned to our excellent room. My parents, being the saints they are, braved the London streets once more in search of saltine crackers (known as soda biscuits in London) for their sick son.
Thus, we all collapsed in our room, having lived two days in one.
