Day One of my trip (since I’m not counting Monday that was strictly travel) and I am exhausted.
The sad thing about jumping an ocean is that it drains you even if you manage, like I did hit-and-miss, to sleep during the flight.
My current total travel from leaving home to arriving at my hostel for the next couple of nights includes: an hour car ride, a nine hour flight, an hour plus (I didn’t catch the exact time) ride on the Underground, and then another hour of wandering and hopping buses to my hostel.
Needless to repeat it but I will anyway because I feel like being dramatic at the moment: I am exhausted.
The first thing that’s struck me beyond the drone of just get to the hostel and you can shower is listening to a blur and blend of languages and accents that my ear in several cases has never heard before in person. There was a quartet of gentlemen that I originally thought might be French only to realize about a half-hour into the Underground ride that were actually speaking Italian. My shame knows no limits over the mistake but at least I didn’t assume anything and make an ass out of myself when I was talking to them.
Thus far at the hostel I’ve met gentlemen from Ireland, Germany, and at the other end of the mixed-dorm is a group from somewhere I still haven’t pegged and given my failure during the tube ride I’d rather not venture a guess.
Salutations from London!
~Sif
Sif On Walkabout 