Come On! Just Go Already! — London, England

An elderly couple tripped on my heels as Zone 1 boarding was called. When I looked back, they smiled and said, “We’re just following the people who look the richest.” We all automatically glanced down at my faded t-shirt, sweats and scruffy Toms, the closest legitimate shoe to a slipper. “Well, you look like you know where you are going,” they amended. In my defence, I paid extra to get a seat that turns into a bed. Wearing the closest thing I could find to pyjamas just makes sense.

I was boarding business class on a flight to Heathrow, thanks to an upgrade offer I couldn’t refuse and an enormous talent for rationalization, i.e. will I regret paying the extra money in two years. My fellow passengers are on a seniors tour. I’m sort of starting one myself: the coming leg is present from my sister and me for my mother’s 80th birthday. But first, a quick overnight in London to meet up with friends, Brits I worked with in Brazil the summer of 2012. I’m hoping to re-enact our Brazilian cabs rides, singing along to Call Me Maybe on the radio every morning on the ride into work, but really it is just dinner.

London has changed a bit since I was last here. The baggage carousel now has sensors on the chutes so luggage waits patiently for a break in conveyor belt traffic before making a dash for it. Even baggage forms neat queues in England now. Timid bags wait overlong on the edge of the feeder lane despite large spaces on the belt. I found myself rooting for those. And like an anxious parent, hoped my bag would be well-behaved and not fling itself mindlessly on top of another bag, outing itself as embarrassingly North American. Of course, after 30 min, came the carousel rage, “Come on, bag! Just go already!”

But suitcase in hand, one broken Tube, an express train and two underground lines later, I made my way to the overpriced hotel near Kings Cross which I would charitably describe as stable-like. I’m in the equivalent of the servants’ quarters, listed euphemistically as a triple room. I’ll concede that three people could lie down side by side in the room but that is about it.

My reunion dinner was a mix of great food, liberal libations, fond reminiscing and interesting updates: marriage, engagements, new jobs, and someone bought a farm (in a good way, with sheep and chickens). Fun and fascinating and a reminder of how connecting with people melts the years away.

And best of all, my friends redefined my strategy of rationalization. Instead of using a 2 yr measure of regret, they employ the Deathbed Challenge. By that rule, I can see a lot more perks in my future. I don’t intend to regret.

Tomorrow starts the Croatia portion with family before meeting up with a friend for Turkey, Budapest and Krakow. When I’m on my deathbed, will I second-guess breaking my trip to meet up with my London friends for one night only? Not a chance. Come on! Just go already!

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