First Day! (aka The Calm Before The Storm) - spoiler alert

Ha! Ha! I've arrived and have made it through immigration without being detained! 

I roll my bag through baggage claim and follow the well-marked signs to the tube. Since I learned how to take the regular Piccadilly line to and from the airport, there is no way I'm going to shell out 15 pound just to save 30 minutes.  

I drag my butt onto the tube make my way through to Covent Garden.  I have a reservation!

Before I was to indulge in what I assumed was to be the biggest treat of the trip, I had a small matter of business with which to dispense.

I left the tube at the Covent Garden station and luckily there was a Vodophone store right in front of my face. Well, not really luck since those things are everywhere, but fortuitous if nothing else.

I rolled into the store and purchased a new SIM card with 10 pound of minutes/data on it.
Pretty simple. I just hand my phone to the dude and he puts the thingy in it and activates it. I hand them a note of a few pound and off I go.

I drag my bag around to the famed Fortnum and Mason. Fortnum and Mason is rather a rivalry to Harrods. It has less of an obscure selection but what it has is steeped in tradition.

By this time I was starving and ready for my tea. I wheeled my bag up to the elevator and hit the button for the Diamond Jubilee Tea Room. It claims to be the first tea room in England. Now I could go on about how tea was a thing that the rich fat ladies of the country estates liked to do and blah, blah, blah, but... nah. Let's get to the good stuff.

I got off of the elevator and was greeted by a lady at the reception desk. I was able to check my bag, so I did.

Tea room filled with tourists.

I was then led to a table in the corner, which was great because I was able to check out the clientele. I was hoping for little old English ladies, but instead I got a bunch of tourists. Fair enough I suppose since I was one myself.

I was thirsty and when the waiter came to take my order, I really wasn't in the mood for alcohol. Instead I ordered a sparkling apple cider. It was really tasty. They gave me a glass with ice too, which I found odd, but maybe that's a standard thing with Americans.

When I initially sat down, I had planned on just your average run of the mill tea. But then I was offered the Savory Tea with Oeufs Drumkilbo, which is a fancy name for an omelette with lobster. It's supposed to be the Queen's favorite dish. When I heard that, well, you know I had to try it. And yeah, It was good. And cheesy. I also got the royal blend tea, but tea is tea, so no big deal there.

Oeufs Drumkilbo

After ingesting about 30 thousand grams of fat, I was brought the cake plate. Oh my, oh my, oh my. It really is hard to screw up pastries. And, NO, they most certainly didn't screw it up. Since it was just me, and I had the omelette, I was only given a few things to nibble. Nibble, of course being a really polite word for what I did.

If you study the above pic, you will see a three tiered plate on the left with jars of stuff. From top to bottom: Devonshire cream, which is right before butter, raspberry preserves and finally lemon curd.

CURD- An ugly word for a beautiful creation. Unlike what Little Miss Moffet ate, this is heaven. If you don't know what lemon curd is, think of the filling of a lemon meringue pie with more intense lemon flavor. When I opened the fresh jar of lemon curd and drizzled some on my scone, a light shone from the heaves and Angels came down and sang to me. ANGELS I SAY! I was nearly moved to tears. That's saying a lot for NOLA girl where good food is pre-requisite. But OH! that curd. I haven't had anything that tasty in if not forever, a really, really long time. The preserves were good too, as was the pre-butter, but man... I wanted to take my knife and scrape the jar of lemon curd and swipe it on my tongue. So good it was. SO GOOD. 

I knew I couldn't buy a case of it since I had to take an EasyJet flight in a couple of hours, and I wasn't quite sure that I could bring the stuff back to the States. This caused me a little heartbreak and I was sad to see it go.

I had eaten my fill of pastries and did my best to consume an entire jar of lemon curd. I had to move or my rear end would be permanently stuck to that seat. Not that it would be a bad thing, but I had stuff to do. 

While I was eating, I'd texted my number to those in the area and made a date to meet up with a former classmate. 

I had a little while to kill, so I retrieved my bag and set out for a nice long walk. I got lost somewhere around Russell Square. Yes, okay, go ahead and laugh. I did stay there for a week less than six months ago, but no one ever accused me of having a good sense of direction.

I found myself eventually after asking several people for directions and met up with the Lovely Lady Victoria by the Baker Street Station Statue. 

Not sure which incarnation of Sherlock it is, but it's a great statue.

LLV suggested that we go to a pub near by and I readily accepted. She explained that this particular pub was part of a chain and not as desirable because it wasn't one of the quaint little places. I likened it to a Darden place as opposed to a mom and pop. Either way, I didn't mind. The music wasn't loud so we could chat.

We enjoyed a couple of glasses of wine and tried to solve the problems of the world. We didn't get too far past the entertainment industry, but one must have priorities.

Several hours later, I followed LLV's instructions and got to the train station, got aboard the right train and got off at Gatwick Airport. 

From the airport, I followed the signs to the airport shuttles to the airport hotels. After about two hours of travel, I got to the Britannia Lodge.

At least I think that's what it was called.

This place is a 'Park and Stay' place. More like a motel than a hotel. It was an annex building off of a bigger and more luxurious hotel. I didn't mind really, I was only going to be here a couple of hours anyway.

The room was small and the bathroom light didn't work. That was okay. I was by myself and I had enough light for a shower and stuff.

I plugged in the tea service and the water heated up. That's good. I plugged in my phone to charge and nothing happened. What? How is that possible?  I unplugged the tea service and plugged my phone in there. Nothing happened. Huh. 

After more investigating, I deduced that the issue was with the power converter. Yes, one of the really nice power converters I'd purchased a few months earlier. 

By this time it was way after 11 and I had to be on the airport shuttle by 4am. There was nothing I could do but set the alarm on all of my devices and hope one of them had enough juice to be able to make it to 2:30 am. As it turns out, I really didn't sleep so that was a moot point anyway.

THIS BASTARD decided to break!

I crawled in bed and pretended to drift away, still thinking of the lemon curd and the pain in my gut because of it.

The end of day one. 

I'm outa hea!

Departure day was here and I was ready! 

I got up in the morning, hit up an early Pilates class, and made sure not to eat too much because I knew I was going to indulge on junk food and alcoholic beverages at the lounge.

I get to the airport early as usual to beg for an isle seat with my 'extra leg room' ticket. And it's a good thing too because they had me down for a window seat. No. No. No. No. No. Cannot do that. They eventually gave me an isle seat so all was well.

I go through Check Point Charlie and head up to the KLM/VA buy in lounge and was hit with this:

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Now what do I do? I'm relegated to being forced to eat airport food with the common riff-raff. GAG!

Now I've always been a proponent of pay-in lounges, and here is the proof.

 This little beauty is a 20 dollar salad made of arugula and a couple of raisins with a few nuts and raw onions thrown in.

This is a 15 dollar adult beverage. 15!!!
So, to have a crappy ass salad and two adult beverages, I have spent 50 bucks. No kidding. 
And without the benefit of snagging large bottles of water for hydrating on the plane or pocketing tiny cheeses for consumption later.
Not to mention free wi-fi and quiet from the rest of the germ-spreading populace meandering through LAX.

Even so, being the trooper that I am, I soldiered on, eventually sitting at the gate and crawling on board the aircraft with the rest of the peons.

Crappy Ass LAX gate chairs.

We had barely loaded in to the damn thing, when you guessed it:

SONOFABITCHINGRATBASTARDWHYINGODSNAMEDOTHEYLETTHESETHINGSONTHEDAMNPLANE?WHY?WHY?WHY?

And I mean I was close. That close. Close enough to reach out and stab the mother in the throat. Needless to say if you have small children I am not the relative you want to invite on a family holiday. Or birthday party. I hate birthday parties.

Whatever the case, the thing started up before liftoff and after liftoff the flight crew took their damn sweet time with the friggin' welcome beverage. Another argument for lounges... my mind was not NEARLY numb enough to deal with this crap. 




Finally. I got my welcome beverage, and with vodka, thank you very much. I think it was an orange juice blend. And not nearly large or strong enough.




Now I don't know if VA changed their policy on when to serve the meal or if the howler monkey made time stand still, but hours later, HOURS, I finally got my meal. Behold Beef something with mushrooms!

Was it edible? Well, I ate it and didn't die, so I suppose it was.

For desert, VA is now serving goo. I'm not even kidding about that. It's goo.

This particular goo was key lime flavored. Not too bad, but nothing that I would look forward to. With it I got a small cup of water. How generous. Please see above my continued argument for lounges.

Throughout the flight, I did my best to try to sleep, but wasn't really allowed to since the student next to me was really, really excited about spending a semester abroad. So yeah, I got to talk to him whilst having homicidal fantasies about silencing the recalcitrant noisemaker and sub par parents in the next row. The guy by the window turned his back and slept. Lucky bastard.

Hours and hours and hours later we were given the standard VA brekki which I promptly gave to the student, but downed my coffee.

Eventually, after about a year of screaming brat and not nearly enough liquor, we landed. THANK GOD! I didn't have any checked baggage, so I was able to exit the aircraft, walk the mile and a half through to immigration.

Thank God for ebooks, that's all I can say. THANK GOD!

Here we come to the end of departure day. 

Stuff It!

Yay! Reservations booked. Itinerary set up. Confirmations printed. Now it's time for packing.

If you find that you've been following this blog, then you will know that packing is one of the things I find more or less interesting. This time is no different. Except more so. Because I will be taking another flight on a budget airline, my challenge has increased. EasyJet. It's like the demon spawn of Southwest and Spirit Airlines. EasyJet will allow you to bring a cabin bag. A cabin bag. That means you can have a handbag or a roller bag, but not both. And no, they don't care which. Even if you're a sick kid and need insulin, you have an extra bag, you're paying an extra amount. In this case, the extra amount is more than the price of the ticket. Let me say that again. To bring a bag, it's MORE THAN THE TICKET. 

Challenge: Pack all crap in one roller bag.

Now, if I were just going to London for a quick jaunt, this really wouldn't be a problem. I'd be staying at a decent, and God willing, rat free hotel, wearing less than I had on the previous visits due to warmer weather and eating like a local. But no, this time Cannes is in the mix. What does that mean?

It means I have to bring nice clothes.

Cannes is... how to explain it... everything you've thought L.A. to be and then multiplied times infinity. It's superficial douchebaggery taken to the level of a religion. It's pathetic-role-your-eye people judging you in a nano second.  

 It's also expensive. Audaciously so. More on that later.

So, what does one do when faced with having to put all things and nice clothes into one tiny bag? I certainly can't bring my fantastic black SkyRoller bag. It's too big. No, I have to bring the small, hard, pink one. I also have to bring my dreamie sleep sack, shower shoes, at least 1 dress, decent day time clothes and heels. You wouldn't think that a pair of heels takes up a lot of room, but boy do they!

But that's not all. I also have to bring chargers, tablet compy, phones - 1 for US, 1 for UK, emergency med pack, various wipes, chemical arsenal etc, etc, etc. What does one do?

One looks on Ebay and finds this:

Awwww yeah. I'd been lusting after this baby for years. I found it brand new with tags on Ebay for 1/3 off and in black! Woooooot!!!!

That's right! Read it and weep. 18 pockets of super spy-esque goodness. What can I say? I like pockets.

Since I'd be in the Valley of the Carbs, (i.e. France), my irrational brain also thought it would be a good idea to bring my own food. Don't laugh. I'd done it time and time again. I can't count how many times I snuck an Meal Ready to Eat pack in my bag. Believe me... it's saved not only my rear, but other's too. On more than one occasion no less. (Just ask my palls I gave a few to to bring to India. They thought they were a God send.) So I tried it. I stuck an MRE in my bag. Since it's a carry on only, I couldn't open it - due to the chemical nature of the heating element. The MRE, even just one took up massive amounts of space. Space I couldn't spare. Disappointing. Those things really come in handy. Try it next time.

No problem, go to plan B. Bars! 

You can live off of bars. Protein bars, energy bars, candy bars... it's not the most healthy of diets, but it'll due in a pinch. That's what they put in 3 day emergency earthquake packs. Given the expensive alternative, why not?

Why stop there? Why not bring my own tea? Why not bring my own coffee? It will save space in the long run, right? RIGHT? DON'T JUDGE ME!!!!

Here is my food pack:

WTF??? Yeah, it's okay. You can say it. Most of this stuff I had laying around. In this motley crew you'll find: Mini protein bars, mini fruit and nut bars, tea mix, cocoa mix, all-in-one coffee mix, extra coffee mate, fruit strips, oatmeal and powdered peanut butter. Yes, you read that right. Powdered peanut butter in regular and chocolate. And powdered berries. Not too bad actually. I could probably survive a natural disaster with this. 

And since I'll be actually walking around and, yes, unfortunately, talking to people, I need a bag. At least a small one. I didn't think my Ameribag would fit into the rollerbag, so I dug through my closet and came up with something like this:

I purchased one similar to this years ago, second, third or fourth hand off of the beloved Ebay. I hadn't used it in a while, and since it fit right in with the type of jackass wannabe people I'll be around, I thought it was perfect. It also packed nicely. I also needed a slightly bigger bag just in case, so I packed my bag with this logo: Ya gotta do what ya gotta do. Plus it folded completely flat so it was fine.

Also, in went a few nice blouses, a couple of pair of tights/leggings, a wrinkle-free knit dress and a pair of rubber 3 inch heels. I was good to go!

Ah, but I will be taking a class, and therefore need to bring my portfolio. In this is stuffed my notes and various paraphernalia of my trade. I love my portfolio. I got it for free at a convention, but it's perfect for me.

It looks like this:

In it also goes all of my confirmation codes, boarding passes, train tickets, maps, travelling instructions, class notes, headshots, various contact information, etc.

I promise, more funny to come...

So What's The Problem?

So here is how it stands.

In order to take the class, I have to go to the UK. To go to the UK, I have to take a flight. The only flight I could afford was an award ticket. With this particular award ticket, there were only 1 week increments that I could use. So, I would have to stay in the UK... for a week... to take a one day class.

Now we come back to the realization that a logical person would say 'it's not worth it', or 'I'll wait 'till next time', But did I do that?

Again, I have no excuse for my behavior. But think of all the museums I could see! I could visit the Tate, the British Museum, the Imperial War Museum! I could do rubbings! I could see a different show every night! I could pub crawl! I could inundate myself with culture and intellectual stimulation! Yes! Brilliant! London for a week! Oh Yes! Yes! Yes!

And then...

And then a very cheeky and somewhat evil friend of mine,who shall go unnamed, except for the moniker Stunningly Beautiful Grady (SBG) put a worm in my ear.

CANNES! She says... south of France, the Film Market, the Film Festival... the celebrity, the pageantry the beautiful scenery. And besides, I have an actual reason to go, don't I? 

Truth is, I did have a reason to go. I'm working on a real, live, actual project. I had been to Cannes for the Film Festival and Market in the past. More than once. Things didn't go so well. That couldn't happen again could it? Nah. Lightening doesn't strike in the same place not once, not twice but three times, could it?

Then again, maybe it could.

Yeah... that's me

Being my neurotic self, and with the worm deeply ensconced in my gray matter, I couldn't bring myself to ignore the fact that I have a chance to move things along in Cannes. I couldn't learn from past experiences and leave it alone. I couldn't leave that particular stone unturned. I Just. Couldn't. Do. It.


But more on that later.

For now, a mad scramble to make plans. As it was, the pound to euro ratio was working in my favor. I'd end up spending pretty much the same amount of money flying to France and staying a night or two there as I would staying in London. Less, probably when you factored in all of the temptations at my fingertips. So I did it... I pulled the trigger on Cannes.

Sorry about all of the exposition in this post. The hilarity ensues forthwith.