I am very excited to announce that Fletch and I are in Oman for the next month and a half! But before we arrived in the desert land of the unknown, we had a few hours in London to meet up with our dear friend Aaron, who was the reason we landed ourselves the jobs in Fiji three-and-a-half years ago (where does the time go?!) 

We walked off of our United flight, dazed and borderline irritable after listening to the hellion of a child behind us scream for all but 30 minutes of the flight. Fletch had been granted the lucky seat in front of said child, and so had been kicked the entire time as well. The fact that the child’s stubby little legs could reach the seat to kick it at all proved what a minuscule space an airline seat really is. I remember the days when I could at least fold forward and use the tray table as a head rest. Now there’s not even room for that unless I can manage to contort myself into doing some sort of weird, exaggerated back arch. None of that mattered now though. We were in London, the birthplace of some of the world’s best music and authors, a city overflowing with history and culture.

The moving walkways to exit our gate were never-ending. As we marched along, a rhythmic static noice began cutting on and off. It sounded like the subliminal message warning before the zombie apocalypse began. It turned out to be nothing more than the alarm sound of those little golf cart-type vehicles that roam around the airport giving rides to the elderly. Is there a name for those? 

Immigration was completely automated. I stepped up to the gate and scanned my passport, then looked around confused, wondering what was supposed to happen next. That’s when I saw the video feed of the camera pointing at my face, mounted above me at an awkward angle. I tried to give it a good view of my airplane-bloated features. Nothing happened. The security guy in charge of making sure the flow of traffic continued told me, “This is going to sound sarcastic, but you Americans and Spaniards are allowed to smile.” My sleepy smile apparently still wasn’t good enough for the camera  and so I ended up having to go to a traditional immigration desk anyway. 

We purchased a couple tickets for the Heathrow Express, a convenient and efficient train running non-stop between Heathrow and Paddington every 15 minutes. Luckily there had been a couple representatives selling tickets before we had even wandered far enough to begin looking for the trains. They kindly directed us to an excess baggage office where we could leave our cary-ons. And then we were off to Paddington in no time at all. 

When we arrived at the station, Aaron was there to greet us, looking the same as ever. He bought us a couple day passes for the underground and off we went to King’s Cross Station. Of course as soon as he mentioned King’s Cross Station and that Platform 9 3/4 was there, I simply had to see it. My inner child was jumping up and down in glee over the prospect of visiting Platform 9 3/4. Here we were in London, and I was excited over a fictional spot. 

We rounded the corner at the station and there it was, complete with the luggage trolly and Hedwig’s cage sticking halfway out of the brick wall. There was a good long line to have a photo taken, and currently at the front of the line was a little girl, dressed up in her Gryffindor scarf with her magic wand. I couldn’t bring myself to stand in such a long line given our few fleeting hours in London, but seeing the little girl so excited was all the childhood fulfillment I needed. To capitalize on a commercial opportunity, there was an entire shop next door, dedicated to selling every product under the moon with Platform 9 3/4 branded across the front in gold, lightning bolt lettering. It was as crowded and bustling as a shop in Hogsmede. I took a quick tour around, soaking in the ambiance of excited fellow nerds, and just as quickly informed the others that I was ready to move on. 

We followed the cobblestone pathways and old brick hallways back down to the underground and whisked our way to the London Bridge stop where Aaron directed us the back way to his favorite pub on the River Thames. The patio area was full of proper people all dressed up, and had an air of snobbery about it. A French waitress hurriedly set about clearing us a table and Aaron asked her if we could order some drinks at the bar while she set it up. She snapped back that she was cleaning the table now, and to just wait, with a quintessentially French bit of rudeness. Knowing Aaron for who he was: down-to-earth, nothing fancy, and the nicest guy you ever met, I was a bit surprised that this was his favorite pub that he had talked about coming to with a group of all of his mates. I guess I only ever knew him in a no-frills, beach setting though. I excused myself to use the loo and came back to Fletch and Aaron looking all shifty and ready to dart at any moment. I waited a moment, awkwardly wondering if they were about to fill me in on some secret, and then decided just to take a seat. They finally whispered to me that we were leaving, and with a quick look around to see if the snobby waitress was watching, darted away from the patio and on to the next, almost-identical patio. Aaron, having never arrived at his favorite pub from the direction we had come, had chosen the wrong patio. We all had a good laugh. 

Our view on the riverfront was of an old warship that people were currently busy touring. Tour boats zipped up and down the Thames. London Bridge was not too far down the river, causing Fletch to break out singing the old nursery rhyme. The Gherkin could also be seen peeking out from behind another building amongst the skyline across the river. Aaron couldn’t have brought us to a more Londonesque setting. 

I ordered a dry cider and lentil cottage pie, which was delightfully scrumptious and came with almost as much gravy as there was pie. Everything about it was hearty and comforting after a day of traveling and no sleep. 

We toyed with the idea of hopping on one of the tour boats to go visit Big Ben and Westminster Abbey via the scenic, river route. No one was in any great hurry though, and we decided to play it by ear when food was finished and we knew what kind of time we were working with. The goal in London had been to visit our friend; anything we accomplished on top of that was just a bonus. 

By the time our pints and plates were empty, it was too late to think about boat schedules, so we returned to the underground instead. When we walked out of Westminster Tube Station, it’s a good thing Aaron pointed out Big Ben towering up above us or I wouldn’t have even recognized it. The magnificent clock tower was so wrapped up in scaffolding for repairs that I would have dismissed the whole structure as one big construction zone. There was the face of the clock though, the only bit of recognizable monument peeping out from its protective cage. I had forgotten reading about Big Ben’s $42 million renovation a few years back. The project began 2 years ago, and is planned to be finished in 2021. 

We walked around the Palace of Westminster, basking in the grandeur of so much history and architecture. Westminster Abbey was also across the way. The streets were filled with more bikers than cars which I thought was lovely. By the time we had walked around the perimeter of the Palace of Westminster, Aaron asked if we should go visit Buckingham Palace. It was already getting to be close to the time we should be heading back to the airport though, so why push it? We had already had a perfect day. Why ask for more? 

So Aaron brought us back to Paddington station with the rush hour commuters and we said our goodbyes before boarding the Heathrow Express back to the airport. It’s a good thing we left when we did, because when we reclaimed our bags and scanned our passports to go through security, the screen informed us that we actually needed to be in terminal 4. If you’ve never been to Heathrow, know that walking around the underground to get to the trains between terminals feels like you’re walking clear across the city, and that’s coming from someone who walks a lot. Security is a cinch, but if you need to commute between terminals, plan in extra time for that. 

After a day of traveling and a brief sightseeing jaunt around London, we were off to the Arabian Peninsula, land of the unknown as far as I was concerned. Nearly everyone we told our final destination to asked if we were residents there. It seemed odd to ask a white couple if they lived in the Middle East, but what did I know of the area. Perhaps there are a lot of foreigners living there. Time to let the new discoveries commence!