Handicap (and Luggage) Unfriendly

Lesson learned from my last trip to Europe - try not to over pack because my BIG suitcase was FULL and HEAVY. I had to pay extra $ and get it tagged as 'HEAVY.' But that was like a 10 day trip. This last trip was only a seven day trip and I was really roughing it this time out - only three pairs of shoes (not including the one I would be wearing to the wedding) and I had each day's outfit picked out with a couple of extra tops in case I needed to change due to weather. I was actually pleased with myself because when I was done packing, I still had empty space that fit a medium-sized gift I got the bride-to-be.

When we were leaving for the airport, I couldn't believe how heavy my bag was - I even pulled out the bathroom scale to see if I exceeded the 50 lb limit. I couldn't tell - my luggage covered the display. I kept saying that I didn't pack that much and I started panicking because I didn't want to start the trip off on the wrong foot and pay extra $ for heavy luggage. Thankfully, I hit the 50 lb. mark on the dot - no more, no less. But it still baffled me that it was so heavy. I guess winter clothing is just heavier than spring clothing. I also think that the gift was a good 5 lbs because it was boxed and wrapped...(that's what I keep telling myself).

Getting to London was no problem - I had porters at the cab stand to help me load my luggage into the taxi. There was a doorman at the hotel that helped lift my luggage up into the hotel - and since there were elevators in the hotel, I decided to take my own luggage to the room, out of sheer embarrassment for how heavy it was. I think it was the ticket counter woman at Dulles that remarked on whether I had a dead body in my suitcase - which led to talks about a movie where there was a killer that did that and got away with it. But I digress.

First few days were a piece of cake. It wasn't until we packed it up and headed to the "country side" of St Albans did things start to go downhill. We got to the train station on Friday afternoon (before rush hour) only to find that there were NO elevators OR escalators to get down to the platform. That left me heaving my heavy bag (without the bride's gift - I gave that to her earlier in the week) down a long flight of stairs. Thankfully, a kind gentleman took pity on me and helped me half way down. Hey, if he was offering, I wasn't about to decline. We got on the train and I sat with my suitcase because it was too wide to fit down the aisle to get to a seat. The commuter train was not only luggage unfriendly, but it was DIRTY. There were empty coffee cups, discarded newspapers and other garbage just laying around the seats - ick. When we got off the train, you knew we just had to be let off on the middle platform - where we had to walk up two flights-worth of stairs into a tunnel over the other platforms, and down the same amount of stairs to get to the main station and exit. Again - no elevators or escalators.

Thankfully, there weren't a lot of people at the station and it wasn't rush hour yet so Amanda and I start heaving our luggage up the stairs - at this point, I am basically dragging it up, step by step, by the handle, cause there was no way in heck that I was going to be able to lift it and clear multiple steps at a time. Same thing for the way down - we took it step by step, pound, pound, pounding all the way down...

And here is where I'd like to take a writer's break to talk to you about the excellent quality of Delsey luggage wheels. Me and my Delsey luggage gave new meaning to the phrase 'pounding the pavement.' I was so afraid that my wheels were going to fall off any minute from all the steps I had to overcome. I was even more afraid that one of my silver chrome wheel rims was going to fall off leaving my bag looking like an abused, old car with a missing hub cap. But no - my wheels stayed intact and the rims are still there - thank you, Delsey, for being so incredibly durable.

Where were we? To summarize - no escalators, elevators or means of helping handicaps or people with heavy luggage down to the platforms in commuter stations or suburban locations. By this time, my arms were tired. Someone got it right, though. Another family of ladies was traveling with big luggage and they got some station attendant to help them up and down the stairs - SMART! It was also upon arrival in St Albans that I had the bright idea that we should've unloaded our unnecessary luggage at the Marriott (our hotel for Sunday night) and just brought weekender bags. Good idea, just a little slow in getting there.

So we make it to the hotel and the front desk person asks if we need assistance to our rooms. Considering the hotel was only two floors, we didn't think we needed assistance. Boy, were we wrong! After declining the help, we asked, "Where are the lifts?" Yeah - there were no lifts to speak of. So here we go...up the flight of really old, creaky stairs. Step by step, thump by thump....we started rolling our luggage down the hall, only to be approached by four steps going up and a few short feet away, seeing four steps going down....WTF?! By this time, I am ready to speak out for the handicap and the difficulties they would have 1) coming and going from the 'burbs and 2) getting to their rooms. Of course, I'm sure if someone was handicap, they would've put them on a first floor room. I'm also thinking, "Man, I hate this hotel." If it wasn't for their attached gym/spa, I would give the hotel two thumbs down - instead it gets one thumb in each direction.

Dreading the trip back to London and hoping against all hope (and it was against all hope) that our train would just leave from platform 1, right outside the main station (aka - no stairs), I decided to whip out the extra duffle I had for souvenirs and use that as my 'rest of the weekend' bag and just pack up the luggage in hopes that dividing the load would make it easier to carry. And in the end it did. Traveling became SLIGHTLY easier but we still had a MONSTER staircase waiting for us at the station was arrived to in London (different from the one we departed from). All the people with luggage (so, it wasn't just us) hung back and waited for the walkers to get up the stairs. No offers for help either. We were on our own...and if hoisting your bag up a ton of stairs weren't bad enough, there was traffic going down the stairs at the same time to make your ascension to the station even more enjoyable!

Finally - when we got to the Marriott Marble Arch, where we were spoiled with the LUXURY of two elevators to our sixth floor room and didn't have to worry about stairs for the remainder of the trip. As my New Jersey kin like to say, "Thank Gawd!"

So what's with the medieval conditions out at the commuter stations?

Food Regrets

I confess. I've been a dieter for what seems like my entire adulthood. I began life with a food tooth - quite often winning the clean plate award and then some (as opposed to my brother, Jack, who preferred the "push the food around the plate" strategy). And it finally caught up to me in the 7th grade, when Jack helpfully made a comment about my pants getting a little tight. Since then, I have always monitored my food intake. It's a good thing, really. Had I kept indulging my food tooth with no parameters, who knows where I'd be today? Probably spilling into Jen's airplane seat.

But the downside of being a constant dieter is a phenomenon I like to call "food regrets." Make no mistake about it - I still have a food tooth. I still crave salty foods. I still love my cupcakes. And so I allow myself to indulge in these items from time to time. Candy still puts a smile on my face, after all. Ditto with movie popcorn. But if I am going to spend my calories on something, I better be damn sure I'm enjoying it.

This is where "Food Regrets" comes in. Ever finish a sub par fried-something or gluttonous dessert and just worry yourself sick about it? I have. Most recently, in London, I ate half of the WORST CHICKEN BURGER EVER - complete with fried processed patty, mayonnaise, and a boring old sesame bun. I topped it off with some extremely bland "chips." What a freaking waste! I'm not kidding - it was abysmal. I was so annoyed with myself for eating more than two bites of that meal. I would have much rather chowed on some brick oven pizza, some McDonald's french fries - heck, even some Kraft Macaroni & Cheese.

Food regrets. They're the worst.

Oy Vay!

It's good to be back in cyberspace. After a week of not posting, I feel like I have plenty of ammo to write about - the first thing being our flight out to London.

As Amanda had said, by skipping a much thought about meal at the Olive Garden, we were able to start our trip on the right foot and see ScarJo (thanks, Pearl) herself, in the security lines at Dulles International. That also meant that we got to our gate with plenty of time to people watch. Being that we were on an international flight, we were, of course, grouped with other international travelers going to all sorts of neat places for the Thanksgiving holidays. But it wasn't until one particular person showed up and lingered by our gate did Amanda make mention of how you see all sorts of people at the airport.

This particular person was what I'd like to describe as an XL man. I also feel confidently in saying he was a Hasidic Jew. I grew up in a predominantly Jewish community but not a lot of Hasidic Jews. Hasidic Jews are the ones that cut their hair really short but leave long curly sideburns (called payoth) under their yarmulke (pronounced: ya-muh-kah). They also have the stereotype of being 'not so good' drivers in the really big Griswald-esque station wagons with huge menorahs on top during the Hanukkah season...HUGE menorahs. I've seen it.

Anyways - that's just a little background information on the Hasidic Jews. Back to the story.

So we board the plane and we got the seats that fall right behind the walls of the restrooms. That was good because that gave us more leg room. And we were in the middle section so it was five seats across. I plunked down in the middle seat with Amanda to my right. The two end seats were occupied by other women - so it was looking good. I was hoping, against all hope, that the seat to my left would stay empty. We were one of the last groups to board so it was looking that way. Just then, the Hasidic Jew came walking down the aisle and was lingering by our row....I leaned over to Amanda and just kept saying, 'Please don't let him sit next to me.' But she had her doubts and she was right - he was to my left.

Don't get me wrong - I have NO issues with Hasidic Jews. I don't want it to seem that way. What I do have a problem with is what most people have problems with, XL people that spill over into your seat - or those people that disregard the safety rules and just do as they please. Both applied to my neighbor.

He started the trip off on the wrong foot with the stewards because he wouldn't turn off his cell phone - he was constantly texting. The stewards asked him multiple times to turn off his phone - he did not. He just slid it into his pocket until they were done with their safety demonstration and continued to text. I glanced over at him - to see what he was up to. I saw other people, in other rows, glaring at him, because he continued to text. I saw whom he was texting - Cherry. Nice, huh? Anyways - he was texting all the way through take off - that was annoying...even though it didn't really matter that his phone was still on - but still, other people need peace of mind.

My neighbor's next faux pas was when he bogarted our shared arm rest. I decided to give it to him - he was an XL man afterall....but when I mistakenly got up to go to the restroom, he seemed to think it was ok to have his knees spread eagle into my leg space...and that it was ok to have his shoes off and kicked under my seat! Let's just say that by the end of the flight, I was down 1/4 of my seat and encroaching on Amanda's space.

Finally - as we were making our final descent into London Heathrow, my XL friend (because we are friends now, right?) decided to go grab his carry on luggage and store it....right in front of him. Because he had boarded the plane so late, he had to store his carry on towards the back of the plane, past our row of seats. So I can understand that he doesn't want to fight to get back there when we've reached the gate, only to have to come back forward again. But I think he just went about it the wrong way. Two stewardesses had to tell him that this luggage had to be stored. He made no move after the first two warnings. Finally, he said that he didn't want to go to the back to retrieve his luggage so the stewardess told him he could go up to Business Class and see if they would store his things for the remainder of the flight. He did so and was successful.

Overall, I don't think this guy flew much. But he still managed to get the kosher meal, which I took a good look at. I've always said I would put down the kosher meal to see what it's like. But after seeing it, I think I'll pass.

It's XL people next to me and people that LOVE to recline their seats to the maximum position in front of me that I always seem to be surrounded by on planes. Oy vay!

Miss Scarlett

I could tell our London trip was off to a good start right away - at the Dulles Airport. While it was a little sad that Jen's and my manicure appointments did not leave us enough time to swing by The Olive Garden for a little soup, salad and breadsticks combo, what they did ensure is that our timing was perfect for something else: a celebrity sighting! If my penchant for celebrity gossip and trash t.v. should tell you anything, it is this: I LOVE a celebrity sighting! And Scarlett Johansson? Well, that's just the motherload.

Jen and I had just eaten our replacement meals at the truncated, Dulles Airport "Harry's Tap Room" and headed through the security line. As is my custom, after proceeding through security, I made a bee line for a row of seats where I could refasten my shoes (ala Fred Rogers). Through my peripheral vision, I could see a girl/woman talking to a female security guard. They were having some friendly banter, and the end of the conversation was crucial for celebrity sighting purposes: the security guard said something about how nice it was to talk to the girl/woman and told her to have a nice trip, and the girl/woman said, in a throaty voice, "You too," and then chuckled a little because the security guard was clearly working and thus not en route anywhere (much like when the guy at the window at McDonald's tells you to enjoy your meal, and you instinctively respond "you too," like an idiot). But rather than treating girl/woman like an idiot, the security guard said she was indeed traveling for Thanksgiving, just not today. She did not want girl/woman to feel stupid (how considerate).

Anyway, what this told me was that girl/woman was someone famous. And only then did I look up. And there she was. Scarlett Johansson. I have to say, she was quite lovely in person. Beautiful skin. And tiny. She was wearing a newsboy cap (with her hair tucked inside), a beautiful cream wool coat, and some pants with brown tall boots over the pant legs. She had been right next to me - maybe 4 or 5 feet.

Naturally, I had to find Jen and tell her the news before my celebrity got away. And naturally, I wanted to act as nonchalant as possible. So I mall-walked back to the end of the security line to find Jen and whispered, "Scarlett Johansson is right there." Jen was all "What?" Evidently, she heard "Taylor Hanson." Hmmm.... Hanson brothers sighting? Doesn't have quite the same ring, does it?

Whatever the case, Jen was finally able to decipher my mumbling and promptly reached into her bag to retrieve her glasses to confirm. We talked about it for a good deal in the people mover to our gate. My first instinct, I told Jen, was to say to Scarlett - "Hmm... The Nanny Diaries - not your best choice." Jen was ready to let Scarlett know what she really thought of "Match Point." But no matter. That, combined with the excitement of going to London, made for a very good journey.

Of course, it still did not stop me from complaining about the broken t.v. at my seat on the plane.