Touchdown in Stansted.

Wake-up call from the Stansted sheep

Below is a draft saved on my Tumblr since last August. So here we go. The first of my backpacking blog entries. Roughly unedited. The date was Friday, August 19, 2011, and covers our overseas crossing from Atlanta to NYC to London Heathrow to London Stansted.

So it’s the first time I’ve had a moment alone with my computer and some yummy WiFi. And I can’t think of anything except for how tired I am.

I came home on Tuesday evening from Athens. Once I’d run all the necessary errands, I began packing on Wednesday at noon. For a 20-day trip plus THREE MONTHS of Oxfordian heaven. So to say I was frazzled was an understatement. After 1.5 hours of sleep (oh yeahhhh), I was chilling at the airport gate. Flying was quite the nail-biter today, given the fact that 3/4 of our group members (myself included) were flying standby.

Fortunately for us, we were cleared onto the first flights to New York and London that came our way. For the duration of the 27 hours of plane, eight-hour layover, plane, and 1.5 hour bus rides, I floated in a constant state of eat-sleep.

But here I am, safe and sound in the Stansted Inn, a hostel with a private bathroom the same size as the bedroom, with sheep bleating in the front yard and trees arching over the long rocky driveway.

We dined at The George, a five minute walk from our hostel. I had grilled fish, chips, peas, and a celebratory class of wine. The crowd was old – just one woman in the pub was under fifty.

And now, after more eating, it is time to sleep again.

This, my friends, is surreal. Later gators.

 

 

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First meal? Fish and chips, of course.

Over the meadow, down the gravel road to get to the hostel

Over the meadow, down the gravel road to get to the hostel.

 

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