An English Weekend - Part 1

The Layover

Fate is the only explanation. I had not intended any trips, least of which across the Atlantic on a whim for just a weekend. Sure, living in Boston or New York might make such a proposition seem more reasonable - it takes the same time to fly to L.A. as to London. From central Texas, it's a different story. Admittedly even after declaring my willingness to consider the offer, the universe hadn't yet spoken to me to tell me that this was its desire, what was meant to be. The confirmation came Tuesday night - I needed to leave in 36 hours. 

Unable to depart Austin on Delta, I am left with a pre-dawn flight courtesy of Southwest bound for Atlanta to rendezvous with the infamous Uncle Rick. Atlanta is completely new to me having only driven through downtown - ironically enough - when I moved to Austin some fourteen months prior. There isn't much time on our excursion for sightseeing after dealing with an incorrect spelling fiasco on my boarding pass that nearly derails the trip before it even begins. 

Dragon Fish

A brief yet leisurely trip to the Atlanta Aquarium is just what we need to de-stress. Gazing through two-foot thick glass walls at Titanic-sized Whale Sharks makes me giddy inside. It is the dream of many scuba divers to swim with these magnificent creatures as they elegantly glide through the water at a snail's pace. Pushing upwards of thirty feet long, these colossal beings make everything around them appear small. Nearby children giggle around us as we all stare face-to-face at small penguins playing games and vying for snacks, their waddling walks bring smiles to our faces. Before we can catch our breath, it's time to return to Hartsfield.

Whale sharks

FATE TURNS TO HUMILITY 
Just before the scheduled 7:10pm departure time comes the dreaded announcement from the flight deck: a navigational computer is faulty and repairs are underway, but should be quickly resolved. The moment the words reach my ears the universe dealt a low blow to my gut - I have been through this before, and know good and well how it will end. Constant updates follow: "the system is updating; the system needs to be replaced; about 20 more minutes and we'll be ready to go..." Three hours later we are told to exit the plane and wait for a new aircraft to be brought around. I sit comfortably at the bar sipping red wine observing irate passengers react to news that the cabin will need to be cleaned and restocked. 

Finally at 2:00am, the captain announces that the crew has 'timed out' according to FAA regulations (add that to my list of 'aviation failure' notches under my belt.) Our flight will now depart at 7:00am and arrive Friday evening around 8:30pm local time. Passengers furiously shout at the crew for waiting so long to tell us this, drowning out the gate agents' attempts to dole out hotel vouchers. I can't help but relish in my feeling of deja-vu; after all, who in their right mind wants to go to a hotel for 2-3 hours only to come right back to the airport for another bout with the courteous TSA agents? Whatever their feelings, I certainly won't be complaining - I'd rather be stranded here than in a pile of rubble over Canada, or worse, at the bottom of the Atlantic (Perspective, people!!)

In the empty upstairs cafeteria, Uncle Rick and I debate whether to abandon the trip. Was it going to be worth it to loose one full day on an already short trip five timezones ahead of us? For the first time the elusive powers that be simultaneously spoke to us. It's our turn to be humbled, to surrender our will for control and succumb to a simple state of being. Humility smiles as we gather blankets and pillows provided by Delta to form our cozy beds on the floor of the world's busiest airport. 

Our ride to London