Hello, Hello

What a week!! Between moments of death-defying road crossing, getting lost for hours at a time, staring open-jawed at the outside of a 600-year old working chapel while nearly getting run over by a Vespa, I haven’t had time to breathe, much less write a blog.

But here I am, sitting in a room with a functioning fireplace, old desk lamps, and ancient tomes labeled “Close Rolls, Henry III, 1234-1238”. The dust here is probably older than my grandparents, and just as interesting-smelling. A chandelier hangs 10 feet in front of me. I sit, listening to heavy metal booming from the downstairs bar, and think of how I got here.

Many of you might have already heard my account of the problems I had with immigration, but the craziness really start right after I received the final clearance Her Majesty’s (HM) Government, allowing me to officially apply for entry clearance. I boarded a bus to Chicago on Wednesday night and arrived early Thursday morning.

My appointment at 9:30 was in the Wrigley Building on Michigan Avenue, about 2 miles away from the bus stop, so I decided to walk, as dawn revealed the Windy City to me.

In truth, I was so tired I can barely remember the trek. The bus was one of these pseudo-Greyhounds with high, rigid, polyester seats with veritable pits between them, preventing any sort of horizontal sleeping position. Walking through downtown Chicago, I vividly recalled how I hated watching the sun rise without having slept through the night.

As the light deepened and spread, a sense of irreality spread through my sleep-deprived mind, that I was moving so quickly through distance and life transitions after having been sedentary for weeks.

My experience with the British consulate was short and pleasant. Escorted by a security guard, the elevator took me to the 13th floor (whoaaaaaa) and dropped me in a small room with 3 chairs and a glass window. A plump, pleasant-faced woman smiled and said “ello”, scanned my fingerprints, captured my photo, took my documents, and assured me I could pick up my visa the next morning. The whole process took maybe 10 minutes. Ah, relief.

I was staying with my friend Megan, who didn’t get off work until 6, so I spent my day wandering Michigan Avenue, and eventually went into a Border’s. I found a big James Patterson book, opened it halfway, laid it on my chest, and napped.

An hour or two later, a particularly violent snore escaped my face and jerked me into consciousness. I must’ve been an amusing sight, because I’d attracted a crowd of not-so-subtle onlookers. Contacts swiveling, mouth dry, I rose and took my leave, not quite brave enough to give my admirers a bow and flourish.

The rest of Chicago was smooth smailing. The couch and the company were awesome (yay to Megan!!!) I picked up my visa (a shiny little sticker in my passport) Friday morning, and briefly contemplated getting back on that damn bus for another 11 hour ride. Southwest Airlines seemed to have sensed my trepidation: two hours and a last-minute discount fare later, I was on a plane to Kansas City.

(the exciting narrative continues on another episode of “Thornton Conquers Britain”)

P.S. Any savvy I might have had with electronic devices (which was little) was mightily defeated by a dearth of English power adaports. I.e. no pictures yet, but they’ll be up once I call in the cavalry.

Cheers!!!!