(continued from Spouses and Research)
Since The Long, Dark Teatime of The Soul forewarned of flames and explosions, we didn’t stick around. However, based on when we passed through it, Heathrow won my award for the emptiest and quietest extremely busy airport I’ve ever encountered.
Quiet, but not dead. At some point, we became aware that Someone of Consequence had arrived after we did. Someone we never saw, but whose presence was undeniable. I’d have guessed President of The Galaxy, but Zaphod hadn’t been keen on Earth the first time, so I wasn’t expecting him back so soon.
Loitering gangs of airport security employees hovered in the walkways. Rows of gothy tweens in heavy eyeliner pressed against barriers at the arrivals exit. The sheer number of expensive suits walking quickly, unabashedly talking into their wrists, motivated us to move along before they grabbed us and started bellowing, “Resistance is useless!” or something equally Vogonic.
Douglas may have said there’s no such phrase “As pretty as an airport,” but there’s pretty everywhere. You have to look for it, and there’s likely a lot less than average in airports.
Heathrow certainly has cleaner lines than say, O’Hare or Reagan. It doesn’t, however, have the intimate charm of airports of my acquaintance that I argue are quite pretty: Lihue, Hawaii, for example, with its volcanic red concrete. Or Santa Barbara, California, with railings of drifting kelp fronds wrought into iron, dividing the departure gates.
***
We dropped down to the tube and loaded up borrowed Oyster Cards. My friend Suzy managed to have -10p on her card, and I wondered why she wasn’t being held in debtors’ prison at The Tower for the offense. We got pounds from the ATM and made our way to our flat via the Paddington and Northern lines.
After arriving and depositing our luggage, we walked our block twice. Once for a Turkish meal at a place that brought us a lot of yummy food that didn’t very closely resemble what we thought we’d ordered. Arriving back at the flat, happy and sated, we realized we’d forgotten the bare essentials necessary for a week’s stay: tea, milk, bread, oatmeal, some almond croissants that looked good, and ooooh! Raspberry jam. And oooooh! digestive biscuits! And WOW! Old Jamaica Ginger Beer. Like I said: bare essentials.
Finally, we collapsed, getting up a few hours later only to drink tea and eat biscuits with a side of melatonin.
Maybe this travel thing was going to turn out okay after all.
What do you think?