Ordinarily, that sort of error is not a huge deal. However, none of the four otherwise excellent guidebooks I devoured during the three months before leaving for London mentioned an important detail:
Many of the tube (underground) and train stations don't have "lifts," which is the British term for the "elevators" that we Americans take if we are going to or from subterranean places to higher ones.
So thank goodness, my embarrassment was only shared with people I didn't know and would never see again as I lugged my full-size, heavy suitcase up and down step-by-step at Paddington Station and again at Baker Street. A few kind souls stopped to help, and I let them. After almost 24 hours without sleep, I didn't care what I looked like or who saw me. I was just grateful for the assist.
But how to stay awake another 13 or so hours?
My seasoned-traveler friends advised to stay up till British bedtime, or else it would take days to adjust to the time difference. It was only 7 a.m. London time but 1 a.m. Indiana time, and I had been up since 3 a.m. the previous day. The week before, it had seemed like such a good idea to try to get my body on London time, going to bed around 9 p.m. and getting up at 3 to 4 a.m. -- but being able to sleep on the flight over was part of that plan.
Unfortunately, it was part of the plan that didn't happen because I was just too excited.
After five years of intense study that still defies description, plus the yearly anxiety of waiting 3 months to get that "pass" email, I was in London -- about to graduate -- and for the first time, meet in person some of the dear friends known only so far by email and conferencing.
The next part of the plan was clear. I would just get to my hotel, and even if I couldn't check in yet, at least I could start to figure out the rest of that Saturday.
London!
Customs at Heathrow Airport
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