Day Nineteen of Twenty.
It was too early. We had too much stuff. How could we possibly make it to the Metro with our feet cut, bruised, and blistered so? I attempted to abandon my luggage several times that morning.
We flew from Paris to London in the Air France Airbus A380.
I guess it was special because everyone was shooting photos and then we got a certificate of flight afterward. Oh. Thanks. Maybe the pilot should concentrate on keeping that big ass thing in the air instead of autographing certificates.
Three hours in London Heathrow. I spent most of it asleep on the toilet.
We board. I passed out over Iceland and didn’t wake until we hit the U.S./Canadian border. Yay, we’re home! Four hours later we landed in SFO. My luggage and I are reunited. Luckily they don’t charge us for trolleys. I guess the don’t want disillusioned Americans to flee back abroad where the luggage trolleys are always free. Heh.
Roshani met us at baggage claim with a big smile and a warm hug. It was sunny outside. It was good to be home.
Day Nineteen of Twenty. An American accent never sounded so good.