Train to Terminal 5, Gatwick

The train whirrs along with wavering keening noises. everyone reading papers or minding their own business. The girl in front of me picks at her nails or texts. A large framed businessman checks at the toilets and then wanders back , only to fall on an irate bollywood looking businessman who just glares at the accidental intruder.

A mix of nervousness and excitement stirs through as I stumble through the stations. wrong train. Take this one. no take that one. no take the bus. On to London Bridge. It speeds through the streets like something out of harry potter, this replacement bus.

Thank you to Eva, the Ladbrokes employee.

I've caught the last train to Gatwick. The train sways back and forth on the tracks making a whirring thunk sound like a boat car on a theme park ride.

Meeting Connor

i feel like his anonymity is safe as i have only a first name...

I was on the phone with sebastian, trying to make note of the directions to his house when I hurriedly looked up at the yellow-lit blocks of numbers indicating which buses would arrive at the stop. A red double-decker bus, it's sign lit up in green contrasted against black, shoulted "27!!!", my bus! I held my card up to the electronic register and stumbled into the seat across from a young guy. He had a youthful style. Hoodie zipped over a tee and baggy jeans. He had his head-phones in. I glanced around, trying to get my bearings. Am I on the right bus? no maps! glancing around in a slight panic, I decided to ask this young guy in front of me. He pulled out his headphones and apologized straight out. "I'm from Ireland, sorry, my cousin just put me on this bus, I have no idea where I'm going" I assured him that it was ok and tried comically to still find out where I was headed even a couple times attempting to go up to the bus window, but he seemed busy driving or busy with passengers just arriving. I asked him what his name was.

"Connor" he replied.

Very Irish! i thought

I introduced myself. After shaking my hand he realized that I was wearing a ring.

he asked "your ring, it's a claddagh ring?"

"yeah," i replied "my flatmate had one and i liked the idea of it so i bought one at a market here" he proceeded to show me his ring. It was beautiful, a tarnished gold ring in the exact same style. He explained that this town he grew up in was the town that made these rings in Ireland. While I wondered at this he looked up to see that we were nearing baker street, my stop. He pushed the button, reaching across the aisle to do so.

"Thank you" I said with an outstretched hand to wave goodbye.

As i stepped off I smiled...

Bound for Beaumont

I puzzled over my directions; a crumpled laser-jet print out, underneath a building's scaffolding before deciding on a street. Again I began my mantra (almost there, almost there, almost there, almost there...) I gritted my teeth and made each 20 step march. Finally a glimmer of hope in the form of a lumber yard--I had remembered that in the taxi directions online, it had noted that one must tell the cabbie that the dorm was near this. As I passed, construction workers unloading items, I reached the corner and peered around as I walked...this was it! Beaumont Court!!! Finally I was able to unload my bags, sign in and begin to unpack

Ace Hotel Evenings

I organized my things and went up and down the warm green staircase doing this and that, talking to one person or another, not sure if they could see through to my awkward interior. That i am not really this worldly traveler, but a passer-by who has just happened to stumble into another country again. I pleaded with the desk-worker to allow me to use the internet for a few moments to tell C., my boyfriend, that i was ok (and in turn he would hopefully let my family know that I was ok.) I climbed up to the room I shared with Z., an american pessimist, and E. another american in the top bunk to my right. He tapped away on his mac. the soft blue glow shone brilliantly in the dark room. Stealthily (or at least I'd like to think I was) I grabbed my p.j.'s and bath items and went to shower. another guy was also waiting. "I'll check the other levels." he stated and proceeded to search on another floor. I nearly followed but decided to stick it out and wait on the fourth floor. Finally one opened and with the awkward caution found in any public wash-room, I showered, gathered everything up and went back to the room after a considerable amount of trial and error I managed to let myself in with the electronic key-card. I remember Z. telling me that she would probably be waking me when she woke at 5 am. But that morning I barely heard a thing, more concerned with my sleep-talking and the sharp protests of the box-spring mattress. When my alarms announced morning and sunlight greeted my eyes, E. and I realized that he and I were the only occupants of the room!

All others had already left. a short while later after packing up and visiting the restroom to get dressed I joined him and the others downstairs for the free breakfast. A hotel-style spread lay ona series of tables on the right-hand side of a room over-crowded with wooden tables and happily chatting guests. Eventually the aussies and a couple americans joined us at the table.

I had to laugh inside. ME! sitting at a table full of well-traveled and frankly quite handsome guys. hm...I pretended not to notice and ate double breakfast (since it was free) and squirreled away two boxes of cereal...tiny little things. We laughed and puzzled over the kids' games included on the small boxes, exclaiming at our discoveries. One by one we said haphazard goodbyes and left. I boarded the tube once more and made like a mule on a mountain trail- laden with bags to my flat. Mornington Crescent, got it. The sun was uncomfortably hot.