April 15, 2025: Day 1 of 17
3:34 PM – The Birmingham Airport
I’m sitting at the gate, feeling more prepared for a trip than I think I’ve ever been
Right before we left, I posted a throwback picture from my first trip to London—me standing in front of the Thames with Big Ben behind me. I remember that sunset, what I was wearing (the black velvet coat with the silver buttons—I still have it), and how that moment felt. And now, by this time tomorrow, I’ll be back in London.
Same hotel. Afternoon tea booked. Full circle.
Getting older isn’t exactly a joyride, but the memories collected along the way make it more bearable. Sometimes even beautiful.
9:16 PM – Charlotte Airport
I made a solid effort to travel lighter for this 17-day journey. I, however, am not a hostel-staying-hiking-and-only-traveling-with-a-backpack-for-2-weeks kind of traveler.
Those who know me know I travel with a suitcase the size of my Fiat. Those who know me best know I usually travel with two of them (and also know my Fiat’s name is Pearla Bella). But I managed to squeeze 17 days’ worth of outfits, jewelry, shoes, and a hat into just one Fiat-sized suitcase and a carry-on. Plus, a purse.
You don’t want to know what all I’ve got crammed into my purse.
The main point is, I’m packed. I’m soon to board the plane. I just polished off a bread roll with whipped butter in the Centurion Lounge of the Charlotte airport and am washing it down with a glass of Prosecco.
Everything’s on time. I’m enjoying this little window of calm before things really get going. “They Call Me Mellow Yellow” is playing overhead, setting a relaxed, 60s-tinged vibe. “Last Train to Clarksville” is up next. Good signs all around.
The last time I was in London, I hadn’t tried Indian food. I didn’t know the joy of clotted cream. My hair was a frizzy mess. These days? I love Indian food, I’m obsessed with clotted cream, and my hair—well, still a work in progress. But hey, progress is progress.
11:02 PM – Boarding the Flight to London
We’re on the plane. We upgraded to business class both ways—a splurge justified by the promise of sleep and leg room.
Once I get my things settled—Kindle, makeup case, headphones, iPad—the flight attendant comes by with champagne in those little plastic flutes used for pre-takeoff. I sit up like a kid on a school bus and turn to smile at Kenny sitting behind me. We toast our trip, clacking our plastic together, grinning like two people about to embark on a trip they’ve been planning for months.
The trip is no longer approaching. It’s here.
Here’s a confession. I’ve always liked airplane food. Dinner was exactly what I pre-ordered: smoked mozzarella manicotti. Yum. To be fair, the eggplant caponata starter wasn’t great, but the romaine salad with toasted quinoa and balsamic was crisp and refreshing. I passed on the ice cream sundae for dessert and opted for the fruit and cheese plate—avoiding overly sugary foods is one of my most helpful travel tips for the most (ahem) uneventful airplane travel.
Dinner finished, I recline my seat, curl up with a pillow and blanket, and continue reading the new book I downloaded oh so long ago now at the Birmingham airport. A few pages in, and I drift off to sleep, already dreaming in another time zone.