Trip to Slovenija, Day 1 (and 2)
It's Friday, July 20, 2007. We are on our way to Slovenia and Josh's wedding. “We” include, Bob, Karen, Damian, and Zack Lynch, and Charles Tucker (Karen's dad). Fortunately, it was no problem convincing Bob that we didn't need to leave the house at 7am to catch our 11:30 flight out of Portland. This will be a recurring negotiation throughout the trip. After a change of planes in Cincinnati, Ohio, we spent a day in London. Our first adventure was getting to our hostel for Saturday night.
To give some background; our original flight plan was to make a connecting flight in London from one airport to another in a four hour window. During my research on how this would be done it was concluded that it would be less stressful and less expensive to spend the night in London then to try and make the connection.
It is also helpful to understand the layout of the airports. There are four airports that service London: Heathrow (the best known), Luton (a small one), Gatwick (where we were flying in and out of the USA, which is southeast of London), and Stansted (where we were flying in and out for Slovenia and northeast). To drive directly from Gatwick to Stansted is over 60 miles. According to the research I had done on the Internet, there are three methods of getting from Gatwick to Stansted:
1. Shuttle bus, L25.00 per person (or about $250 total) and would take 3 hours.
2. Airport express trains through London, L30.00 per person (or about $300 total) and would take about 2 hours.
3. Taxi van, L215 total (or about $430 total) and would take about 1 ½ hours (traffic permitting).
Keep in mind, we are traveling with five people with differing temperaments. If you know my family you have a clue just how differing we can be. It has also come to my attention how influential it is when traveling with five, compared to just one or two. I had figured that it might have been possible with hope and prayer but, with the pessimists in my group we figured they counteracted the hope. Then, with the recent terrorist activity in London we figured they counteracted the prayer. It was decided it would be better to be safe than sorry.
Since we changed the flight to the following day, we had the time and wished to save money. So, it was decided to take public transit from the Gatwick airport to our hostel near Stansted. The short story is that this took about seven hours to accomplish. And, no, we didn't do any site-seeing on the way.
The first coup won was when we purchased the train tickets. They were considerably less than expected. Also, they got us all the way to Chelmsford (the town near our hostel). Overall, we didn't have to wait long for any of the connections throughout London. The train ride to London provided the first sites of architecture that I associate with the United Kingdom (see pix).
In answer to “why no site seeing?”, imagine this situation; After traveling on a plane for no less than 12 hours already, then a (crowded) train ride to central London, we emerged from the train station with our three suitcases, two camera cases, and three backpacks. We find a sea of people and vehicles in what appeared to be pandemonium (see picture).
The sidewalks were narrow by nature. Then, add the number of people. Some members of my crew were already done with the adventure. The focus became, get to “home base”, then see what kind of adventure we want to go on.
It turned out, getting to the hostel was enough of an adventure. Based on the information I had, we needed to get to the Picadilly Underground station. Thanks to the kindness of others, we found the bus and correct stop. It took two trains in the London Underground, to find the train to Chelmsford. I am grateful for how well my family went along with it all. It took only slight reminders to correct frustrations. For example, after it was announced that one of the trains was going to be delayed due to “switch problems”, the first train that came was too full for all of us to get on. Bob needed just a simple reminder that when the first train is full, its follower usually has more room. Bob recognized nature of public transit and that was exactly what happened.
It was in Chelmsford that my tolerance was starting to wear thin. I was also sensing that everyone was at the end of their patience. I had promised the guys that once we got to Chelmsford there would be a shuttle to take us to our hostel. Instead, as I re-read my notes, it was discovered that “a local bus” would take us to the hotel where we checked in, and a shuttle takes us from the hotel to the hostel. We had one more transfer of public transportation to make.
Not only did I not know which “local bus” to take, I couldn't figure out how to call the hotel and ask them. I expected barriers maneuvering around in other countries. But, I expected the barriers to be something like language, systems (like figuring out the transit system), or customs. I never thought I would be stumped by trying to make a phone call. I didn't know which numbers to use. I would use either too many, or not enough. So, I couldn't call the hotel to get help.
We found the bus station. When I went to find which bus we wanted, the information booth was closed. By this time, we had all traveled for about 19 straight hours. I asked the first bus driver I found, “do you have time for a question?” “I leave in 2 minutes. What can I help you with.” I told him, “I'm afraid my family will tar and feather me if I don't get them to our hotel soon. Do you know which bus goes to the Bushel and Sack?” He thought about it for a minute and said “I know where that is. I'll be going right past it.” I couldn't believe it. My first try, and it was the right bus. We all hopped on the bus, with our three suitcases, two camera bags, and three backpacks, and he took us to the Bushel and Sack.
We spent the rest of the day and evening, relaxing and enjoying the small town of Great Dunmow (see pix).
(It is now Saturday night, 7/21.)
To give some background; our original flight plan was to make a connecting flight in London from one airport to another in a four hour window. During my research on how this would be done it was concluded that it would be less stressful and less expensive to spend the night in London then to try and make the connection.
It is also helpful to understand the layout of the airports. There are four airports that service London: Heathrow (the best known), Luton (a small one), Gatwick (where we were flying in and out of the USA, which is southeast of London), and Stansted (where we were flying in and out for Slovenia and northeast). To drive directly from Gatwick to Stansted is over 60 miles. According to the research I had done on the Internet, there are three methods of getting from Gatwick to Stansted:
1. Shuttle bus, L25.00 per person (or about $250 total) and would take 3 hours.
2. Airport express trains through London, L30.00 per person (or about $300 total) and would take about 2 hours.
3. Taxi van, L215 total (or about $430 total) and would take about 1 ½ hours (traffic permitting).
Keep in mind, we are traveling with five people with differing temperaments. If you know my family you have a clue just how differing we can be. It has also come to my attention how influential it is when traveling with five, compared to just one or two. I had figured that it might have been possible with hope and prayer but, with the pessimists in my group we figured they counteracted the hope. Then, with the recent terrorist activity in London we figured they counteracted the prayer. It was decided it would be better to be safe than sorry.
Since we changed the flight to the following day, we had the time and wished to save money. So, it was decided to take public transit from the Gatwick airport to our hostel near Stansted. The short story is that this took about seven hours to accomplish. And, no, we didn't do any site-seeing on the way.
The first coup won was when we purchased the train tickets. They were considerably less than expected. Also, they got us all the way to Chelmsford (the town near our hostel). Overall, we didn't have to wait long for any of the connections throughout London. The train ride to London provided the first sites of architecture that I associate with the United Kingdom (see pix).
In answer to “why no site seeing?”, imagine this situation; After traveling on a plane for no less than 12 hours already, then a (crowded) train ride to central London, we emerged from the train station with our three suitcases, two camera cases, and three backpacks. We find a sea of people and vehicles in what appeared to be pandemonium (see picture).
The sidewalks were narrow by nature. Then, add the number of people. Some members of my crew were already done with the adventure. The focus became, get to “home base”, then see what kind of adventure we want to go on.
It turned out, getting to the hostel was enough of an adventure. Based on the information I had, we needed to get to the Picadilly Underground station. Thanks to the kindness of others, we found the bus and correct stop. It took two trains in the London Underground, to find the train to Chelmsford. I am grateful for how well my family went along with it all. It took only slight reminders to correct frustrations. For example, after it was announced that one of the trains was going to be delayed due to “switch problems”, the first train that came was too full for all of us to get on. Bob needed just a simple reminder that when the first train is full, its follower usually has more room. Bob recognized nature of public transit and that was exactly what happened.
It was in Chelmsford that my tolerance was starting to wear thin. I was also sensing that everyone was at the end of their patience. I had promised the guys that once we got to Chelmsford there would be a shuttle to take us to our hostel. Instead, as I re-read my notes, it was discovered that “a local bus” would take us to the hotel where we checked in, and a shuttle takes us from the hotel to the hostel. We had one more transfer of public transportation to make.
Not only did I not know which “local bus” to take, I couldn't figure out how to call the hotel and ask them. I expected barriers maneuvering around in other countries. But, I expected the barriers to be something like language, systems (like figuring out the transit system), or customs. I never thought I would be stumped by trying to make a phone call. I didn't know which numbers to use. I would use either too many, or not enough. So, I couldn't call the hotel to get help.
We found the bus station. When I went to find which bus we wanted, the information booth was closed. By this time, we had all traveled for about 19 straight hours. I asked the first bus driver I found, “do you have time for a question?” “I leave in 2 minutes. What can I help you with.” I told him, “I'm afraid my family will tar and feather me if I don't get them to our hotel soon. Do you know which bus goes to the Bushel and Sack?” He thought about it for a minute and said “I know where that is. I'll be going right past it.” I couldn't believe it. My first try, and it was the right bus. We all hopped on the bus, with our three suitcases, two camera bags, and three backpacks, and he took us to the Bushel and Sack.
We spent the rest of the day and evening, relaxing and enjoying the small town of Great Dunmow (see pix).
(It is now Saturday night, 7/21.)