caution, the moving walkway is ending; please secure all clothing

This is [evidently] my first post on this new blog, whose purpose will be to keep in touch with all those of you whom I will not see for much of the coming year. Hopefully it's redundant to inform you, my dear friends, that I'll be spending the coming academic year at the Université Michel de Montaigne Bordeaux 3 near Bordeaux, France.

So I left Yellow Springs this morning, flying out of Dayton at 06:50 EST and arriving at Chicago O'Hare at about 09:00 CST. I flew from there to London Heathrow, where I wandered around what I certainly hope was the dirtiest, sketchiest section of the airport. Finally I found a middle-aged American couple headed to the same shuttle as I. We had a very uneventful 2-hour ride to London Gatwick (and when I say uneventful, I mean other than the terrifying reality of being in an oversized vehicle barreling down what I have been taught to regard as the wrong side of the road). I parted ways with my new friends, which now included a young Canadian married couple, to instructions to "have a safe flight." I honestly don't know why anyone says that as, in the end, we have absolutely no control. Then, one of my suitcases immediately tipped over into a puddle consisting of what, by its odor, must have served the purpose of extinguishing about a million cigarettes. Awesome.

I traversed the entirety of the south Gatwick terminal (towing my luggage) until I wandered into a Hilton that was attached to the airport. I was exhausted, but rooms cost around 230 British pounds per night. Instead I was directed to the payphones, where I called home collect to reassure my parents that I hadn't died or been kidnapped yet.

The person at the front desk of the Hilton sent me on what I am now nearly positive was a wild goose chase for something called a "yotel." Yes, that's like "hotel" with a "y." He said that there I would be able to rent a room on an hourly rate. After another half an hour (it was at this point 02:00 GMT, I schlepped my hundred pounds of cargo to the north Gatwick terminal because, as a very kind but challenging to understand old lady told me, British Airways does not fly out of the south terminal.

Upon arrival at the north terminal, I again started my futile search for the elusive "yotel," to no avail. Finally I found a really crap waiting area full of sleeping people and unattended baggage. I've locked my two large suitcases, and maybe I can sleep on top of them (avoiding the cigarette water, of course) and clutch my purse and my laptop to catch a few winks. At this point, it's almost 03:00 GMT and I should be able to check in for my flight tomorrow at about 11:00 GMT.

In the morning, I fully plan on making myself enough at home in the public loo to freshen up a bit before my flight to Bordeaux at 13:45 GMT. Then again, I already wasted a long time looking for deoderant before I realized that the girl next to me was emitting a much more offensive odor than mine.

I left Yellow Springs over 17 hours ago and I already miss Mama, Papa, and Hannah, but I'm also itching for the adventure ahead of me. More when I get to Bordeaux.