excuse me, this is a public loo

I actually ended up getting about 45 minutes of sleep between 03:45 GMT and 04:30 GMT. I won’t take any criticism about having packed towels rather than buying them in France because they really came in handy this morning when I was freezing to death on the terminal floor. I also unpacked a Ziploc bag of sweaters to use as a pillow, which I put on top of my purse. I wrapped my arms around my laptop and rested my back against my larger suitcase and my knees against the smaller. I woke up feeling just ever-so-slightly refreshed, and lay cozily under my oversize towel blanket for another 40 minutes before seeking breakfast.

I bought fresh raspberries and vanilla yogurt from Marks & Spencer and ordered a medium café latte from Costa. I know Costa is totally corporate and Starbucks-esque, but I actually think my latte may be the best I’ve ever had, and my desperation for caffeine doesn’t negate the praise. It was perfection.

After relaxing with my copy of Simple French Food (given to me by Kim Corkin), I gathered my bags and sought a trolley. Attention, America! I have found the American dollar’s strength in airport trolley rentals. Because of the respective sizes of these coins,* a luggage trolley may be rented for one £1 coin, one €1 coin, or one U.S. quarter. If you’re responsible enough to return the trolley, you get your coin back anyway, but of course I inserted a quarter as my personal way of sticking it to the weak U.S. economy.

*NOTE: The size of British coins seems to me completely arbitrary. Does it make any sense to me that a 10 pence piece ought to be larger than a £1 piece? No, it does not. This makes shuffling through one’s change purse to pay for a cup of coffee absolutely mortifying for those of us from cultures that subscribe to a larger-is-more philosophy. I’ve only have two monetary transactions here excluding the trolley rental, and both times I’ve broken down and paid with ten quid notes to avoid the embarrassment of hunting down £2.12 in coins. The cashiers look equally upset when I fuss with the coins as when I hand them the notes. I seem to be inconveniencing them either way.

After breakfast I set up camp in the ladies’ loo and spent way too long wrestling my short, unwashed hair into a ponytail. Six bobby pins and a barrette later… I had a lot of time to kill! The whole time the most adorable little English woman was watching me and making soft comments under the drone of the electric hand dryers. “Looks lovely, dear.” “I have hair spray if you need it, love.” “You really ought to powder your nose, dear. That shine isn’t terrible becoming on your complexion.” I was nearly annoyed but much too lonely to turn away a new friend and far too disgusting to deny that her criticism had merit. After she was satisfied with my transformation (I changed my clothes, too, since I had my bag open anyway) she asked me if I was from France originally. I had already told her about my plans to study in Bordeaux this year, but really – how poor a judge of an accent do you have to be to confuse French speak with American? I told her that I was from the States, from Ohio. “Oh! How lovely. That’s where I live,” she replied. I responded with surprise, asking her where she lived and for how long, etc. I won’t bore you with our exact dialogue; just know that this lady talked like Mrs. Doubtfire. Anyway, it turns out that she married a man from Akron and has been living in Cuyahoga freaking Falls (adjacent to Akron) for the past 19 years. She’s just back in Britain for a “wee visit.” It’s cliché, but it’s a small world after all.

I still have a couple of hours before I can even check in for my flight and I’m sick both of reading and of paying for Internet.