Getting here...

After the epic fail that was "Discouver Vancouver", I've decided to challenge myself by creating another witty-titled blog that actually contains more than 2 posts, documenting my travels through Europe. So here goes....

The flight over to London is worth mentioning. As some of you may know, I HATE flying. I usually carry a few adavan in my wallet as a placebo to reassure me that if the going gets rough, I can get pleasantly dopey on the drug, making the possibility of a crash a distant, fuzzy and almost happy thought. After working myself up for the flight, I got to the airport only to discover the flight was... wait for it.... 9 HOURS DELAYED. GOOOOO, how broodle is that. Luckily, sweet UJ was there to bring me back home for a few hours, only to return back to the airport later that night. The flight finally took off at 1 am, and after a glass of wine my nerves were calm and I was able to catch a mere 4 hour sleep, mind you there was a minor Toy Story 3 interruption in between but it was worth it I tell you.

I arrived at Gatwick slightly misty eyed but nonetheless excited to see Jules and David. As I waited for customs, I couldn't help but get the feeling that something wasn't right. As I approached the front of the line I stared at the customs employees sitting at their cubicles in disgust, with sullen looks plastered on their faces, clearly hating their lives and wishing they completed their highschool degrees (low blow...?). Of course I landed the worst of them all --- a vertically and socially challenged hobbit-like, menopause-approaching biatch who looked like she got plucked off the set of Slumdog Millionaire and thrown into an "official" uniform. This woman gave me HELL for not having a return ticket, despite the fact I had written proof that one was not needed if the visitor was staying less than 6 months.

Anyway, without boring you, I was detained for over 2 hours.... 2 HOURS. For NO good reason. They conducted a full luggage search (no cavity thank gawd) normally reserved for the sketchiest of the sketch. Violated and overtired, I could do nothing but listen to the customs nazi yell at how angry she was with me, reminding me of that time I skipped an afternoon at Cosburn in grade 8 and got called into the principals office where I received a scolding as though I had commited the worst violation since Eve ate the apple. My punishment: a stamp on the back pages of my passport usually reserved for pleasant documentation of one's previous travels --- "MUST RETURN APRIL 15". "Or what?" I asked the wench. "Or you, David, and Julia will face legal actions and go to court". "Go fuck yourself" I exclaimed... in my head. The problem is you can't argue with these bastards cause they hold the cards and can send you back home before you can say "go fuck yourself".

Yes, I was planning on coming home around that time anyway, but would have liked to A) have a flexible departure date, 2) to NOT have that stamp on my PP, and D) not have had such a rotten, rattling beginning to the voyage. (Melly, recognize the movie quote?)

That being said, I found much comfort in the words of Jules, David, and the fam. Sweetest David waited for me without knowing what had come of me, for that I express my sincerest gratitude.

STAY POSTED for the next blogs which will be 100 times more interesting and filled with joyous memories. Thanks for reading my rant.

Signing off for now... xo Kates