Happy Sunday! If you would like to listen to this week’s article hit the play button above. Have a great day!
The Clash ~ Should I Stay or Should I Go?
By far, the worst use of $130 pounds from our budget for the trip to England was the very first purchase we made upon arrival at Heathrow.
After a traffic filled slog up I-95 to get to the airport and a long flight from Dulles to London overnight, we arrived at Heathrow at 6:00 a.m. Waltzing through the all digital, no humans customs and security with our new passports and no lines, all the craziness we had been reading about all summer concerning Heathrow’s myriad of problems seemed to be gone. We felt like our plane’s passengers were literally the only ones in the airport. It was the biggest airport terminal with the least amount of people in it I had ever seen. Of course, it was because it was 6 a.m. in the morning. On a Sunday.
We had been waiting a lifetime for this moment; finally, England! But, now that it was actually happening, London seemed very underwhelming. We started feeling like we had in Paris many years before. Your brain has been so influenced by the wonderful sights and sounds you’ve been reading about and you’re expecting to see like the Seine, the Thames, the Eiffel Tower, and Big Ben, that your emotions override the reasoning which is trying to tell you this isn’t the city yet, it’s the airport. You’re still MILES away from what you’re expecting. Please stop judging. You’re NOT there yet.
Yes, you’ve flown 3000 or so miles and landed BUT there’s still more miles to go. You’re at an airport, sir. Relax.
But, the problem is you’re exhausted. And hungry. And probably dehydrated.
And when you’re exhausted, hungry, and dehydrated your emotions want to pick a fight with your reasoning skills and pretty much anybody else that wants to start something.
So, our first decision in England was a case of our, let me rephrase MY, since Emma wholeheartedly disagreed with me, emotions overruling months of precise planning. At home, in my comfortable Lazy Boy chair, we determined upon arrival we would use the Underground and Overground train system to get from Heathrow to our Airbnb in Stoke Newington.
Even though, there might not be a London neighborhood further from Heathrow than Stoke Newington.
For the first time in all of years of traveling, I surrendered the finding of accommodations to Emma. She said “Airbnbs are the way to go, Dad.”
We had never stayed in one as a family. But I said it’s time to trust your daughter, Chris. She is smarter than you, younger than you, she is a grown woman now, she lives in LA, and it’s just time to surrender the control, man. Relax and enjoy it.
Back in America, I looked and saw how far Stoke Newington was from Heathrow and it looked to me like our first trip on the train system from the airport would be our most complicated with luggage and jet lag. The Airbnb seemed far away from most of the attractions we wanted to see also, but ok, I surrender. Let’s stay in Stoke Newington and let’s take the train there as soon as we land.
That was our plan, until, our actual arrival in Heathrow at 6 a.m. As we headed out of the terminal towards the Underground, we walked the wrong way and found ourselves right next to the taxi stand.
“Ahhh, look at those old fashioned black taxis! They’re so cool. Let’s just jump on one, I’ll pay for it, and we will arrive with no stress right at the doorstep of our Airbnb. No worrying about carrying luggage on our first trip on the Underground. We can get some sleep and then be off to to explore.”
“Dad. Let’s just go back in. This is going to be so expensive and not worth it. Just turn around and go back inside.”
“Emma, come on…we will be able to see the city this way. It’s so early in the morning, we will have it to ourselves…and we won’t see anything on the Underground.”
“Good morning, sir. Where are you heading?” The taxi driver said to me as I stood there thinking of listening to Emma.
Ahh my first interaction with an Englishman!!! This is thrilling!!! The accent. Ahhhh…London! We’re here!
I can’t wait to talk about football with this guy! Wait ‘til I tell him we’re going to the Chelsea/Tottenham game!!
“We are going to Stoke Newington, sir.”
“Where?”
“Stoke Newington.”
At that point, my new English friend gets on his phone and asks permission to drive all the way to Stokey. He also asks if it’s possible for the company to secure a fare for him on the way back to the airport.
He opens the door for us and we all pile into his yellow cab. The cool black ones were lined up all around but his was the yellow one. Yellow like an old lemon yellow.
And so the squeeze and the sourness began.
No football talk. No welcome to London talk. He turns on the Classic American Rock radio station and proceeds to talk on his phone driving about 30 kms an hour for the next hour to get us to Stoke as Michelle and Henry close their eyes and Emma and I stare at the meter going from $50 pounds to $75 to $100 and up and up.
My beautiful daughter is glaring at me. She loves me. But she knows she is right. We saw literally nothing on our hour drive to Stoke except the meter running up. London looks like the deadest place I have ever been to.
Finally we arrive at our Airbnb in Stoke and we go to get out of the cab and our driver says.
“Are you visiting a relative here?”
I said “No, this is our Airbnb.”
The look on his face was incredulous.
He said “You’re paying to stay all the way out here?”
“Do you know anything about this neighborhood? If I were you, I wouldn’t take my family here. You should get to the West End as fast as possible and leave here as quickly as you can mate. I haven’t been out here in years and years but I grew up nearby and it’s not safe for you and your family.”
Well….damn. I’m doing everything in my fatherly capacity to not look at Emma. Dad surrenders control for the first time and….Chris, don’t even finish the thought.
“Well, we’re going to the West Ham game today” I say to him. “Do you know how long it will take to get there from here in a cab?”
“At least you know enough to go see a proper football club mate but it might take you several hours to get there today because the roads are closed due to a marathon.”
Hmmmm.
“The fare is $138 pounds.”
I go to hand him my credit card.
“Do you have cash?”
Not yet.
He takes my card. Swipes it. And gives one last admonishment to get out of Stoke as quickly as I can.
We turn around, dropped off on the curb, and face our Airbnb.
People are starting to wake up and walk around the neighborhood. We hear a child crying. The smell of marijuana is drifting by. I see a family of Orthodox Jews walking somewhere together.
I reach behind the smelly rows of trash cans to put the code in for the keys to our apartment. It’s not working. I try again. And again. And one more time.
Emma double checks the code. This time it works.
We walk up three stories. Our flat is on the top floor. We walk in. It’s small. It’s hot. But it’s nice.
We’re stressed. We open the windows. We try to sleep. Emma tries not to cry. I try not to panic. Michelle tries not to panic. Henry goes to sleep.
We have a big decision to make. Do we forfeit the $1500 we have already paid for the Airbnb and get the heck out of dodge because of what one man has said, or do we rest, check things out for ourselves, and make a decision to stay?
We hope you will check out Part 2 of the essay next week to find out the answer to…should we stay or should we go?