It’s staggering what feats you can accomplish when forced to because your completely alone
In order to save 80 pounds to travel by taxi to the remote-rural-horsetown of Lingfield England 40 minutes south of London I
1.) Took a Coach to another portion of Heathrow Airport
2.) Took a couch from Heathrow Central to Victoria Station (for buses) : Cost 6 pounds
3.) Walked 2 blocks to Victoria Station (for trains)
4.) Took a train from London to Lingfield, Surrey, England: 11 pounds, 45 minutes
5.) Walked 1.7 miles with all four suitcases through farmland to the Marriot Hotel (45 minutes – an eternity)
By my mathematical calculations I saved over 60 pounds in travel, but I am 100% sure it was not worth the effort seeing how my back is still sore 2 days later though I’ve spent most my afternoons in the Spa’s hottub.
Let me explain further,
After a delightful packed tube ride with a friendly family of 2 girls and one boy, including questions like “Do you know Pokeman?” “Do you know Snow White” “Do you know Cinderella” “Kids, do you know where Disney comes from?” “Kids, do you know how long it takes to drive across the United States”
I was told a stop before Lingfield that I was coach 9 and needed to be in coaches 1-8 to get off the train. I wish the angels recorded me while I shoved, ripped, pulled and cursed to get all my luggage down the very narrow aisle to exit the next coach up. I’m sure the Englishmen are still talking about the damn yankee who hit their head twice with her bags. After I exited the train, one man saw me put my luggage down and wait and then offered to help me carry my large suitcase up the stairs to cross the tracks. As we chit-chatted about America he questioned me bewildered, “So , do you like horses?”
Clearly, Lingfield is not used to visitors during the weekdays, especially not young American visitors with 3 suitcases.
Lingfield is to London as Yardley, Pennsylvania is to Philadelphia. It’s mostly a suburban quaint family town with very little fuss. Most of these cute families own cars. I wrongly assumed their would be taxi at the train station when I arrived and after sitting on my luggage for quiet some time, I came to realize no one was going to pick me up.
I stepped to my feet and blazed out in the English country-side like a pack mule. Immediately I started giving my hungry-sleepy self pep talks, “Katie, you got this. You have the energy and the strength to haul ass through these fields.”
And haul- ass I did, wandering aimlessly on 2 streets near horse pasture heaving no idea what I was or where I was headed. My GPS that I screen-shotted in the Atlanta airport, told me that in .7 miles I would arrive at my luxurious spa location. Slowly, my pep talks turned into me talking and coxing my suitcases, believing if I talked gently to them they would weigh less.
I took a right and retraced my steps left on Station Road, then I took a left, retracted my steps right and then retraced again to go left on Racetrack Road. Finally I stopped in desperation. My right shoulder ached and was buring red, and my right hand was, in no exaggeration, paralyzed in a clenched position.
Right at my breaking point, I looked across the highway and saw a mother and daughter out for a run. I yelled in my yankee accent across the road, “Excuse me! Where is the Marriot Hotel?”
The mother immediately recognized me in my hot-mess state, pointed at the Hotel’s grand entrance right past the bend, and impulsively crossed the street to help me. She offered to take one of my bags, and I had no choice but to give her my ever-cute-Jessica-Simpson-Weekender-turned-brick and she introduced herself to me, “Hi, my name is Katie”
Yes she was a travel-angel with my name-sake! Right in the knick of time, but not a minute too soon. Her and her daughter, Maddie, escorted me the rest of the .5 while talking to me of their simple life in Lingford. They dropped me off right into the Marriot lobby before finishing their run. When the concierge asked for my credit card, I legitimately had to rub my hand until my fingers would open. I fumbled to grab my Visa, but I was never so thankful as to arrive in horse-race-track-spa- paradise.
When I arrived at suite in room 125, I used my last bit of energy to push my 4 suitcases just into the entranceway and immediately jumped into my king-sized bed and breathed a sigh of relief.
Here was my amazing resting place looking over a famous racetrack in the country side. Here I would rest for 3 nights before the Oxford program begins.
That night, I swam/jaccuzied and Saunaed for 3 hours. Jesus had my reward waiting for me:) But from now on, I am just taking a damn taxi!