London: A Roundup
A few months ago, B and I were sitting on my couch (in my old apartment), surrounded by moving boxes, basking in the Seattle summer sun that was pouring through the window. We’d been discussing plans for our first anniversary and started throwing ideas out for an international trip. Europe was the obvious choice, and London was the instant frontrunner.
I’ve (basically) never been outside of the US. I say basically because according to most, Vancouver and Whistler don’t count. As such, I’ve also never been on a plane that big, or for that long. Excited was an understatement — I was literally giddy with the thought. We tried a few different options with dates and flights on Virgin Atlantic and found something direct (because neither of us is into layovers) that was well-priced — even with the upgrade to the Premium Cabin.
I hovered over the Complete Booking button for a few seconds, asked B if we were really doing this, and before he could open his mouth, clicked the button. We were going.
Not interested in flight anxiety and Airbnb drama? Skip ahead to the Sights, Shopping, and Snacks.
Pre-Takeoff Pack-a-thon
Fast forward to early October, the night before we left, and the energy in our loft was comparable to that of the family of twelve getting ready in Home Alone. Clothes, shoes, chargers — everything was flying. Our closet had regurgitated its contents out onto the floor, and both of our Monos luggage whined as we sat atop them to zip ‘em shut. It was a madhouse.
I’m (slightly) embarrassed to say that I still use the old One Millennial’s Guide packing list when I travel. The guide itself is showing signs of aging, but the packing list gets Botox.
I usually pack a snack bag when traveling on longer than two-hour flights, but we learned that we’d be given snacks upon takeoff, plus dinner, breakfast, and tea (in addition to a self-service snack bar) on the plane. I repeat: a self-service bar filled with snacks for our section.
The one thing we made sure to keep in our carry-on bags… a pouch with the key(s) to air travel:
Clorox wipes
Hand sanitizer
Lip balm
Hydrating face mist
Kleenex
Sheet masks
and mints or gum
Pro Tip: If you travel internationally, get Global Entry! It’s $100, lasts five years, and our credit card company actually reimbursed us for signing up, as a perk. It allows you to skip the line of people waiting to be questioned/interviewed upon your return to the States and also gives you TSA-Pre Check (and Nexus at the Canadian border.)
Combining our TSA-Pre with the Clear memberships we already have, we were through airport security in under two minutes (not exaggerating), and the best part: shoes and jackets stay on, you don’t have to fish out your computer or Ziploc of liquids, and it doesn’t (completely) feel like you’re being herded like cattle.
If you’re interested in Global Entry, enroll early, as it takes a while for your application to process (and you need to be interviewed by a Customs agent prior to final approval.) All in, it took us around six weeks from start to finish. But SO worth it.
For domestic air travel, you can sign up for Clear much faster, and still skip the line. To give it a try, use my referral link for two free months
Life at 40,000 Feet
Once all three hundred of us were boarded (which took less time than boarding a single-aisle plane), we were offered a mimosa and a pack of delicious sour cream and chive pretzels. And by delicious, I mean they could have been used as currency on the plane. Crack pretzels.
The plane, a 787-9 Dreamliner, was MASSIVE. The engines and wings basically took up the entire view through the enlarged, shadeless windows; and the ceiling could only be accurately described as vaulted AF. All this, mixed with our upgraded seats, and there was no worry of feeling claustrophobic or like we were soaring through the sky in a tin can at all.
Everything from the reclining seats and in-flight entertainment to the meal service and aforementioned snack bar made the journey so much more than “getting there.” It’s probably the closest experience to the magic of flying during the jet age, honestly.
Bonus: The plane headphones weren’t half bad. And I fully tested their capability, seeing as how I forgot both my noise-cancelling Beats and AirPods at home. So much for that packing list. 🙈 We took off shortly after 3:00 PM Pacific, and flew through the night, during which I watched The Hustle, (part of) Season Two of Big Little Lies, and Maleficent.
And while the ride didn’t feel like it was over in the blink of an eye, between the food, movies, and skincare, it did go by relatively quickly. And before we knew it we were on the ground, shuttled through customs, and whisked to the city in a new S-Class. Very Miranda Priestly. That’s all.
Airbnb Apocalypse
To date, I’ve never had a bad Airbnb experience., so it was an obvious choice to use the platform to find and book our accommodations. We found a cozy-looking one-bedroom flat in the Fitzrovia area which looked (relatively) spacious, clean, and near a fair amount of restaurants/things to do. Upon booking, I asked the host if early check-in was possible and was told no, but that we could drop off our bags at 11:15. (Just an hour or so after we’d make it to the city from Heathrow.) Sweet. I confirmed and then reconfirmed the night before. We were all set.
We made it to the listed address a little early and popped into a restaurant for some breakfast and tea. I scoured my email and Airbnb app looking for the instructions that you’re usually given when you near your check-in time and found nothing. I texted our host let him know we were nearby, and asked him to ping me when he was free. No response.
Nearly an hour later, I sent another. No response.
Another thirty minutes go by and B tries. Nothing.
Finally, with frustrations mounting, B calls Airbnb customer service. They try to get a hold of our host. Want to guess?
Nearly three hours later, I got a text from a different number — a woman saying she was expecting us in the morning, and that we needed to let her know our plans, as she’s been waiting on us. We meet her at a nearby sporting goods store (Why? Oh, because…) and she walks us down the block and into an alley (with people on smoke breaks and others sleeping in makeshift beds) to a big metal door. This was our flat. Mind you, it’s a completely different address than the one we were given.
Now, imagine you’re playing Resident Evil and the game is set in an abandoned pre-war mental hospital — that’s the vibe I was getting from this building. Bars on the opaque, paper-thin glass windows and all. There were a series of stairs, switchbacks, doorways, and hallways to get to the front door of our unit. Oh, and the smell…
Once we were shown inside, we quickly realized that maybe this wasn’t the place for us after all. While it was the same place as photographed, I’m certain the images were heavily photoshopped, and the furniture was rearranged and staged differently to maximize the look of the space. Also, there wasn’t a broken shower wonky toilet, or rat traps pictured, either.
And before you come for me: No, I wasn’t expecting a luxury flat in a brand new building, but I was expecting the accommodations to match the description (and address) that I was given. Had I also known that we were on the third floor above a t-shirt shop on the corner of an alleyway and Oxford Street that played club music with the bass set to four thousand, I probably would have found something else. Was this London or the Jersey Shore? GTL, baby.
It took four calls to customer service, as well as three email threads, but we were finally refunded for everything but the first night (because we ended up exhaustedly staying there), the cleaning fee, and the service fee (for the entirety of our booking.) While not perfect, we were both pleased — initially thinking that we weren’t going to get any money back and that we’d be stuck with this apartment for the entirety of our trip (which no doubt would have put a very grimy filter on what was meant to be, I don’t know, a magical romantic getaway.
and Redemption
The next morning we rose (once again) giddy to shed the skin of our surroundings and check in to our hotel in Leicester Square. We packed our bags quicker than you could say cockroach and hopped into our one and only Uber ride through the morning commute (and surprisingly quiet Piccadilly Circus) to our new home for the week. (Which, by the way, was nearly the same price as our Airbnb, plus or minus a hundred US bucks.)
We were welcomed by an entry that must have been modeled after Gatsby’s foyer (only on a smaller scale), and greeted by the concierge who swiftly whisked our bags away and showed us to the rooftop restaurant. Over avocado toast and a morning view of Big Ben and The London Eye, we planned out our first real day and laughed about the entire Airbnb experience.
We shared a collective sigh of relief when we entered our new room. Crisp linens, a walk-in waterfall shower, and an assortment of snacks were there to calm our anxious minds. Thank God!
And the upside: While we were smack-dab in the middle of the Square, our room faced away from the main attraction (and into M&M world.) The walk score was dramatically better, being only seconds from the Square and Chinatown, and a five-minute walk from Soho, Covent Garden, and the Embankment.
Ahh yes, this is where we were meant to be!
In this multi-part series, I cover the sights, shopping, and snacks we encountered in The Queen’s country. Stay tuned for London: The Sights. Cheers!
