I’m blahgging from my bed. In my new room. In Leeds, England. WAH! It’s on the mildy crazy side that I’m actually here. And that I made it alive— in one piece. With my sanity and all my luggage. I took notes during each flight (to make for the most accurate first England post) and man, am I glad I did. It’s all such a blur now.

New Orleans –> Atlanta (1 hour)

World’s shortest flight ev. Imagine strategically packing the world’s best carry on luggage bag and then having the guy in front of you on your first of three flights get the very last spot on the plane for overhead luggage. I yelled at the bad-news-bearing chick who I’m pretty sure didn’t speak English. Doesn’t she realize there’s literally nothing in that bag I can go 17 hours without? Obviously not. She already had it tagged and thrown out to the orange vest guys to be checked before I even got to my punch line. Grr. I managed to grab my warm coat and ear plugs and that’s IT. So when I’m stinky and freezing with a dead cell phone when my flight lands in Manchester, I’ll probably throw another temper tantrum while picturing me pulling out the hair of the man who got to bring his carry on all bundled and cozy and fresh.

Atlanta –> Amsterdam (8 hours)

Such a hellish experience of a flight mostly due to the discomfort of trying to sleep sitting up. I wrote in my notes, “Blahgging from 30,000 ft above the center of the Atlantic ocean. Normal.” It was moderately turbulent much like the insides of my stomach due to the somewhat smelly man sitting next to me. Bless his heart. He was stinky, but he was also my only friend. Our first conversation:

Me: “Here sir, this is where the headphones go.”

Him: “Hahahahaha.”

Me: “Haha? No, right here. And here’s the volume.”

Him: “Ahhhh, jer ablah.”

Me: **Awkward smile and nod.**

It was then I realized that our friendship would go no further than the strict language barrier between us would allow. But sometimes we did graze knees or touch shoulders when we’d fall asleep. Isn’t that sweet?

Amsterdam –> Manchester (1 hour)

How was this flight? I have no clue. I literally slept from the moment the flight chick told me how to put on my life vest until the time the plane re-hit earth. The best hour and five minutes of the journey.

Manchester –> Leeds (via train; 1 hour)

This was cozy. The only cruddy part was that now I had claimed all of my baggage and was hauling around three suitcases and a brick of a purse up and down escalators and trains and cobblestone. I have a blister on my hand as a battle wound. Took a pic to post, but it looks way less serious than it feels, so just create a really graphic mental image.

Finally to Leeds!

Walked off the train to snow hitting us in the face. Got in a taxi (opposite side of the road, opposite side of the car… SO freaky) and was dropped off at the front porch of my cottage within 10 minutes where a man greeted me at the door saying, “You must be Gabrielle. I’ve been expecting you.” It is so stinkin’ precious here. I have lots of pictures of my favorite peeps around my room and my closet is ridiculously overflowing. My hips are as wide as the opening of the shower, which is great, and there’s a grand piano in the foyer. To give y’all (I have already gotten made fun of for this word) a visual, it’s like many OLD townhouses connected. There are 18 girls who live in my “house”, five of which are on my floor, and the rest in the other houses along with guys in other connecting houses.

Shout out to Jena, Carli, Aunt Lori and my man Ricky for the journal. I’m obsessed with it and I look like such a regular airport girl. Sophisticated as hail. Also, I’m flattered at the number of “likes” I got on my Facebook post. I don’t even feel lame saying it, because everyone knows that’s the ultimate means of feeling popular. Thank ya, thank ya. Also– y’all text me. Shoot. I have WIFI. I can swing that stuff.

And an extra special THANK YOU to every one who helped to get me here. I know I am in for the greatest five months.

~ Gabrielle Campo