"As Pretty As An Airport"
12/3/2003 4:49 PM


I prefer coming into Gatwick when visiting London. Seems a little less abrasive than the “Throw”(Heathrow…to those of you playing at home). Gatwick is cheaper to fly in also but there is a cost. That cost is being when you land you have to walk through the most non-aesthetically looking buildings in the western world. I’m not sure but I bet there are some grain elevators in the Ukraine that are prettier than these buildings and rooms. The passengers from the states all kind of tumble out of the plane disoriented and lumber though giant hallways painted with the most non-descript, off-white, yellowish, aging kind of hue you can imagine. “It’s the color of boredom”. I thought as I past airport employees whose main job is to point and look as lost as the passengers of our flight. We make our way through customs without incident. Which is the most preferred way to go through customs. I always try to look as innocent and non-threatening as I can be when talking with these folk. I’m worried if I screw up on a answering the “how long will you be here?” question they are going to send me to cell in Guantanamo Bay and I’ll be learning the Koran the hard way. But arrived we have and the perfect follow up to a first class ticket is walking out into the throng and seeing someone with your name on a cardboard sign. It’s the same warm fuzzy feeling you get when you used to walk out of school as a kid and see your mom waiting in the car. “I’ve been remembered…I can get to where I need to be!” All thanks to my mother in law in her planning of the trip. I just assumed we’d be taking one of the trains. Which leads me to the second “price” you pay when you use Gatwick. The distance. Many cartographers may argue with me but I think that Gatwick is roughly 500 miles away from London. I could be wrong but that’s just how it feels. In fact there have been times where I was sure that they moved it further away with my every visit. At this point I think its located somewhere in New Jersey. A pleasant gentleman from a van service who will take us into the city greets us. I call him a “pleasant gentleman” because I never get his name. In the messed up world of my logic I always think it’s rude to ask someone his or her name. That is probably why I’m particularly horrible in remembering people’s names. For as dull as the trip through the airport was the ride is totally different. The sun is out. There is still plenty of color in the plant life and we pass many estate homes. The vacation relaxation begins. And ends rather abruptly because my legs are cramping from the tight fitting van. Our driver, whose first day with this company today but has plenty of experience in driving, is fielding so many phone calls it would make a telemarketer blush. From the sounds of it his wife, his boss, a co-worker, a friend are all calling him. He’s very professional each time. “Listen mate, I’m in the middle of a drive now…Can I ring you later? Cheers.”. From my count he’s going to be calling people back for about 3 hours. Which will be handy if he has to drive back out to Gatwick. We arrive to the local accommodations…A Holiday Inn. When I travel I’d prefer to go local. To my own fault I did little to no planning of this trip and we got such a good price complaining would be a crime. By the looks of it we are in flight crew central. By London standards the hotel is an aircraft carrier. 26 floors straight up, in the area there is nothing that comes close to it. “I’ll never get lost” I think to myself. We check in and make our way to our rooms. We do the first thing anyone visiting London from America should do first off. We take a nap.