I've booked my ticket to London. I know a bargain when I see it, as $250 for a one-way flight to London, albeit by a different route than the normal with a longer layover, can't be a bad thing.
And yes, I used my airmiles. But this strange route cost my half the airmiles of other flights. It works for me.
In mid-September I'll be heading over, first to Sydney, then on to Los Angeles.
Yes, I know I promised that I'd never set foot in Trump's America, but I'm not leaving the airport, so it won't count.
A seven-hour layover means I can book myself into a lounge, get a shower and wait for my flight in peace. Then I get into London mid-Sunday afternoon, probably jetlagged. I'm due to go on retreat in Paris on the 19th of September, so I'll catch the Eurostar over on the Thursday.
After the retreat, I don't know what.
There's been friends across Britain who've said they'd like to catch up. I've got friends in the North. Part of me wants to go down to Cornwall, Poldark Country, to see where my family come from again. Part of me says go to Rome, as I haven't been to Italy in 25 years and I love the place.
There's lots to think about in the next six months. Lots of plans to make, things to organise, lists to write.
And I know that in going back to London, I will feel like I'm going home and not want to come back, but a return flight will have to be bought eventually.
There's still a big part of me that wishes this wasn't so.
No comments:
Post a Comment