Laurie's light travel travel tips

I have recently been surprised, delighted even, to discover that Halloween is a well-celebrated holiday here in the UK! I know it didn't used to be, and the woman who works at the Heathrow tube claimed it's still not (while sitting under a spider-webby awning and a desk bedecked with paper jack-o-lanterns!) Pshaw! It's so celebrated that the English Department at my university, King's College London, will have a "proper" (as they say here) bash Tuesday night. Hooray! .: While I can't say whether the candy here will match the candy of my youth -- all those bags my brother and I spilt on the floor of our Livermore, California home in the 70s -- but I'm willing to bet they'd do. Meanwhile, I was delighted to get a press release on just what candies are dandiest back in my home states - California and Connecticut - as well as Virginia, where I most recently lived. A woman from a company called The Candy Store in L.A., said: "I’m writing you be

Here I am again at Terminal 5, and everyone around here thinks it's my home. It might as well be, as I am through here at least twice daily, rushing into the City of London . Today I forgot my student ID (so I could go into the Maughan Library at King's College and borrow a couple books I needed) so decided to think on my feet, or rather in my seat. "Excuse me, sir, but do you know London very well??" He, American accent, smiling: "It's been years since I was here." Me, smiling. "American?" He nodded. So I asked the chap next to me, "Where should I get off if I want to find a great bookstore that might have some classics?" "Piccadillly. W.H. Smith, across from the Meridian Hotel." I thanked him, and got off at Piccadilly (Circus), realizing I was about to disembark into an area that once held great romantic promise for me. A young man had scurried out of work and placed the backpack on my shoulders, wishing me adieu as I h

"You live here now, don't you!" said the nice woman at Giraffe, my regular stop for coffee at Heathrow's Terminal 5. When I say "regular" I don't mean it in the way one would if she chose, say, a coffee house down the block. No, this is where I arrive and depart every day as I journey back to my lodge, one bus stop away. Not only have I not found a flat yet, but I haven't even had a bloody moment to set out searching. I started my course almost two weeks late at King's College London, arriving with a health matter that has been tedious to deal with ( thyroid ) while struggling without the love of my life (Wally, my cat), which makes dealing with all manner of stresses more difficult. "I like you guys!" I told the nice lady. "You're very pleasant." She smiled. And it's so true that they're pleasant, a balm at the end of the day when I'm worried that the nodule on my thyroid could be cancer, that my cat is fa

I'm finally in London (yahhh!) for my master's course in 18th century studies at King's College, a dream of place I've long wanted to be. Yet, I cannot help but wince a bit when I think of the awkward journey that got me here, one which both amuses and infuriates me if I dwell too hard on it. First, when travelling alone, ladies do appreciate a man's help in lugging our bags, i.e. putting them overhead on the airplane. However, this unfortunately seems to be a dying art with men complaining of things like "back injuries" and "sore hamstring". These are the same men who think nothing of lifting what appears to be a five-pound sandwich into their mouths with their fat fingers and throwing back a pint of beer during a football match. Second, these same men make travel painful because of both their girth and sense of entitlement, the latter of which is the infuriating part (I'm not skinny, so forgive them their extra poundage). I am talking a