Between 1:30 pm in Columbus on the 27th and 5:30 am in London on the 29th, a time span of 34 hours, I visited eight airports: Port Columbus International, Philly International, Frankfurt International, Berlin Tegel, Berlin Schönefeld, London Stansted, London Heathrow, and London Gatwick. I therefore feel entitled to rank them.
1. Port Columbus International: I have some home-town bias. And they have free WiFi!
2. Philly: They have a shuttle which takes you between terminals so you don’t have to go out and back through security! And they have a B of A image ATM, where I was able to change my ATM card PIN from 6 digits to 4 digits to ensure compatibility with European machines. Also they have free WiFi for college students, although I didn’t bother to take advantage of this.
3. London Gatwick: They sold me an egg and watercress sandwich! Also the airport looked really easy to navigate. Also I didn’t actually have to take a plane here, so I have no negative security experiences.
4. Berlin Schönefeld: You find out what gate your plane is at approximately forty-five minutes before departure. Cool!
5. London Stansted: It is nice enough, but is £19 and 46 minutes away from the city. It is Ryanair’s hub, and their flights are nice and cheap. I saw Air Force One there when I was taking off to go back to Berlin! I didn’t get a picture, but Ryanair was making a big deal of the fact that Obama was arriving at Stansted rather than any other airport. And they weren’t lying!
6. Berlin Tegel: It is kind of hard to find the buses. And when you do, the TXL bus is really crowded and unpleasant and takes forever to get to the city.
7. Frankfurt International: No reason.
8. London Heathrow: It is too huge. And when my bus was stopping at every terminal there, I was worrying that it might actually be Gatwick and that I might have missed my stop.
6.4.09
Why go anywhere, if there’s no chance of getting lost?
Does no one else share the sentiment expressed in the title of this post? Somebody back me up!
Upon arriving at London Stansted Airport, my first task was to find a means of getting to Brighton, where Kristy had kindly offered me her kitchen to sleep in and her services as a tour guide. I had made no transportation plans from across the Atlantic, as I wasn’t sure what sort of fees my credit card company was likely to charge for the service of buying a pound-denominated ticket. It turns out that I was too late for trains (unless I relished a 3:30 am walk across the London Bridge to make a connection between Liverpool St Station and Victoria Station in London--actually I did slightly relish this, but not enough to actually do it), so I decided to take the bus.
I went to the National Express counter and purchased a ticket on a 01:35 bus to Brighton for £32. I had a 04:25 connection at Gatwick airport, and was meant to leave there for Brighton at 04:55 and arrive at 05:35. This worried me slightly, as I knew that this should have been a four-hour trip.
Did you do the math? Then you think me a fool! But you have failed to account for the fact that DST began on the very night that I arrived in England, not a few weeks ago, as in America. Do you now see my worry? Let this be a lesson to you: do not assume that the English do things on the same day as we do! I made this mistake, when Kristy mentioned sending something to her mother for Mother’s Day. I, horrified, assumed I had missed the day, but apparently it comes like two months earlier in Britain. The British may celebrate Bastille Day in February, and flock to synagogues on Monday evening; I would have no way of knowing! Note: Somebody please remind me when Mother’s Day is approaching. Seriously.
When my bus finally arrived at Gatwick (after stopping at all terminals of Heathrow), it was 05:15 new time, an hour later than I had expected to arrive. This would have been all right, except the departure board didn’t list any bus to Brighton for 05:45, so I surmised that National Express had bungled the time change and sold me an impossible connection. I therefore wandered about the airport for twenty minutes in a state of righteous anger looking for a National Express ticket agent. They apparently are all asleep at that hour. Finally, I found an automated ticket machine, and asked it if I could buy a 05:45 ticket for Brighton. It said I could, and then my connecting bus arrived, so that was all right. So I arrived in Brighton
at 06:30.
I had received advice on how to get from the train station to the University of Brighton Campus at Falmer; I was to take the 25 bus. I had not, however, received any advice on how to get from the bus station at the pier to the campus. I had printed off a couple of maps, so I decided to walk the approximately three-mile journey. It was a lovely morning, and my bag was very light (thank you, Ryanair carry-on policies).
Three hours later, after, for example, climbing this hill:
and hanging with these sheep:
I saw the town of Falmer:
wherein lies the campus of the University of Brighton. After another 45 minutes of exasperated wandering, I found myself in Kristy’s kitchen. It turns out I had overestimated the degree to which Falmer was east of Brighton, and underestimated the degree to which it was north. I slept for 17 out of the next 24 hours.
Upon arriving at London Stansted Airport, my first task was to find a means of getting to Brighton, where Kristy had kindly offered me her kitchen to sleep in and her services as a tour guide. I had made no transportation plans from across the Atlantic, as I wasn’t sure what sort of fees my credit card company was likely to charge for the service of buying a pound-denominated ticket. It turns out that I was too late for trains (unless I relished a 3:30 am walk across the London Bridge to make a connection between Liverpool St Station and Victoria Station in London--actually I did slightly relish this, but not enough to actually do it), so I decided to take the bus.
I went to the National Express counter and purchased a ticket on a 01:35 bus to Brighton for £32. I had a 04:25 connection at Gatwick airport, and was meant to leave there for Brighton at 04:55 and arrive at 05:35. This worried me slightly, as I knew that this should have been a four-hour trip.
Did you do the math? Then you think me a fool! But you have failed to account for the fact that DST began on the very night that I arrived in England, not a few weeks ago, as in America. Do you now see my worry? Let this be a lesson to you: do not assume that the English do things on the same day as we do! I made this mistake, when Kristy mentioned sending something to her mother for Mother’s Day. I, horrified, assumed I had missed the day, but apparently it comes like two months earlier in Britain. The British may celebrate Bastille Day in February, and flock to synagogues on Monday evening; I would have no way of knowing! Note: Somebody please remind me when Mother’s Day is approaching. Seriously.
When my bus finally arrived at Gatwick (after stopping at all terminals of Heathrow), it was 05:15 new time, an hour later than I had expected to arrive. This would have been all right, except the departure board didn’t list any bus to Brighton for 05:45, so I surmised that National Express had bungled the time change and sold me an impossible connection. I therefore wandered about the airport for twenty minutes in a state of righteous anger looking for a National Express ticket agent. They apparently are all asleep at that hour. Finally, I found an automated ticket machine, and asked it if I could buy a 05:45 ticket for Brighton. It said I could, and then my connecting bus arrived, so that was all right. So I arrived in Brighton
at 06:30.I had received advice on how to get from the train station to the University of Brighton Campus at Falmer; I was to take the 25 bus. I had not, however, received any advice on how to get from the bus station at the pier to the campus. I had printed off a couple of maps, so I decided to walk the approximately three-mile journey. It was a lovely morning, and my bag was very light (thank you, Ryanair carry-on policies).
Three hours later, after, for example, climbing this hill:
and hanging with these sheep:
I saw the town of Falmer:
wherein lies the campus of the University of Brighton. After another 45 minutes of exasperated wandering, I found myself in Kristy’s kitchen. It turns out I had overestimated the degree to which Falmer was east of Brighton, and underestimated the degree to which it was north. I slept for 17 out of the next 24 hours.
How to obtain money in Europe-land
If you are considering going abroad for even a couple of days, you should open a student chequing account with Bank of America. If you do this, you will have all the cash you ever need in Europe—provided you put all the cash you could ever need in the account to begin with. You see, children, Bank of America is part of a global network of banks, including Barclays in England and Deutsche Bank in Germany, which allow their customers to withdraw cash from each other’s ATMs free-of-charge, at current exchange rates. Note: ATMs in England are called “cash machines,” or “holes-in-the-wall.”
I have now also opened an account at Deutsche Bank. In order to put money into it, I get money at an ATM and then take the cash directly to the teller. If I happen to have a few Euros left in the account when I come back to America, I can access them free-of-charge at the nearest B of A ATM. Handy.
German word of the day: Geldautomat. All of them here seem to allow you to withdraw 500 Euros with the push of a single button. My tandem-partner (explanation later) has done so by accident. How annoying.
I have now also opened an account at Deutsche Bank. In order to put money into it, I get money at an ATM and then take the cash directly to the teller. If I happen to have a few Euros left in the account when I come back to America, I can access them free-of-charge at the nearest B of A ATM. Handy.
German word of the day: Geldautomat. All of them here seem to allow you to withdraw 500 Euros with the push of a single button. My tandem-partner (explanation later) has done so by accident. How annoying.
A Joke that is Much Less Good than I Had Originally Thought
Upon arriving in Berlin on the 28th, I had my camera at the ready. Directly after landing in Frankfurt, I saw this truck. I thought to myself: “I do not think that the Germans understand the stereotype very well; it is German people who are supposed to be machine-like, not German machines that are supposed to be man-like.” My camera promptly ran out of batteries, and this is the only picture I retain from my day in Berlin before my flight to London. Let this be a lesson to you: replace your camera batteries!
It turns out that Man machines are also all over in England, whose citizens have no reputation for being machine-like. So the joke isn’t even good on technical grounds, putting aside for a moment its obvious lack of humour value. I am inclined to cut myself some slack, however, as I didn't really manage to sleep on the plane. Thanks, snoring, pillow-stealing Asian dude.
German word of the day: Mann. It means “Man.”
It turns out that Man machines are also all over in England, whose citizens have no reputation for being machine-like. So the joke isn’t even good on technical grounds, putting aside for a moment its obvious lack of humour value. I am inclined to cut myself some slack, however, as I didn't really manage to sleep on the plane. Thanks, snoring, pillow-stealing Asian dude.
German word of the day: Mann. It means “Man.”
The Internet
I still don’t have it. Apparently I will have it by Wednesday. This would be okay, but the computer labs have very short hours, of which 0 take place on week-end days. Internet, I love you, come back to me!
German word of the day (Uni Potsdam-specific): ZEIK. Zentrale Einrichtung für Informationsverarbeitung und Kommunikation. These are the people who take three business days to switch on an ethernet port.
German word of the day (Uni Potsdam-specific): ZEIK. Zentrale Einrichtung für Informationsverarbeitung und Kommunikation. These are the people who take three business days to switch on an ethernet port.
2.4.09
A bizarre thing to tide us all over until I get internet access in my room.
When I went to gmail.com, I got this message:
Lieber Nutzer,
in Deutschland heißt unser E-Mail-Service Google Mail, nicht Gmail.
Sie können Ihre E-Mails in Deutschland direkt unter http://mail.google.com abrufen.
Ihr Google-Team
Der E-Mail-Service von Google ist in Deutschland nicht mehr über die von Ihnen eingegebene URL abrufbar.
Allgemeine Informationen zu Google finden Sie in Deutschland wie gewohnt unter www.google.de oder www.google.com.
--------------------------------------------
Basically, this means that I can't use gmail.com in Germany, for reasons which they don't make clear. Weird.
27.3.09
In which I am about to leave the country
Having up to now failed to produce any domestic memoranda but the first, I hereby produce the last. I am going to use it to introduce a new feature: German Word of the Day. This one is a reminder to myself. A very important reminder.
German Word of the Day:
Danke: This word means "Thank you." In this capacity it is useful. It also means "No, thank you." In this capacity it is dangerous to unsuspecting foreigners, who upon thanking Germans for kindnesses are liable to face the withdrawal of these kindnesses.
Other things: When I was in Ohio, I visited both Ken State University and Case Western Reserve University. I read Howards End, a book which I recommend to those who have a calm time in their respective lives which they would like to fill with the reading of fiction. I took some pictures:
This picture is a billboard for a secret society. I did not get a pciture of the Illuminati billboard at the next exit.
This is what Ken State University looks like.
This is an Ohio license plate. Yeah, Birthplace of Aviation!
My dog is super-awesome. Her name is Shyanne.
I have no idea whither the time went. I have finished the communication.
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