day 7: still in manchester, james and i begun with a delicious breakfast at semi-posh dining place where i ate my first non-english breakfast (i got a little addicted to the bacon, egg & beans). after decidedly (and typically european, we had learned) slow service, we finally got our check, paid, and went for a day of record shopping in the
northern quarter, where james was in heaven. having less of an interest in vinyl (though i love music stores, my time-tolerance is a bit shorter), i took advantage of james' preoccupation and wandered the north end myself for some time alone in manchester, and photo opportunities. there i found tons of cute places--mostly thrift/antique stores and alternative food/drink venues--and interesting buildings and graffiti. i bought a zine (or independent publication, i'm not sure) from a cute little vegan coffee-shop/computer cafe place called
the basement, which, despite their motif of anti-american propaganda, was totally welcoming and cute. i finally made my way back to see james, who had his hands full of music goodies in
vinyl exchange; he cashed out and we began to make our way back to the hotel.
now, this is where the story turns sour and dramatic. this is where the vacation goes from seamless, scenic and perfect to stressful, emotional and chaotic.
on the way back to the hotel i realized i was pretty hungry, so we stopped in one of a million
fish n' chips places to pick up a bite. obsessively, just as i had the entire trip, i went for my money and verification that i had everything: map, money, identification, itinerary book, passport. it was on the latter that i lingered and realized...i didn't have it. anywhere. manchester was the first place i took a break from my "security wallet" that i had been wearing under my clothes: like orlando, i felt very comfortable toting a wallet in my back pocket (which i suppose i also slid my passport into). at the restaurant, i freaked out, and decided i needed to immediately head back to the hotel--
we were bound to leave for vienna at 4pm, afterall--to confirm that it was in fact in my luggage. we walked back the entire way--and wouldn't you know, for the first time during our entire trip,
it started pouring.
we arrived at the hotel and asked to see our luggage (they had been holding it for us since our check-out that am)...i unabashedly rolled my suitcase over to the floor and started frantically pulling out items. sometime before this, part of me knew it wasn't anywhere packed: i pack meticulously and with a list, for crissakes. but i went through the motions, unrolling every item of clothing, fanning every book and flyer, emptying every pocket. at this time a very nicely dressed business executive couple--perhaps on an interview, or afternoon cocktailing--sat near me, and looked cautiously at me in my state. at this point, i was sobbing, dirty clothes strewn out, laundry and flyers and travel-gear everywhere. i was a mess. james was with the concierge, calling places to see if a passport had turned up. no luck. after we were sure it was nowhere (and at this point it felt like it could be anywhere: both of our luggage pieces were completely unturned and in chaos), we began our trek retracing our steps to each and every place we had frequented in the past 36 hours. it was...exhausting. two places (a convenience store and a late-night veggie-burger take-out window) seemed panicked/uncomfortable when i asked about a "passport," while others said no straightly, a few offered suggestions and tried to help. i began then moving on to worst-case-what-next-scenarios, which all felt pretty terrible.
what about vienna? babsi? paris? the itinerary?
coffeefortwo and our paris apartment? getting home? james? it was pretty dramatic and hopeless feeling. i realized that, unless it had turned up (and someone had contacted our hotel), our only plan of action was to return to london, some 4-6 hours away by bus, and deal with the
american embassy. so, we resolved to do that "tomorrow," settling on a nice italian dinner beforehand.
we returned to our hotel, recounting our unluckiness, and asked to renew our room an extra night. fate would have it that the hilton was completely full/booked (23 floors. seriously.). fate would also have it that
manchester football had some big home game, but we didn't know that information quite yet. so wrestled with what to do, and decided instead to go get a drink and talk out our options. it seemed, really, the only logical thing to do was to get to london, and get there as fast as possible: even if my passport turned up, it was an unlikely chance. i walked over to check the times on the coach services to london and found a few time options that worked for that evening, so we hung out at
fab for another night, watching cheesy b-movies with our luggage stacked in a corner (smoky! but no choice) and waiting for midnight to come. (by this time, it was after 7pm). around 11pm i started getting antsy so we left the bar and headed to the coach station...only to find out that
all manchester-to-london coach was full...both at midnight, and 1:30am. i couldn't believe after such a terrible day that we had then waited around a bar for 4 hours only for all bus lines to be completely full. we bought tickets for the 8am departure to london, resolving to check-in to a hotel and at least get some rest before our long day ahead of us...and this is where, after about a mile of walking at midnight with our luggage and dark clouds above our head, we found out that
every hotel in the city centre was booked full occupancy. i couldn't believe it. we made our way back to the bus station to sleep, and wait for the 8am bus--homeless, and easily the worst way to end a really, really bad day that i could think of.
at some point between midnight and 1am i thought about asking the
national express folks about possibly moving our journey to an earlier time--even just 6 am, and explained my situation (just the hotel-part, not even the passport-part). the guy must've felt sorry for me, thought i was cute, or maybe just thought i looked completely pathetic and broken, because somehow we went from leaving at 6am (admittedly an improvement) to having "priority stand-by" and actually boarding the 1:30am bus for london. i was happy enough to cry. james and i couldn't sit together, which was sort of okay considering how grateful we were...and then, just as the bus started, so did the
drunk manchester sports fans who took up the bulk of the back of the coach, and spent (i wish i was exaggerating) 80% of the 6 hour bus ride
quoting borat, singing dirty rap songs, and screaming. it was ridiculously bad, but through it all i somehow managed to sleep just a little; we arrived in london right around 6:45am...i watched the sun rise over london from the huge front-window of a bus, and in a way it was quite beautiful.
when we arrived at victoria station, we headed back to our very first hotel,
the luna & simone, which i had loved on our first-day. and here's the second little gesture that totally made this day-from-hell bearable: they checked us in at 7am (4 hours before check-in, and with virtually no notice), switched us to a better room that was also available at that hour (vs. waiting until 9-10-11 am for a clean/empty one), and served us breakfast (both this morning and the following morning, even though we really were only entitled to one breakfast for 1 night's stay). it was an unbelievably gracious gesture: between these amazing guys at the hotel and the man at the national express counter, i seriously think i might have gone crazy that night. but kindness counts for miles, especially in this sort of situation. i really don't think i could've taken anything for granted after all that i experienced on this particular day.