Pies! College friends! The tube! Tea! …work. This week, it is London (again) for work (again), but one day I will return as a proper tourist and see more than just this lovely city.
I had a layover in Boston this time so I could fly Virgin over to the UK and be in an actually comfortable plane for the redeye. Once in Boston, however, there were no signs on how to change terminals from the one I landed to where I needed to be. I am generally not a giant putz when it comes to finding and following signs. There was nothing seemingly remotely helpful except for some info kiosks. I mean – I could talk to a human – but who does that in the age of the google? Surely these helpful info kiosks that tell me to scan my boarding pass for directions will help and I won’t need to interact with anyone.
I scanned my boarding pass.
An arrow popped up and pointed me into a wall. Did I do this right? I scan again. Same result. Ok machines, you win….today.
Still stubbornly refusing to interact with a human and entirely by accident, I happened to find a tiny sign taped to a wall giving me vague directions to terminal E. Excellent. This validates my approach: no need to speak to anyone ever. Once I exited the terminal, there were finally signs for the terminal. Very helpful, airport. Miraculously and definitely competently, I bumbled my way across an infinite series of moving escalators and over to the small international terminal and finally found my gate.
For the longest time during boarding, it seemed like I was going to be lucky enough to have nobody next to me. At the last moment, a couple ran up, out of breath, and a tearful girl pled with someone to take the middle seat from one of them so they could sit next to each other.
When it comes to travel and plane seats, I become a little asshole. I am very particular – especially on a redeye. Had this been any other flight, I might have traded as long as someone opened the window at my whims, but no, no, you may not have my precious window seat, my only method of sleeping on any flight.
Sorry, tearful lady. I did not do something nice today. I chatted with her a bit to calm her down after she sat next to me (very apologetic for freaking out – apparently her flight had been canceled and it was their honeymoon) and she somehow managed to stay awake the entire flight. I slept like a champ. Sort of.
We landed early – way too early to check in to the hotel. Room not ready, I did my shopping, obsessively purchasing all the dark chocolate ginger biscuits and Earl Grey Tea I could carry. I learned it comes in boxes of 200. 200!? It is all mine.
Room finally ready, I broke my cardinal rule of No Napping Because of Jet Lag so I could stay up late to watch Eurovision with friends!
I have quickly learned I have had to explain Eurovision to every non-gay American I have discussed it with. Eurovision is like…the Hunger Games of singing: over-the-top outfits, colorful performances, and a crazy crowd. Unlike the Hunger Games, nobody kills each other outright: they use votes as their weapon, and generally the UK does very poorly. We were anticipating an especially bad year for the UK given Brexit. Kotaku does a decent job of explaining it all here.
I also don’t think even Europeans have a grasp on what Europe actually is as Australia is allowed to participate.
Questionable geography aside, we gathered around the TV with booze a-plenty to listen to the 24 finalists. This year, it was live from Kiev as Ukraine won last year, much to the outrage of Russia, who was not able to participate as their entrant could not secure a Ukrainian visa. The theme was “celebrate diversity.” We counted exactly one black person on stage the entire evening. Very diverse.
There was a man in a gorilla suit, some guy on top of a ladder in a horse head, a few 17-year-olds (what have I done with my life?), and a yodel-rap. Even though I do not particularly enjoy ballads, most singers were pretty talented. The announcers were…brilliantly awkward, if you take brilliant in the British sense. Some highlights in gif form:
The national dance of Moldova, the leg flop with Draco Malfoy, which also seemed to be their only dancin’ leg:
Whatever is happening in Azerbaijan:
And this man’s arms and his wink from Israel:
Much to everyone’s disappointment, the Moldovan leg-flop and Romanian yodel rap did not win – it was a soulful ballad from Portugal that we all found boring (where were the gorilla suits and pyrotechnics?).
The highlight of the end was definitely this prankster’s butt:
And because I had napped, I didn’t fall asleep til 2:30. Tomorrow should be great!