Camp Heathrow
I had another late-night flight, and this time, an eight-hour layover in London.
Because my flight got in close to midnight, I chose to just stay at the airport and get some sleep. My morning flight was out of Terminal 2, and so I headed over there to make camp and catch some Z’s.
Upon arrival in Terminal 2, I was quite thirsty, and was happy to find that one shop was still open so travelers can stock up on provisions despite the late hour. Armed with a bottle of water and some snacks for later, I quickly found an area upstairs, away from the doors (it was cold!), that had chairs where at least a few armrests were missing. Sadly, the nearest electric outlet was on a post a good 50 meters from the chairs, but as my primary purpose here was sleep, I decided the chairs were more important than the electricity.
I also found that a few other people had already set up camp in this area.
Camp Heathrow, Terminal 2 (upstairs)
Unfortunately, the bathrooms were quite a bit further from Camp than I would have preferred. There is seating (with electricity!) closer to the bathrooms, but it’s hard metal seating with armrests at every division point.
my campsite
I was happy with my campsite until 0500 when morning staff arrived, bringing their loud conversations with them. I drifted in and out of consciousness with stories of last night’s crazy bar antics being gossiped about by two employees until they decided to kick us all out at 0600. Apparently, we had decided to camp out in an area set up for special needs individuals, and only they are allowed in that area during the day time.
At that point, I was ready for breakfast anyway, and grabbed a sandwich and some coffee from the Pret a Manger located about 20 meters away.
Sleeping in London’s Heathrow airport wasn’t a bad experience, although had I arrived after all 6 suitable sleeping chair/benches had been claimed (around 0030), I might be singing a different tune. Given the size of LHR, I’m sure there are other places to camp out, but this was convenient to my early morning flight back to Warsaw.
teacher trip to Loch Lomond
I’m in Glasgow this week for 2012′s IATEFL Conference. In addition to lectures, workshops and the job fair, they also have daily outings planned to various points near to Glasgow.
Today, I opted to participate in their afternoon trip to Loch Lomond. Signing up for these trips allows us to combine sight-seeing and networking, and I ended up meeting a really nice EFL teacher from Bulgaria, and we walked around the Loch Lomond park area, ending up at Balloch Castle.
standing in front of the Castle
Loch Lomond
Another view of Loch Lomond
a close up of the moss that seems to cover every surface in Scotland
an afternoon in Glasgow’s Necropolis
The Necropolis is a large Victorian cemetery built on a hill adjacent to Glasgow’s Cathedral.
I arrived in Glasgow a day before the IATEFL Conference kicked off so that I could have time to sight-see before getting busy with the conference. And based on a friend’s recommendation, I made the Glasgow Necropolis my first stop in terms of sights seen.
the gate to the Necropolis.. and some lovely spring flowers
graves on the hill
Glasgow Cathedral as seen from the Necropolis
graves down the hill
sleeping in Glasgow International Airport
Last night, I slept like a baby.
My flight from London got in around 2300 and because it was so late, I opted to just stay and sleep in the airport.
The overall experience of sleeping at Glasgow International Airport was great. After entering the terminal, I promptly found an entire row of chairs that had no arm rests and were padded, out of the way, and near an electrical outlet. Success!
My cozy campsite at GLA, before I was escorted to the designated sleeping quarters.
There was a bathroom nearby, and while other people were walking through the area, everything was spaced out enough that no one sat down right next to me, and it was very quiet.
I was able to get a good 2.5-3 hours of sleep before a woman who works at the airport woke me to let me know that while sleeping overnight is allowed in the airport, they prefer to keep all of their overnight guests in one location, land side, near the exits and baggage claims. I had to gather my things and follow her to my new sleeping grounds.
Sleeping on a bench in front of the arcade.
I had a bit of trouble falling back asleep, mostly due to the fact that around 0400 this part of the airport seemed to wake up: employees were pulling tables and chairs out of small restaurants to set up for the day and other employees were coming in and carrying on loud conversations. And occasional overhead announcements were made.
I fell back to sleep around 0500 and slept until 0900, and woke up to find my backpack, shoes and bottle of water unmolested. I used my laptop bag as a pillow and brought my blanket. It was cold, so I ended up using my coat as a blanket too.
Bathrooms were plentiful and relatively clean, electrical outlets were easy enough to find, GLA provides internet terminals (£1 for ten minutes) which I did not need because my Polish internet works here too, apparently. In my first camp, there was a small food vendor, but it was closed. After relocating, I was next to a 24-hour Tesco that had snacks, sandwiches, fresh fruit and beverages. The sit-down restaurant opened around 0500, and the Starbucks was still closed at 0500 but was open when I woke up 4 hours later.
I would sleep at Glasgow International Airport again if needed, but I would be sure to go straight to the designated sleeping area so as not to be moved in the middle of the night. There were 6-7 other people sleeping when I was relocated, and everyone had 3-4 chairs with no armrests to stretch out on. I had plenty of space, and there was easily room for another 5 or so people to sleep too.
Like this:
After being reminded of last year’s spring break yesterday, I can’t stop thinking about (and laughing over) the adventure we had crossing back into Morocco from Spain.
There were four in our party, and we were traveling on foot.
I approached the border guard/passport processing window first, and handed the guard my carte de sejour & passport. He noticed that I lived in Errachidia, and seemed quite surprised about it because he is from there and knows how very far away it is. We chatted a little, found that we know people in common, and our conversation ended in an invitation to couscous at his mother’s home in Errachidia some day, inch’Allah.
my carte de sejour - fancy!
Two more of my ETA friends followed behind me, repeating the same procedure, minus the chit-chat.
And then came our meskin friend who had no carte de sejour. These Moroccan identity cards are issued in the town where you live, and her site was not into giving them to foreigners who would only be living in Morocco for the year. Without a national ID card, foreigners are supposed to leave the country at least once every 90 days to “reset” their tourist visa in the country.
She had worked something out with the local authorities, and they even gave her a fancy stamp in her passport to support this, but for some reason, the border guard between Ceuta and Martil just wasn’t having it.
The three of us were standing on one side of this invisible line while our friend was told she’d have to go back to Spain (about 20 meters away) and get things taken care of.
We watched her walk into an office on the Spanish side, and when she came out, nothing had been resolved.
Neither our Fulbright handbooks nor our three-week orientation in Rabat taught us how to handle this situation. While we were standing there trying to figure out what to do next, the guard waved at us from the doorway of passport control.
“Hey Errachidia, come here!”
Clearly, he was talking to me. He told me to come into the small office and have a seat, and I did.
He spent a minute or two asking about what we were doing in Spain, what we bought while we were there, and why we only stayed for half a day. I then got lectured for another three or four minutes on the importance of all resident foreigners having a carte de sejour, and how I needed to make sure that my friend got one as soon as possible. And then we spent another ten minutes talking about life in Errachidia.
After that, he said my friend could come back into Morocco, and that we were all free to go.
Like this:
Spring Break in Morocco.. and Spain
This afternoon, I cleaned out my backpack in preparation for this year’s spring break travels. While cleaning, I found my CTM bus ticket from Tetouan to Casablanca. Seeing the ticket for the first leg of my trek back to Errachidia made me stop and reminisce a little about last year’s spring break in Tetouan visiting with some of my ETA friends.
CTM bus ticket, Tetouan to Casablanca 10 April 2011
Tetouan is such a lovely city. I’m glad that I got a chance to visit (Thanks GA!) and to spend some quality time with my fellow Fulbrighters.
the view of Tetouan from Dar Álvarez
To shave about 12 hours off my trip, I flew from Errachidia to Casablanca, and from there, took a train to Tangiers. I then walked from the train station to the nearest grand taxi station, and bought the two front seats in the next taxi headed to Tetouan. And I arrived at Dar Álvarez just in time for a delicious meal with friends.
Mmm.. dinner.
While we were spring breaking, we may have ended up in Ceuta, one of Spain’s African exclaves. Whoops!
Nuestra Señora de Africa (patrona de Ceuta)
On our walk down to the Sea.. looking up the wall to see flowers and a palm tree.
at the beach in Ceuta, Moroccan mountains in the background
the moat surrounding the old Ceuta city walls
All in all, an absolutely lovely trip. And the time travel and border crossing adventures made it that much more fun and memorable.
I’m excited about my upcoming travels, although I don’t know that two TEFL-themed conferences and some R&R back in Chicago will outshine the craziness that always seemed to accompany travel in Morocco.
Like this:
kiosks are the new hanouts
Living in Warsaw has much in common with living in Chicago.
There are days when I walk down the street and forget that I’m living in a foreign country, at least until I see something like one of Warsaw’s numerous kiosks.
kiosk in Warsaw
They’re as easy to find in Polish cities as hanouts were in Morocco; kiosks seem to be at every major intersection, and at some points in between. And, like hanouts, kiosks are used as convenient places to buy a snack or something to drink. Kiosks also sell magazines, bus/tram tickets and cigarettes. Most kiosks, like many other things in Warsaw, are closed on Sundays.
another kiosk at dusk
Near our apartment, we also have a fresh fruit and vegetable kiosk. In warmer months, they had tables set up outside to display their produce, but now that it is cold, they keep their stock inside and your transaction is conducted through a small window, just like at the regular kiosks.
