CROSS ATLANTIC ADVENTURES: UK AND US, SEP-OCT 2025
Wednesday, Sep 10. 2025:
Leaving Bombay…
I left my flat at Rashmi building by Uber which came and picked me up on schedule at 12 midnight. Lack of traffic caused swift delivery to the Bombay International Airport at just 12. 30 pm. To my astonishment, there was already such a long queue, winding itself, around the check-in counters at Virgin Atlantic at three and a half hours before take-off. I waited an hour and 15 minutes to check-in, in great disbelief, as I do not think I have ever waited this long before. While Security went quickly, Immigration was another long wait in a line. This entire journey was all about waiting… Eventually, when I did get to the gate to board my flight, it was just 15 minutes before boarding began. I settled down in my aisle seat in relief, The flight took off exactly on time at 4.00 am and we were off.
Thursday, Sep 11, 2025
Bye-Bye Bombay, Hiya Heathrow:
Wow! What a way to start a cross-Atlantic trip—on 9/11, of all days, and in the midst of a major Tube strike in London. Throughout the (most comfortable) flight, I watched movies. I simply did not feel sleepy at all. I guess I was just too keyed up about the fate that awaited me on the other side and the stress played on my mind. I watched two and half films on the 9 hour flight: Bridget Jones—Mad About The Boy (which was just flighty—no pun intended—nonsense) with a whole range of familiar faces but many new ones. The second was an absolute cracker: Mr. Burton starring Toby Stevens as Phillip Henry Burton, the man who recognized the talent and nurtured his young student in pre-War Wales, Richard Jenkins—the man who eventually became the actor Richard Burton. It is an absolute wonder of a film (Richard Burton was a student at Exeter College, Oxford—I had almost entirely forgotten that fact. It came back to me rather startlingly). There was so much I learned about Richard Burton that I did not know. Amazingly humble Welsh, working class background, son of an alcoholic coal-miner, went on to a brilliant stage career and married Elizabeth Taylor!!! Remarkable! I also began watching A Real Pain, about two Jewish cousins who make a trip to Poland in search of their roots and their recently-dead Grandma. I actually quite liked its quirky humor but I did not get to finish it as we were close to landing. I intend to finish it on the flight to New York. I have to say that Virgin’s Inflight Entertainment is stellar and the time passed in a jiffy!
In London Again! May the Fun Begin!
And that’s when the fun began! Yes, I had landed safe and sound in London, my very favorite city in the whole world, two years after I had last visited it (Last year, we were at Heathrow on a layover for almost a whole day—but that doesn’t really count, does it?). Immigration took just a few seconds as a US passport allowed me to scan it and get out in minutes. That’s when I had another long wait—almost an hour at Baggage Claim. By this time, I had decided not to take the Elizabeth Line Tube as the lady selling tickets for the Heathrow Express told me that it would be really packed. With baggage in tow, I figured it made sense to take the Heathrow Express. So for 13 pounds (one way), I had a ticket in hand and about ten minutes later, I was on the platform. I had another 12 minutes wait (as one train had just left) and then had a mere 12 minute ride to Paddington, by which time I had chatted with a couple newly-arrived from Canada. This detour to Paddington (to leave my suitcase at the home of our friend, Mr. Bande Hassan) was initiated entirely by the strike. Once at Paddington, it was easy to follow signs to the Taxi stand. There I had another 45 minute wait in the line—the saving grace was that it was orderly, organized and very impressive. However, as a result of the strike (so my cabbie claimed), all roads were jammed and he took a round-about route to get me to Southwick Street at the cost of 13 pounds (a journey that usually takes 5 pounds)! This strike has dug a huge hole in everyone’s pocket by way of cab fares, it seems. However, at my destination, the cabbie did help me unload my baggage and within minutes, I was in the lift (his doorman suggesting I take the ramp) and I was having a nice reunion with my friend Bande.
A long catch-up chat later, we had figured out how to take buses to get to my destination—Fulham Broadway (I had booked a B&B there for 4 nights). He also insisted I join him in a bit of lunch and we ate a delicious mutton biryani and a Gujarati Khadi (yoghurt curry). With my belly full, it was time to say goodbye. He offered to walk me to the bus stop to take the 27 bus to Hammersmith from where I would change to the 211. But, luck was not mine today. The bus terminated halfway on its route at Notting Hill Gate and using data on my phone (thank goodness for it, my data roaming package from Airtel!), I found the 28 bus to take me onward. The bus conductor told me where to find the bus and, of course, by this time, what had been a beautiful sunny day became a grey and rainy one. I had to shelter under a bus-stop until the shower passed. I was carrying a really heavy pack back and my strolley. Still, I managed to find the bus stop (after walking in a suddenly very wet London for abut ten minutes). The buses (all super packed, as a result of the strike) took about 10 minutes to come and inside I hopped. I did not have to worry about topping up my Oyster card and my friend Bande told me that all I needed to do was tap my credit card on the Reader near the driver’s cabin and I was good to go. And that was a fact! Every time I return to London, the technology has updated itself! Awesome!
But it was a very long ride on the bus—another 45 minutes. Thankfully, I had found a seat, right in front. I got off at Fulham Broadway and then had no idea where to go! I asked for the Tube station and began to walk in its direction and about a fifteen minute walk later, I was at my building on 370 Fulham Road.
Now I faced the challenge of getting inside the building. The landlady Helen had sent me instructions on how to access the keys. I have to say that I am not familiar with using these lock boxes and struggled to even identify the correct one. Eventually, someone called Jess who was passing by, helped me and we managed to open the box, extract the keys and get inside.
Definitely Not the Ritz!
And, as if that was inadequate, the building (a beautiful red and white solid, Victorian apartment structure) had no elevator and the flat was a four-story walk-up. I struggled with my very heavy backpack (who knew that a laptop, I-pad and their chargers can weigh such a ton?), I was inside the flat. Helen was out but was expected back at 6 pm. By this time, I was dropping with fatigue and ready to crash for an hour. It seemed I had used the safety switch on the door latch, inadvertently, once inside. When Helen returned at 6.00 pm, she could not get in. I was, by then, fast asleep. She texted me and when I received her message, I told her I was awake and she could return. So, sooner rather than later, she arrived. We apologized, introduced ourselves to each other and she asked if I’d like a cuppa. I declined as I was carrying my own decaff supplies.
Helen and I chatted for a few more minutes as she showed me where the lights were, how to turn on the kettle and microwave and work the shower. She also gave me that most essentail of things: the network and free wifi details. She is sweet but her home is tiny and dreadfully untidy although clean enough. My own room at the back, a rather private place has its own door, a very comfortable bed with fresh clean linen and pillows and a clean bath towel on it. It has a window that overlooks the courtyard outside and has a blind to shut off light. Inside, there is a large table with a night lamp, table lamp, small closet and a shelf full of paperback best-sellers (no doubt, left behind by the string of other Air B and B lodgers who have used this space). I guess you could say it adequately meets all my needs and while I have nothin gto complain about, there is nothing to be joyful about either, Let's just say, it is Not the Ritz!
It was not long before I had a hot shower, got changed and sat down to eat an aircraft sandwich after brewing myself a cup of decaff coffee. Then I sat down to blog, sent off a few whatsapp messages to family members and was off for the count at about 10.00 pm.
It had been an adventurous first day. I was fed up and exhausted with the physical exertion and the mental fatigue of coping with the strain of arriving in a foreign country with no transport links. However, my long bus ride had offered a See London Tour of sorts and I was so excited to pass through Notting Hill, Kensington High Street with its posh antique shops, Holland Park, etc. before arriving at Fulham Broadway. I passed the famous Chelsea Football Club stadium called Stamford Bridge and paused to take a picture.
It is always a thrill to return to London and with the Tube strike promising to be resolved by tomorrow morning, I hope normal service will resume and I can go ahead with my planned adventures. My own plans to meet my Twitter friend George Allen and his wife Kathy who are in London from up north, had to be scuppered in light of the Strike as we did not know how we'd reach the Tate Britian Museum where we'd hoped to have a cuppa together. Oh well...the best-laid plans of mice and men...
Until tomorrow, cheerio…
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