So… we’re all probably wondering… what happened with the key?
Nothing yet.
No angry emails, no surprise invoices. I think this should be covered under some kind of homeowner or renter’s insurance… but who knows? It’s not like I threw a massive party or put a hole in the wall or smashed a window… though I probably should have, triggered by all that horrid graffiti!
It was just a mistake.
Time will tell.
P.S. ~ My credit card is still locked. Just in case.
I checked out of my accommodation at 10AM sharp. Who sets checkout at 10AM? That’s just cruel.
Rude.
Then again… I did break their key… so I can’t really complain.
I made my way to the Place de Palais station to catch the train to the airport. And… of course… the sun was out, the skies were blue… and the morning sunlight was hitting the Bordeaux neoclassical and modernist architecture just right. It was a perfectday.
Figures.
By the time I was checked in and through security, I decided it was high time to get one last glass of Bordeaux rosé.
*disregard the obvious early hour. Time has no meaning at airports. It’s always wine-o-clock.
Get this… they served it to me in a paper takeout cup.
A PAPER CUP!
Bordeaux. The wine capital of the world. Producing over 6 million hectoliters of fine wine every year. And I get rosé in a paper cup?
Shame.
Don’t even get me started on the price of the airport Bordeaux rosé in the paper cup.
But I have to admit, sipping on my “Cardboardeaux,” I was highly entertained by the airport announcements.
No gate reminders.
No boarding announcements.
No “last call” warnings.
Just constant announcements reminding passengers that violence towards airport staff would result in prosecution and denial of boarding.
Over… and over… and over again.
Okay… good to know?
Bizarre.
I landed at Heathrow and… in one of my rare moments of foresight… had booked accommodation near the airport.
Well… kinda near.
I still had to walk quite aways… on a highway… over an overpass… through a field…
I really pride myself on being the type of person who will traipse through mud and muck in $230 white sneakers in order to save a few bucks on transportation… yet happily spend a small fortune on crap food, rubbish wine… and… yes… $230 white sneakers.
Priorities.
I’m a clown.
My place was absolutely nothing to write home about. The walls were atrociously dirty (much worse than the last place), the mattress felt like a personal betrayal… and the heating?
Non-existent.
But there was a lovely little Indian restaurant around the corner… where I spent the evening spending far too much money indulging in Barefoot Pinot… and a vegetable Manchurian… that might have been delightful… had it not been smothered in cilantro…
And now… I’m on my way home… grateful for the little wins along the journey.
Thanks for following me on my journey!
Until next time… ❤️
Comments