One plane ride. Two meals. Eight hours.
The fight for sleep is brutal and patience is required. And we thought this would be easy. My body says it is 3am but the captain promptly notifies us it is 8am. We rub the sleep (or no sleep) from our eyes and groggily wish each other a good morning.
Muscles ache. Bones ache. Everything aches. The noise grows, swells, and fluctuates as the golden morning sun winks at us through the small windows.
22 clearly Americans make their way to the tube. We fumble around the station running into numerous delays, unaccustomed to this foreign land. And there isn’t even a language barrier yet. I was echoing the thoughts of the natives around us. Tourists, my mind spat.
All I can think about is the group of loud Americans that we are and what labels have been slapped on our foreheads. Stereotypes are made for a reason.
Sincerely smelling the roses,