I’m failing as a travel blogger.

You know, I really thought my first post from across the pond would be glowing and overflowing with love for travel.

But the reality thus far is a sharp contrast from the joyous galavant through London that I’d hoped for. Let me set the hopeless scene for you:

Presently, I’m sat in a Pret cafe. It’s gross (expected) and a big chain. Yes, I am violating one of my most precious rules to avoid chain dining when traveling. But let me continue….

I’m sat in a Pret wearing the same clothing that I put on my body over a day and a half ago. I have slept 10 minutes total during that time, but in a shocking miracle the stress sweat I gained at the airport just looks like I have an etherial glow. A glow that smells a bit like an economy cabin on an international flight mixed with tears and Secret deodorant that I only think I managed to reapply once.

Okay so. Things started getting shaky at the airport when I was stopped by literally every agent between the plane and the exit. Guess that stress sweat makes me look a little sketch. I couldn’t find where to catch an Uber for the life of me, and I was far too sleepy and weighed down to go for the Tube. Finally solved that issue. Uber took 5ever, but it was rush hour so who cares?

Arrive at the hostel. THE GRAND FINALE. I was meant to be traveling as a group of three so had booked what was labeled as a four-person room in one of the higher rated hostels in London. We just needed somewhere with three beds in the same room, and this was the perfect solution. Shared facilities but our own room. Oh how excited I was to get to London and have a quite room to maybe shower and get a glorious hour of shut-eye. Well, you know what’s coming.

I was the first to land in London, and by a divine act (or so I thought) was able to check in to the room super early. So there I am, using every muscle in my body to lug my three bags (I’m moving to Italy for a few months) down into the basement of an old prison in the middle of London. I open the door to “our room” and it’s a full-on European hostel. No room for my luggage. Three random strangers sleeping. One empty bed. My bed…apparently. Thankfully no naked bodies visible. Count your blessings and all.

In an effort to not further piss off my snoozing neighbors, I bolted. Dropped my stuff and walked out onto the streets of a London I know nothing about. No shower, no sleep, no makeup, no toilet, no plan. Just me and a cup of Breakfast Tea in a gross Pret. I’m hiding here until my friends arrive to bring me comfort or at least a laugh about the situation.

My brain is cutting off now. No sleep tends to do that I guess. I’m not sure what else to say. Gotta keep it real on here.

Oh *stream of conscious writer moment* we are going to see Harry Potter and the Cursed Child tonight and tomorrow night. It’s split into two parts if you didn’t know. That’ll cheer me up. From hence forth, I’m just pretending that I’m in a movie and everything is going to get comically bad but eventually end up a little too perfect with a nice soft ballad fading out in the background.

I guess be on the lookout for a post about how to survive a tiny hostel with five months of clothing on your back. That’s all.

Hugs from a soon-to-be-raining London. xx