London Quarantine Days 6 – 10 and beyond

So, I tapped out on Day 6. After trying various makeup styles (who knew there were so many types of smoky eye???), washing my sneakers meticulously with a toothbrush, reorganizing my digital photographs, going to unknown depths of Facebook to see what people are up to, watching shows on the lifecycle of moths, and all kinds of such fun activities, I decided that enough was enough. England allows you to take a test on Day 5, and one you get the negative OK, you are free to roam the kingdom (you still need to take your Day 8 test; because, why not, right??). So, I took the test, and on Day 5, I got up ungodly early (like, 8 am!), found the nearest mailbox with early morning collection and sent it off on its merry biohazardous material way. I spent the next 1.5 days in nail-biting suspense and lo and behold, got the good word that I am cage-free by early evening the following day.

I celebrated by taking myself immediately out to dinner in nearby colorful Soho. Oh, how the depressing grey sky shone above my head. How the chilly air felt against my freezing arms. It took al of my tenacity and hunger for the outdoors to endure dinner in the open that night (at that point, UK still only allowed outdoor dining and restaurants were packed, which given the country’s less than stellar climate, would amaze even a hardcore Scandinavian). I inhaled my obscenely expensive dinner, fortified by two glasses (or three, who knows) of wine, and ran home to take a long, hot shower. But the point was made – I dined out!

As surgery was still a few days ahead, I devoted the next several days to shopping, sightseeing, and friends’ seeing. Mostly, I walked all the time. I had spent a year in London as a student, when I was poor and lived in the not-so-glamorous parts of the city. While I did visit all the important places, I guess I never thought to pay attention to how pretty the city was. Folks, London is a city straight out of a Hugh Grant romantic comedy. It is shockingly green, with huge and tiny parks around every other ornate corner. It sure helped that the hotel was in the swanky Mayfair, and my hotel window overlooked Hyde Park, but apparently 50% of London is green spaces, and it showed. Combine this with the pristine houses, neat facades, pretty shopfronts, immaculate restaurants, and the innumerable Lamborghinis, it made for a stunning walking experience. Speaking of cars, as I car aficionado, I have to say (downtown) London showcases an absurd amount of luxury cars. I began a daily exercise of sending Son a picture of at least one Lamborghini, one Bentley, and a Ferrari, all parked casually around the city, with one surprise car each time – the occasional Rols Royce, Maybach, or even a Maclaren. Even UberX had luxury – several times I was picked by a Tesla (honestly, nothing to write home about) or a Mercedes!

After gallivanting around for a few days, and seeing friends every day, it was game day. Since my insurance was American, I had to pay of our pocket for the surgery and then send for reimbursement. It did not occur to me, however, that I needed to pay in advance. After all, one pays after service has been rendered, right? That’s how it works for manicures, for example?? Apparently not here. The morning of surgery day, I received a frantic call from the hospital that I have not responded to their emails to pay for my stay (they has misspelled my email). With mild annoyance I gave them my credit card details, and went back to getting ready. Next, I got a call from a sullen gentleman, who informed me with some alarm that he will be my anesthetist (with his strong accent, I had no idea what he was saying and hence, utterly confused as to what his supposed role was) and that (of course, what else), I had no paid for his yet un-rendered services.  After some inane back and forth, I finally realized that he was the drugs guy and immediately proceeded to pay him – you don’t mess with drug guy!

Once in the hospital, a nice man showed me around my room and its huge terrace overlooking the famed Lord’s cricket stadium, and gave me an extensive dinner menu to choose from – all in all, a great start! The Drug Guy showed up, and asked me anxiously whether I managed to pay, and even asked me for the receipt?!! The surgery went fine (I was correcting a badly deviated septum, which prevented me to breathe properly for years) and the next morning, still loopy from the anesthesia I went back to the hotel.

The next few days were spent in miserable recovery – I guess no one told me that my nose would be completely blocked from the swelling, and I will spend a week breathing through my mouth, looking like a fish out of water and when speaking, sounding like an asthmatic hyena. Sleeping was a complete disaster (try sleeping with your mouth open and you’ll see). Eating was pointless since I could not smell a thing, and all tasted like paper. Thus, I spent some more quality time watching British television and its amazing commercials, which can be grouped in 3 main categories:

·         Ads to prepay funeral expenses and not saddle your loved ones with them (the ads all had young people in them; do Brits really die that unexpectedly all the time and how expensive are funerals in this country, for Pete’s sake??)

·         Ads for various gambling platforms and places

·         Donating money to save African kids, kids with cleft palates, adopt an orangutan, save an elephant, or find a cure for cancer

·         Very, very garish ads for erectile disfunction and male hair loss treatments and medication. Good to know what England’s main afflictions are.

Once was able to breathe again to an extent, I decided to devote myself to culture and visit the museums. After a very entertaining Banksy exhibit, I felt brave enough to go to Tate Modern gallery. A huge lover of Impressionist and post-Impressionist art, I approach modern art with trepidation. Tate did not disappoint. I saw many delightful “interactive” exhibits, where the artist inevitably explored the relationship of humans with nature, or objects, or space, or air, or something, mostly deconstructing and reconstructing some stuff, that usually took a lot of space. Two things caught my attention – a bunch of hanging mirrors that were deconstructing how we see stuff (it was shiny; I liked it because I could see myself many times, and I was having a particularly good hair day), and a big stone, which was making a statement about having a place in time or some other such crazy thought. All in all, a great afternoon! The National Gallery did not offer such deconstructing delights, but the Victoria and Albert museum sold great jewelry courtesy of the Iran exhibit.

During my last week, the weather drastically improved and to everyone’s shock, the sun came out. I continued my walks around the city, and met with wonderful friends all over. I could sense that the Diplomat and Son were somewhat anxious to have me back, so I bid glorious London goodbye. As I was about to call the taxi, I decided to check which Heathrow terminal I was going to, only to discover to my dismay that I was actually flying out of the incomprehensibly further away Gathwick instead. That was one lucky catch…