While packing everything up, we attempted to light another fire for some warmth during the damp morning. It began to rain again as I was taking items out to our Fiat. Norman and Fiona popped out for a second to bid us farewell.
At 10am, we left the cottage and arrived at Glasgow Airport around 1030. After a few paperwork items, we switched cars to a Peugeot. It had more space, but a bit less character than the zippy Fiat 500. And according to Hertz, we had to switch because they were actually trying to get that particular car down to London — hence the relatively cheap rate.
It was an ambitious drive, though none other than James Bond did the reverse of this drive in Skyfall and then fought off a bunch of baddies, so how hard could it be? It is by far the longest drive that Nicole and I have done together during our travels. We would normally limit ourselves to four hours of driving a day, but we weren’t here for sightseeing. For one, that would be in violation of our quarantine rules. Second, England seems like an absolute mess. I had to make one stop to fill up on petrol, but we tried to limit our exposure when possible. People just don’t seem to take it as seriously down here. We would see countless signs over the motorway saying, “Stay Home. Essential travel only.” But judging by the number of vehicles on the road, I don’t think people are adhering to this.
At approximately 3:40pm, we received notice that our test results were in. Negative once again. The government of Bermuda wants an upload of the test results to their portal no more than 24 hours before the flight. At this point, that would have been whittled down to 22, but being an island nation, we figured they would cut us some slack. I exited at the next service station, so we could complete our online applications, attach our covid results, and answer “No” repeatedly to questions like, “Have you had explosive diarrhea in the last 48 hours.”
At 430pm, the sun was completely down and it got dark quite rapidly. From that point, we had another two hours of driving before we reached the London Gatwick environs. I received a phone call and an email from the Scottish NHS. I called them back twice and both times they were like, “Aye, someone’s will be callin’ yas back. Not today mind ya, but tomorrow yes.” I inquired if I was in trouble for not picking up the phone the previous time, and they said no, though I couldn’t really make out what they said after that. It seems to be some sort of random check on people’s whereabouts. Though, since they don’t work on the weekend, they’re a bit behind. By the time they’re able to get through to me tomorrow, I’ll be leaving the UK and basically irrelevant to their data.
Around 630pm, we arrived at our B&B in the southern suburbs of London. After seven hours of driving, I was sweating, achy, my hands were shaking and numb from the steering wheel, and I felt like my body was just shutting down from the long drive. I felt like Capt. Oveur in Airplane! when Dr. Rumack is describing all the symptoms of acute food poisoning. Due to England being in full lockdown, all restaurants are closed, so we got room service. I enjoyed an order of fish and chips.
We received our authorization from the Bermuda government before reaching London, so the pieces are actually falling into place. Now we just need to get on a plane. I think Nicole is especially eager to get out of England. Mask usage is spotty at best, hygiene is a bit lackluster, and the food — very English. We both agree that of all the countries we have visited during our trip, the United Kingdom is handling it the worst. It’s all very . . . American.
passports & pepto bismol 