Casablanca to London... and the dreaded return

August 11-15

My arrival in London presented one final opportunity to flex my adventure muscles and find my way to Margot's London abode via public transit. Arriving at her door stop a mere 45 minutes after leaving the airport, I was slightly disappointed with the ease of the transfer. The cost, on the other hand, was a struggle.

Nestled in the corner of a beautiful Notting Hill neighbourhood, Margot's nannying home couldn't have been a more comfortable place to ease myself back into first world luxuries. Actually, it was beyond first world luxuries- we were traipsing in the zeroeth world. And so we spent the next three days in London accordingly- lazy mornings watching olympic highlights, followed by strolls in the park and top-notch shopping, with meals spent enjoying some of the city's best restaurants (which were chosen with the help of a handy guidebook found in the home's well-stocked library and Margot's beloved laminated pocket map).

London did live up to it's rainy reputation, but that didn't stop Margot and I from plunging into a decadent vacation mindset, all while catching up on lost time.

We stretched my last night in London into the early hours of the morning and enjoyed the company of a chatty cab driver on the way home, who had a lot to say about the short time he spent in a Newfoundland airport, after running out of fuel on a flight from Chicago to London.

Fortunately my flight home was a lot smoother- as smooth as bubbly champagne, French pate, juicy lamb chops, stilton and a soft and sweet port.... all the luxuries enjoyed by those who take up the spacious individual cocoons, with fully-reclining chairs (or rather seats that transform into a bed with the touch of a button) at the front of the plane. That's right- I was bumped up to first class. The view from the window next to the toilet in the generously-sized first class bathroom made even the most awkward and uncomfortable part of flying a pleasant experience.

My thrilling adventure in Africa had a rather anticlimatic ending as I made my way to the ground transportation desk, where I met the Red Car driver who returned me, all limbs attached, to an empty home at 8 Valleyridge Trail.

But that was fine by me, as I tossed my pack, sat down at the computer and began googling the hiking trails, seaside winds, and exotic foods of the countries that top the list for my next romp with the world, 365 days away and counting.