RBW Convention Report

What the heck does RBW stand for anyway? is it someone's initlals? an acronym? Is it a strange naming convention for a convention? (Shep tells me it stands for "red blue white - the colors on the union jack")

This was not a concern for me, as I found out about this new furry convention during Eurofurence. They were going into their second year. The chaps down at the other dealer's table were quite friendly, and I have been wanting to return to London for quite some time. My last excursion there was on my first trip to Europe - I could not get an inexpensive airfare directly to Amsterdam, so I contacted a Scottish friend, and had him meet me there on my 36 hour layover. I flew in and out of Gatwick airport from Las Vegas, when I still lived in the USA - and then used british airways to fly from London to Amsterdam as an internal round trip. During my 36 hours in London, back in 2004, I hired a car (car rental) and made sure it was a manual transmission. It was a Sunday, so I was not blocked from touring the entirety of central London - no congestion charge to pay.

For this new trip, I only had a couple of days to spare. Cranphin, my dog-sitter, works until friday evening, and then has to be out very early on Monday. I left the dogs home alone from my Friday super early tram ride, the first one picks up at 6:06am - and that just barely gets me to Schiphol Amsterdam airport in time for my 8:30am KLM flight. My luggage is reasonable for the first time in my life. I am totally spoiled by Continental Airlines baggage policy. With them, because I am elite status frequent flier, I get 2 checked bags, up to 70 pounds each (32kg). Plus, I can stuff a giant carry on rolling bag, AND still take a stuffed backpack too. On the last flight with Continental, I had all that PLUS a tube for rolled paper, 28 inches long, weighing another 15 pounds.

KLM, like most other european carriers, limits checked baggage to 20kg total, and only one or two pieces checked total. Carryon with KLM is limited to 12kg, and only one piece. I was able to fudge this a tiny bit by having a German cloth grocery sack as my "man purse", and I avoided the mistake of my Chicago trip by avoiding bringing the huge winter coat. I wanted to bring the "treasure chest" as a dealer table display piece, but did not have any duffle bags with an opening wide enough to put it inside. So, I roughed it and grabbed an ikea pillow case, and stuffed the stuffed chest inside it. The chest was full of glowsticks, LED keychains, lamination film, badge clips, the compact dye sublimation printer, extension cord, and a few other table related items. My fursuit hard case, now getting it's second big journey, was additionally filled with clothes, sex toys, scissors, and my empty backpack. I was planning on moving the stuff from the tote bag to the backpack after I landed, making my journey through the London Underground easier on my hands.

Check in with KLM was interesting, and disorienting. I am accustomed to the blue carpet treatment (Like red carpet, only blue) with Continental, so the cattle call check in was very annoying. I had to queue to a kiosk, amid the ocean of confused people. I finally spotted an open kiosk to my right, which no one in the queue had seen - because of the disorganized lines. Scan my passport, type in my One Pass number from Continental, and it brought up my itinerary. I changed my seat from 10d to 8d, as there was no one scheduled in the middle seat for that row. I printed a new boarding card, so I could throw away the laser printed one from home on the A4 paper.

Ok, now to the baggage check queue. Another mess of disorienting lines and slow human behavior. My first line choice had no one move in 5 minutes, so I moved to the right and found that line to be moving a bit faster. I was close enough to the employee handling the queue to hear "oh, my, you are 24 kilos. You are only permitted to have 20 for free. Is there anyone traveling with you where you can move some items from this case to theirs?" "No? ok, how would you like to pay for the extra weight?"

This scam must be a super cash cow for the airlines now. Oil is back below $50 a barrel, yet all the summer time tricks to raise revenue are still in place. KLM charges 12 euro for each kilo of luggage over 20kg, and this is for EACH final destination. So expect to pay it twice on a round trip. I only had one issue to resolve for my luggage when I got to the front of the queue, "is it permitted for me to lock my luggage for this trip from NL to the UK?" Yes, it was, so I used my shiny new keys and secured both front buckles. Weight for my hard case? 19.9kg, thanks to my shipping scale at home.

I was now on my way with just my treasure-chest-in-a-pillow-case, plus a rolled tube of banner paper, and a small cloth shopping bag. I went through passport control, and was happy to see Schiphol is kind enough to provide free hand luggage carts. I used one to get me all the way to the gate itself, which was quite a long way away. Another dumb KLM queue awaited me, no priority lane for frequent fliers or business class passengers, just a blob mob at the security line. And once past that, again, no priority boarding call that made any sense - "anyone flying with Sky Team Elite status or in business class can board now" - and a mob of 50 people trudged up to the entrance, and were simply waved through without any ticket verification. Luckily, I was sitting with my treasure-chest-in-a-pillow-case right near the front of the poorly assembled queue, so I jumped most of it.

I got my seat, and then the guy on the window recognized a colleague (or friend, I could not really tell which), and this person took the middle seat. DOH! The rest of the flight was me getting my left elbow bumped by flight crew and careless passengers. No one apologized for it, and the flight crew did not even bother looking back to see the damage they inflicted with their hips. Drink service was free, but a micro-can. I have never seen coca-cola products packaged in 5 ounce cans before, I think they must make them just for the airlines. I finished my OJ in about 2 seconds, and shoved the cup and can into the seat pocket. I slept for most of the flight, or at least rested, in-between elbow and shoulder bumps. I made errors on both of my attempts to fill in the landing card for passport control, but on the second one, the mistake was minor, and flight crew told me the UK is NOT like the USA, a correction does not invalidate the entire form. I did forget to keep the hotel address handy, however, and after I got off the plane, I had to dig in the treasure chest for the right paper.

I got through control with minimal hassle, and I was one of only 4 people using the non-EU lane. The rest of the passengers, apparently, were either Dutch or UK residents. Luggage was a bit of a problem, my bag was not on the belt at first. Or at last, either! I asked at the counter if all bags were up from my flight... "yes" "f**k"

"Your bag is not lost, it is tracking on the next flight". My next question was obvious, and also a waste of time: Why? Their next question after that was "what does your bag look like?" They had a laminated page of baggage types, but none of them were equipment cases, only standard types of luggage and duffels. I described my bag in detail on the form, both dimensions and appearance. I was told that after the flight arrived with the bag, it would be less than 6 hours before I was reunited with my luggage. This would put it at around 19:00 - just in time to miss the dealer's room entirely on the first day, and also late enough to be annoying for my Lagarto suit and evening activities. Oh, and this was my only convenient set of wheels, so it meant carrying the treasure-chest-in-a-pillow-case through the tube. AND my backpack was in there too, so hand carrying the German-cloth-grocery-sack too, along with my rolled tube of paper. Oh joy. KLM? you suck.

Heathrow terminal 4 also has free hand luggage carts, so my journey to the tube was not entirely miserable and full of burden. It was good that I had the cart, as the signage for "this way to the trains" is very poorly referenced. Arrows lead to places that have no follow up signs, so you can easily end up in the wrong place, and have to double back. I did manage to locate the underground, and the tickets window, after about 3 tries down the wrong ways. I had to leave my little cart behind by the ticket window, there were bars preventing it from continuing its journey as my companion.

On the tube, Terminal 4 is a dead end roundy stop for the London Underground, so seats were plentiful. I put the chest on the seat beside me, the bag and roll on top of that, and proceeded to wait an hour for my stop. 23 stops later, I was at Russel Square. This was an interesting station. After climbing two sets of stairs, there is a warning sign posted by the third flight. It states that there are 175 steps to the street level, and passengers are requested to use the lifts instead, as during congested times, this 175 steps can cause a safety hazard. Ok, the lift was not too bad, it holds 35 people or 4000kg. Up at the gate, I was surprised that the machine was broken, and the employees were waving everyone through, just looking to see if people had tickets, but not taking the one way tickets as the machine would. I could not tell which way to walk out of the station, so when it looked like I was going the wrong way, I asked a street cleaner which way it was to the russel square park. I was indeed going the wrong way, and that would sadly happen another 2 times before I arrived at the hotel. It doubled my distance, and by the time I got to the registration table for RBW, my arms were just dead.

Convention day 1: Carrying the chest around was tough... and the dealer's room was upstairs, too. I headed straight there, and found hyper a bit manic. He had everything he'd carried the day before neatly laid out. The room opened an hour late, and I was just in time to get in there before the throng of attendees was allowed in. I added my chest to the table, though it only had one sad lonely toy - the one that would have put the checked bag overweight. The glowsticks and pins also went on display, and the laminator got plugged in with the newly arrived extension cable.

Sales were very brisk initially, but tapered off after the first 3 hours. When it slowed down, I went to the hotel desk and notified the porters that my bag was lost, and would be arriving. I gave them a description of it in case the paperwork did not make sense, and said that I would be checking in to the hotel after 14:00. The bag had still not arrived by 15:00 when I checked in, but was there a short time later. The toys went out, but missing the initial rush, none sold on day 1. I was very relieved to have my Lagarto back, though, I was very nervous that he would be missing the entire weekend. Lunch was nice, Hyper found a convenience market around the corner that sold vegan sandwiches and wraps. he got me a very tasty felafel and hummus wrap, plus a banana, half liter can beer, and a bag of crisps.

I was so tired that at 16:00, I borrowed hyper's temporary room with Yote, and slept for an hour. The wake up call at 17:00 was mere seconds later, in my mind. One more hour was spent in the dealer's room. The end of the day was a bit disappointing, but mostly because it started out so strong. There were at least 2 other laminators in the room, and only one artist doing badges, so lamination sucked. But glowsticks, pins, and gadgets were all strong sellers. We checked in to our room, and found it to be two sad little single beds, on opposite sides of the room. I fully re-arranged the furniture, and pushed the two beds together, at a 90 degree angle to their starting point. Walkway space around the end of the bedwas narrow, but similar to our bedroom at home, so no big deal. Then, the hunt for food began.

Dinner was amazing. We asked the concierge where to find a nearby chinese eatery, and were told there was one in the same building, around the corner from the main entrance. The hotel complex is massive at the Royal National, and each of the outside corners has a different restaurant occupying space. We de-furried and went inside "China City" at 50 Woburn Place. We were seated right away, and our hostess took our drink order. I had a single Drambuie and hyper ordered a beer. Our waiter was, we think, in the know about or relationship :) The busboy was a 40 something asian guy, quite swishy like the modern George Tekai. He had the goth hair bangs on his right side, angle cut, and constantly swept it out of his eye ;) Watching him handle empty wine glasses and other tablewear, it was 100% obvious to both me and hyper that he was quite poofy. This was like an added bonus for our meal, I would have paid extra to be sure he was available for future dining appearances!

Oh, and the food was excellent. Hyper caved in a bit, and agreed to go vegan, so we could share all the dishes. We got 3 entrees - fried salt & pepper tofu with mixed vegetables in sweet and sour sauce, aubergine (eggplant), and japanese tofu with fresh asparagus. I asked for white rice, hyper got the fried (so his was not vegan). All the dishes there were simply amazing. Presentation was excellent, pace of the meal was good, and service was extremely attentive. It was one of the nicest chinese restaurant experiences I have ever had. And the price was quite reasonable too, only 39 quid. I would definitely return there to eat again, and certainly recommend it to anyone visiting the area.

We headed back to the hotel room and I donned Lagarto. There were many hotel guests to impress with him. I heard Italian, French, German, and middle eastern tongues being spoken around me. And the reactions were awesome - children stopping to point and gently squeak, adults commenting "crocodile wow" or "alligator, cool!" There were simply a lot of mundane furry breeders staying at this giant hotel, and many of them did stop and stare. The fursuiters were mostly keeping to the convention areas, so few were out in the lobby or hallways near the rooms. 400 rooms per floor, on 6 levels, plenty of new faces to impress :)

Down at the main meeting hall, and dance floor, staff was still busy setting up the lighting and sound equipment. I strolled around for a while and talked with a few furs through the Lagarto teeth. The room was comfortably cool, so I was able to stay in suit just about the entire time. I interacted a bit with a white wolf fursuiter, who squeaked constantly using a little tube from his mouth. The dance stared a bit later, and hyper changed into his fox suit. We danced as much as we could stand, but the music selection was terrible. 80's stadium rock, mostly - bon jovi, europe, def leppard, and other non-dance tunes. There was the occasional bright spot, but half the songs were duds. Despite the musical selection, I had a super fun time with my kaleidoscope green laser, shining it on the floor and also on other dancers. It was about 10 times the fun of the 15 inch glowstick! The next day in the dealer's room, I would have not fewer then 10 people ask me if they could buy it, or where to find one like it.

Hyper and I were chilling in the headless lounge waiting for a good song, but exited the dance after the 4th really bad one in a row. We went back to the room for a relatively early night (23:00), but before sleeping, I managed two really good shots of white. The glowstick and glowing LED snow ball made some interesting lighting effects and served as excellent mood lighting under hyper's tail. I am not sure what it was exactly about that, but it kept me hard as a diamond. I passed out so dead tired, that I was not aware of hyper trying to retrieve his top blanket. I was sleeping right on top of the fully made single bed, using only the top blanket from the other single as cover. he made it through the night with the rest of his bedding. When I woke up 7 hours later, I said "why were you not snuggling me last night?" and he replied "because I could not wake you up to move you". At this point, I also noticed I was sandwiched between the two top blankets and had not crawled into the sheets. OOPS! I certainly needed the sleep, though, it was epic.

There was plenty of time for a relaxing shower, but not for shower fun. I did the basics and got down to the main feeding area, where the "free" breakfast was being served. I only had 20 minutes or less to eat, before the dealer room opened again, so I skipped the meat and eggs line, and cheated over to the cereal, bad fruit, and toast area. I snagged 3 pieces of white toast, a glass of something that can't be called orange juice, and a bowl of peeled canned orange slices. It was all pretty awful, but the worst was using a spoon to spread jam, because I bypassed the main line and could not find a knife. I was functional, though, and quick. Hyper forgot the room receipt which was needed to show for the meat/eggs feature, so he stormed off to find it. It sucked, because he had already been in line for more than 8 minutes. I saw the other diners eating grey sausages and boring eggs, realizing I was missing out on nothing.

Convention day 2: Back up to the dealer room, sales were ok, but sluggish all day. Our sales pitch resulted in finding homes for plenty of lanyards, all the lasers, a few pins and stickers, plus a copy or three of Heathen City. There was a major hard sell to move just one toy, it came down to a coin toss for the buyer to decide. He got a good price, though, as it was bundled with a book. Lunch was similar, but this time, I opted for Guinness instead of the generic ale. 20 pence extra? um, yeah, give me the Guinness tall boy. Dealer room ended a bit early because of the boat party, so we were all packed up by 16:15. We dumped everything in the room, sorted a tiny bit, and then headed out for dinner.

I forgot to bring my jacket, hoping we would be eating indian food in the hotel restaurant. However, the place was not open yet, starting their service at 18:00, not 17:00. We went again to the concierge and asked about indian cuisine in the neighborhood. Once outside on our way there, I maged to get quickly across the street, but Hyper got stuck waiting for cars to cease coming at dangerous speed and trajectory. I thought I had already seen him cross the street and make a wrong turn, but when I saw he was not there anymore, and instead, was still way back, I got angry and yelled at him. This mistake on my part carried over into a string of panic for hyper and anger for me, which took nearly 30 minutes to quell. It was very unfortunate, the only reason I was upset is I was cold. Bad timing, misunderstanding, and old habits clouded the evening.

We did find the place, but there was another just two doors down from it that looked better. We settled on "The Vegetarian's Paradise" at 59 Marchmont Street. We again decided to share dishes, so vegan was great for me, and acceptable for Hyper. It began with some pompadons, and the food was excellent, but the restaurant was completely empty, and it was small too, so the waiter spent more then half of our meal staring at us. That creeped the heck out of Hyper, I just ignored it, but was aware, certainly. No hand holding or petting legs under the table at this place, as we had the night before. Finally, about three fourths of the way through our meal, a pair of chatty older english ladies came in and broke the waiter silent restaurant tension. He finally had something else to do other than stare at us while we ate spicy potatoes, peas, spinach, garlic, and rice. We ordered one dish too many, and double the rice we needed. But the check was even less here, only 28 quid. We really got stuffed, because we knew there would be no food on the boat tour.

On the way back to the hotel, we stopped to buy some food for that night. I got a fridge magnet at the first shop which had a big sign "beer and wine", but they sold neither. I guess they lost their off license! The second shop was well stocked with all we needed, including more pint sized Guinness :) The thing I love about vegan food, is that it is very long lasting without refrigeration. What is there to spoil?

I again donned Lagarto, but then there was more bad communication back at the hotel. We started playing "beat the clock" to get to the boat dock on time. First, I forgot the room key. Then the laser, then the camera. By the time we were in the lobby, we were very worried. Tube was not a good option any more both for making connections on time, and also because someone said the tube was down for maintenance or something similar. We wanted a cab, but had a bear of a time finding one. This taxi-tension led to Hyper's panic attack.

I was trying to stay in Lagarto character, but had to take off the head to work on the taxi problem. There is no taxi stand at the hotel, and none queueing outside. You have to hail one in the street, but with me in my gator suit head off (or on, probably), none would stop for me. And since there were also a lot of other guests seeking cabs, it was complete chaos. I found one at a light and tapped on his window, asking him if he could radio his dispatcher for us. He said it was not permitted for them to do that. What crap! I managed to hail another one, and when he asked where I was going, I said "blackfriars pier", he said refused to go there, and drove off! What a cock. If I had been in possession of something nasty or heavy, I would certainly have lugged it at his window.

After that point, I told Hyper he was our only hope of finding a cab, he panicked, and looked like a lost child at the giant shopping mall. He spotted one at long last, and managed to hail it before any other assholes stole it from us. It was a close call, too. We piled in and THEN told the driver where we were headed. He grumbled at the relative closeness of the destination, repeated it like it was wrong, and then shut up and drove. He went mad speed through the narrow streets, as if his ass was on fire. I guess they don't pay enough to these drivers of black cabs. On the dock finally, and seeing a pile of other furries, we knew we were at the right place. I asked to have a photo of Lagarto exiting the cab for this report and general fun later. I did not notice until after seeing the picture the next day, that our cab was purple-blue with little poofy water droplets icons on it. Hardly a black cab, but oddly appropriate for the gay-tor :)

We were just in time for the normal cut off, but only half of the people had shown up already, and the boat was not even there yet. So all that rushing was for nothing. No big deal, the cab ride was 8 quid, and the tube for 2 would be, well, 2.40 per person anyway. It was just lousy that for all of our rushing, none was needed. We could have walked and made it in time. I got some more pictures as Lagarto, with LondonEye in the background, and we waited to board the boat. I was one of only three fursuiters that arrived with head on, the rest all brought their suits in cases and bags, hiding them away from the London public.

The boat party was awesome. Triple deck, middle level is a dance floor and bar, with outside space both stem and stern. The top level was all open, and was quite nice up until about 21:00, when it got a bit cold. The dance floor was pretty short, if I jumped or even stood on tip toes, Lagarto head would hit the ceiling. Just tall enough, though, for tons of fun. Whenever I was overheated from dancing, I could simply step to the front of the ship, out one door, and enjoy the cold breeze. The boat moved along much faster then I thought it would, so the scenery was constantly changing. You had about 2 minutes to grab a shot of a monument or bridge before it whipped past and was but a memory.

At one point early in the evening, a tiny little guy came up to me and started grinding on my leg. As if he were a stray dog, I pet him and returned a grope or two. He firmed his position, and I mine. He said something to the effect of "I must stop now or else I will lose complete control". Hyper arrived with two beers, notably miffed at my random encounter with the stray furry. But I had trouble controlling myself, I could hold him easily off the ground completely with just my hands, and when his legs wrapped around my scaly tail, it was a feeling I can not quite adequately convey for a general audience. A beer and a half later, I was ready to dance. Hyper found his fox in a bag, and became that fox.

Kittiah was doing an amazing job spinning tunes. He was even controlling the disco lighting to enhance the effect of his music. Until now, only the Rainfurrest DJ had impressed me - but Kittiah was better. After a solid hour of complete perfection, he ended his shift. What replaced it can only be described as horrible. Imagine Enya, but with even less of a beat. Good music for a massage parlour, but NOT for a furry dance! After about 20-30 minutes of this, and numerous complaints by the patrons, Kittiah reprised his set and came back for an encore performance. Stunning, simply fantastic tunes continued to pour from the loudspeakers. The windows all fogged up completely, and only colorful light was emanating from the glass enclosed cabin. Hints of furry gyration were barely discernible, shadows bathed in light. A movie production company would have to pay dearly to reproduce such a glorious effect. This spectacle I enjoyed again and again, as I took brief breaks from the thumping grinding dance that I enjoyed so thoroughly, out on the bow of the ship.

At one point early in the music, my little stray returned for a spin, and I tried to pick him up for a photo opportunity. I must have miscalculated, or he bumped my head, but in any event, Lagarto's head came completely off and crashed nose first to the floor. He lost two of his front teeth on the right side, and shattered one other, which was sitting at an angle for the rest of the time. I quickly collected the fallen head, and grabbed up the giant teeth. I noticed the fracture lines were right along where the airline had broken them before, and the superglue had not held enough. Nothing is lost, and I can fix it, but for the rest of the night, Lagarto had a distinctly british smile ;) And my little stray was either horrified or embarrassed at being the center of this, so he did not speak to me again for the rest of the tour.

More photo opportunities has me wondering who all the photographers were, perhaps some of them will be kind enough to make their efforts available to the community. One well equipped canon got a shot or two of me with Big Ben in the background. Our tour was coming to an end, and with it the most memorable dance I have ever had the pleasure to experience. The fursuiters all gathered to doff their suits, hiding them away from the inevitable public carelessness or worse, scorn.

I made the brave decision to continue my journey and photo opportunities, in part because there was a group of 10 of us going back to the hotel via the tube. I changed the green feet with indoor soles for my regular shoes, tucked in the legs of my suit, and went out to seek adventure. Andy Squirrel was one of the photographers in tow, he got about 8 pictures of me in various poses, including some pole dancing on the hand rails. This is something I would absolutely NEVER do as a regular human. Somehow, in a fursuit, even one who is obviously male, it was just fine. Hyper kept telling me "turn this way" or "they want a picture". The age of the camera phone leaves even regular citizens ready to document the unusual in their daily lives, and I was certainly unusual.

Everything was moving along swimmingly well, until our first tube train change, and a pack of chavs fresh from the pub approached me. I at first I thought, "ok, this is just a group of loud and excited people who think green is cool, different, or weird". Well, then two of the rather short and petite women began to steamroll me. They locked arms and hunkered down low like american football defensive linemen. They began to push. There were lots of folk behind me, helping backstop my movements, but after about 5 seconds, I knew I had to respond. I braced back with one leg, and pushed back hard. I tossed the two cunts off with smooth force, and that instantly stopped my backward motion. One of them then instantly re-engaged me, and tried to roll me as a wrestler would. I was concerned more with losing my head again, then having her actually succeed in her physicality. She was so much shorter, she could not get any force on my shoulder to move me. First, I broke her hold, then I reached out with one flat hand and pushed her chest back. Hyper had made his way through the crowded platform by now and got inbetween us, keeping her from re-advancing on me. I stayed well back from the edge of the platform, preferring instead to get in the center of my group along the wall. I was sure as hell not going to let any of those idiots push me near the rails.

Fortunately, our train was first, and the chavs all stayed behind for the next line. From that point on, all was smooth and without incident. This is when I did my most provocative pole dancing, and had the most pictures taken of me. I now better understand street performers and strippers: you don't think of them as human, keeping your eyes on the wall. Sing it, Tina. Three different tubes to get back to Russel Square, fun all along the way. I am so very glad that I risked my safety for the thrill. I realized that evening I wanted more, and in every major city with iconic landmarks I can do it. My feet must change, so they are green with shoe cores. This will give me maximum comfort, stability, and good looks. An alligator in athletic shoes does look a bit off. Funny that, given the absurdity of an anthropomorphic fuzzy alligator in public spaces.

Once back at the hotel, we bid goodnight to Andy the Squirrel. We took the lift to our floor and again navigated the catacombs of the Royal National, this time with increased speed and efficiency bred from familiarity. After removing all the exceedingly sweaty clothing, I noted that my suit was mostly dry, though one of the paws had retained some filth from the tube. I changed into some dry clothes, and put on the feet. I was too tired to suit more, but wanted to retain some green for our trek to visit with LupusWolf & AlfaFox. We spent about 2 hours in their room, chatting about modern happenings and furry related topics. There were 8 of us in all, including one heavy set but younger and cute girl furry. I spent at least 45 minutes massaging her crotch with my gator paw. I love big girls, they are so easy to please.

The vodka was kaput, Hyper was dead tired, and I was feeling the need for sleep also. We bid our companions good night, and found our door once again. I knew I needed a shower before bed, but even before that, felt the need to couple. No problem getting dirty before getting clean :) Sleep was bliss, though I knew I had an early-ish flight, so a wake up call was needed. On with the lights again, to find the phone and make that request. The next thing I knew, it was 105 minutes after my intended wake up time.

SH**! Ok, pack quickly. Pack QUICKLY. I had left everything to the morning, and now there was little of it left. Hyper was quite groggy, but I sorted everything and managed to keep mostly out of his way. Lagarto with the broken teeth went back in his super tough case, and I knew the toys would not put the weight of the case over 20kg. I also put a few clothes and other items in there, but kept out the backpack for the tube trip to Heathrow. I scarfed down the one open wrap and can of Guinness, then grabbed up the remaining vegan wrap sandwich, crisps, banana, and two cans of guinness. I fully expected to have to throw the guinness away, because there would be little if any time between my airport arrival and boarding the flight.

I knew exactly the way to the underground station, but double checked with the concierge if there was a faster way to Heathrow. There apprently is not a big savings in time going on the express from that hotel, because first you must take a taxi to another station (paddington?). But they said the tube was just one hour to Heathrow. This would have been useful, had I remembered with certainty which terminal I was using. I knew it was not 1,2,3 - but I remembered incorrectly that it was terminal 5. The tube train I boarded went directly there, and I was making good time. I was horrified on arrival, though, to find it looking distinctly more modern and clean then when I left. This put the big seed of doubt in my mind that I was not at the right place.

Heading upstairs, I realized more fully that I was fuc**d. Time was growing ever shorter, and there was no easy signage or helpful employee to guide me to the KLM departures area. I finally found someone to ask about it, and they confirmed that I needed terminal 4. "Take the Heathrow express train", she said, "it boards down at the bottom of all these escalators". That would have been good advice, if I had an extra 45 minutes to blow. I got to the train platform and it was to be 12 minutes before the train would even be leaving, and that was to go to 1,2,3 - not 4. There would be ANOTHER train to do that. FU**!

Ok, back now to the helpful employee to complain and emo on him. "You can take the bus, it is faster", he said. Anything was preferable at this point to waiting 30 minutes to arrive, I was less then 1 hour away from boarding time now. Flight departure at 11:50am, it was now 11:02. I made my way to the bus stop, confirmed the line was going directly from terminal 5 to terminal 4. 11:20, we arrived. I made the long walk to the baggage check area, and saw two employees working the counter. Not another soul in sight. Not good! At the counter, I confirmed my fear. "It's too late for you to check your bag". I asked "can I check the bag for the later flight and still make this one? That happened accidentally before anyway!". She said "no, you have to fly on the same flight as your baggage". Yeah, right, unless KLM decides this is not necessary, apparently. I suppose the random nature of it prevents any acts of a disagreeable nature.

I went to the ticket counter to argue about getting on the later flight, and was again rebuffed by uncaring and unsympathetic minions of KLM. I had lost my entire return flight, and was approaching them as any passenger with no previously booked arrangements. Their best rate was 229 pounds for a one way ticket, and it was the same price if I wanted a 30 day return trip. I had paid 286 dollars for my round trip already, and this was at a major premium because of the sunday departure. Hyper's fare for the following day was only 235 dollars. I asked if there were any other airlines flying out of Heathrow with direct flights to Amsterdam, and they told me only two others: British Airways and British Midland. Two other carriers fly from London to Schiphol also, but not from Heathrow. The KLM agent told me BMI had a fare of 129 pounds, but could not confirm the rate, and suggested I go directly to their ticket counter.

The train to get from one terminal to another is free, so I headed to Terminal 1 for BMI. At their counter, I was told the rate was 205 pounds for today, or if I could fly tomorrow, only 85 pounds. DOH! I decided to eat my lunch, before going any further, so I consumed the banana, a pint of Guinness, and my bagel with houmus (hummus). The tomato I had with me was a plastic one, acidic and mealy. But it added bulk, and did somewhat enhance the enjoyment I had for the bagel dip meal. Then I called Cranphin to see if he could find out more about fares for EasyJet and Ryanair. By SMS, he told me he found fares of around 100 euro for a one way, but only flying out of Luton or Gatwick airports. After a few more messages, I settled on the EasyJet from Gatwick at 18:55. I was not about to miss two flights in the same day, and thought getting to Luton by 15:30 was extremely risky. Also not worth it to save about 10 euro. I resigned myself to the knowledge that I would be home by late evening, and made an adventure out of it. I was still carrying my trash around in the little shopping bag, completely unable to find a bin anywhere. I have no idea why, but Heathrow must really abhore the presence of rubbish bins. I finally abandoned my bag with beer can and banana peel on a cafe table from another restaurant. On the way down to the trains, I noticed more trash articles placed neatly about. I must not have been the only one unable to find a proper receptacle for my unwanted items!

The train tickets counter guy was quite helpful, he asked me "do you want to get to Gatwick fast, or cheap?" I replied that I had 5 hours to get there, so "cheap please". 10 pounds 50 was all it cost, and one ticket gets me all the way there. Change tube lines from Picadilly line to District line, and then at Victoria Station, take the southbound train with a stop at Gatwick. No problem, my rolling luggage and strapped on treasure-chest-wrapped-in-a-pillow-case was no burden today. And I still had my backpack carrying the other articles, remaining can of Guinness, and the rolled paper. The tube was the same, until I changed lines. The station I chose was crammed, the other train was severely delayed. I was there about 15 minutes myself, until it finally arrived. By this time, the platform had filled with people, and everyone blob queued for the doors. I was lucky to get in at all with my giant case and chest, it was so tight that I had to stand with my back to my rolling case, just so the backpack overlapped the airspace above it. Two more guys jammed in after me, so I was unable to turn around. It felt very japanese. Not fewer then 30 people were standing on the platform after the door closed, just in the queue for that single entrance. I needed the Victoria station, just two stops down, and realized a problem at the first stop - the doors opened on the OTHER side of the train. There were about 8 rows deep of people between me and those other doors. About 3 people got off at that next stop, no one got on. I geared up for an adventure of body slamming.

At the next stop, fortunately, since Victoria station is massive, and a major change point, about two thirds of the people exited the rail car. I was able to get off too, only rolling my case wheel over one person's foot - despite my stern verbal warning "watch your feet!" Then the stairs. I was very glad I had secured my chest with two bungee straps, because I had to LIFT the case entirely to get up these 3 flights of stairs. After navigating some terrible signage, I found my proper area for the next train. I was still plenty early for my arrival, so I found another easy-grocery shop and bought a couple more sandwich wraps. They had a nice deal for 3.59, including a sandwich, half liter water, and bag of crisps. I selected one with potato, the other with houmus and spicy chipotle. I could totally see surviving on these things long term. I wish I could find them here in the Netherlands! The clerk tried to cheat me out of 40 cents by bundling the lower priced sandwich with the deal, but I re-arranged the items and asked him to ring it that way. He grumbled and complied.

Gatwick southbound train was delayed for some unknown reason, but I was in no particular hurry. It gave me time to snap a picture of the uncrowded station and little grocery market. About 20 minutes passed, and the train pulled up. I got an excellent seat by the door with my giant luggage, and then relaxed in a half awake state for the 45 minute ride. I do like the british rail system for its notifications of which way you are going, and all the stops coming up, including the "next stop". Say what you will about its on time performance, the rider is never misinformed about where or how they are going there. A ticket checker with no uniform, a sturdy voice and even sturdier frame was kind enough to inform each person he checked, of how much further it was to their intended stop. I mused for a moment that he might just be insane and overly helpful, but not in fact working for the rail system.

Once inside the bowels of Gatwick, I made the long trek to the ticket counter for EasyJet. They were not yet taking baggage, but said they very soon would be. I queued with a couple of younger dutch women, who were also waiting to check in. When I got to the counter, I asked about baggage policy, and was told that I had the normal 20kg for my bag. No issue on dimensions, though my case barely fit in the tube they had around their luggage conveyor belt. 18.5kg - room for more stuff! The employee complained that I was permitted precisely one carry on piece, and I had 3 - the treasure-chest-wrapped-in-a-pillow-case, the tube of paper, and the german-cloth-grocery-sack. She said weight was no problem, but ALL items had to be in one. I stuffed a few things in to the big case, and let the other passengers check in while I sorted there kneeling on the floor. I stuffed the back pack back in the rolling case, along with some clothes. I still had my last Guinness and sandwiches. I was barely able to put ALL remaining pieces in the pillow case beside the chest, but did manage it. Leaving the luggage drop and check in counter, I balanced all of these objects and wandered out with a wide legged stance. I found a nearby chair and set it down, to re-arrange it all in a sensible fashion. Further down the terminal, on the lower level, I found another cafe. I sat there for about an hour, slowly enjoying the final Guinness and sandwich. This time, there was a waste bin just a few meters away. Gatwick is not afraid of its trashyness.

Noting that it was about 75 minutes to departure time, I went in search of my gate. The airline, or airport anyway, simply refused to post this information on the monitor until the very last moment possible. Nearly 30 more minutes elapsed before it was shown. By this late time, there was a discernible mad dash by all the passengers in the direction of the gate. And the flight was at the ass end of the terminal, too. It took more than 15 minutes to walk there from the central hallway. We began boarding almost immediately, and I was fortunate to be in the "A" group, going first. I found an awesome seat right by the aircraft door, on the window. There was no one occupying the middle seat, and the flight was about 80% full. When they finally closed the door, I had to move my foot to the right, as the cabin door intrudes about halfway in front of that seat. I had an interesting show with the two flight attendants, the older male one could have been a stand in for Ricky Gervais. The younger female attendant was, as I would find out from eavesdropping, only 23 years old, and in a rocky relationship with her boyfriend, who refused to commit. The comedy coming out of these two was very much like watching a brit-com, only done live and without their knowledge. Beverage service was not free, they wanted 80 pence or 1 euro for a mini-can of tomato juice. I had 62 pence in my wallet, the last of my small change. He said that was enough, go ahead. I had that with the last vegan wrap sandwich from my bag.

We landed in a short hour after take off, to a very moist Netherlands. I don't know why, but we had a stairs gate. And once inside the terminal at Schiphol, up a flight of stairs again. How dumb! I found another free hand luggage wheely cart, and dumped the treasure-chest-in-a-pillow-case on it, along with my rolled paper and german-cloth-grocery-sack. My case was shuttling toward me on the baggage belt just a few minutes after I arrived. I was very pleased to see Lagarto again. And how nice that I did not have to wait hours for misdirected baggage! No customs agent once again, I surely do love Schiphol for that. I caught my Utrecht train, and was on the final way home. I was very glad to see the dogs were doing well, and that Cranphin had fun with them over the weekend. Wouter kept them all company, and prevented cranphin from going stir crazy. Cran picked me up from the nearby tram stop at City Plaza, saving me the moist walk home. We talked for about half an hour, and he packed up his stuff to return to his home.

Despite being screwed by KLM's inflexible ticket change policy, I rather enjoyed the adventure of it all. RBW? Do it for the boat party alone, it was ab-fab.