For the most part our trip so far has not exactly been following our itinerary. Today, our itinerary was the last thing on our minds. It all began in the morning when we went to check out. When we got to the reception desk we asked if we could leave our bags until later. The girl at the counter told us that we could, but that we would have to stow them under the stairs of the adjoining restaurant. The idea of leaving our bags alone in an empty restaurant bothered me quite a bit, but we left our large bags and took our backpacks anyway. We headed off to the Portobello Markets.
We didn’t arrive until 2 hours later because we were lost wandering the streets of Notting Hill, but the urban scenery was pleasant. When we finally arrived at the markets after asking for directions, we saw what you’d expect to find if everyone on your street had a garage sale at the same time: vintage clothes, antiques, old jewelry, cds, records, etc.
It was when we went back to the hostel to get our bags that the problems began. Under the restaurant stairs, which had previously been empty, was now completely packed with other travelers’ suitcases.
As it turned out, Amber’s suitcase was missing. My big duffel bag was still there. All of Amber’s train tickets and passes had been inside of her suitcase.
I told Amber to keep digging through the bags. In the meantime, I ran upstairs to inform the receptionist that the bag was missing. There were two of them, watching the TV and stuffing their faces with popcorn.
“My friend’s bag is missing,” I announced.
One of the receptionists looked up at me, “What?”
“My friend and I left our bags here earlier. My friend’s bag is gone. Stolen, I think.”
“Oh,” the receptionist responded, without getting up, “look some more, I don’t know how I can help.”
When I finally found a manager, we confirmed the fact that Amber's bag was indeed gone. The manager was kind enough to take us through every single room in the hostel to see if someone had accidentally grabbed the suitcase. Not to my surprise, unfortunately, we did not find Amber's bag. I asked Amber if she had her pass protection plan paperwork with her (which refunds 100% the purchase of any tickets or passes in the event of the train pass being lost or stolen). She had it. She had 24 hours to make a police report. The helpful manager pointed amber in the direction of the police station down the road. In the mean time, I was stuffing down a salad and orange juice that I had bought earlier. I did offer to go with Amber down to the station, but she distractedly told me it was okay and she went on her own. I looked at the clock. We had missed our train to Paris. Oh, well. I tried to find out when we could catch a later train. The helpful manager had gone. The dumbass receptionists were the only other employees present. I asked them for a ticket to use their internet cafe.
"Sorry, the other computers are shut down and we just sold the last ticket." So I asked if they knew where I could buy Eurostar train tickets. Don't know. Do they have a phone book? Yes, but the sections that I need have been ripped out some time in the past. I tried the pay phone. Couldn't get it to work. Would the receptionists help me? No, why would they do that? In disgust, I left the hostel to find Amber since she had been gone for half an hour.
I got to the police station to find Amber still waiting to file a report. We hung out until it was her turn. After she was done, we went to the train station. When we showed up we found a very kind agent who sold us new tickets to Paris. We got aboard our train and everything was all right (or so we would think).
The train that took us through the Channel Tunnel, or Chunnel, was interesting. It is a very fast train that takes you under the English Channel from London to Paris in just under 3 hours. I was very pleased to get to see the beautiful English countryside, and then we spent 20 minutes in a dark tunnel that took us to the French countryside.
We got to Paris and to our Hotel, St. Germain's, safely. The hotel was very clean and had an interesting circular staircase. Amber began telling the receptionist about our reservation and the man very grumpily said, "Please, speak English." I piped up and told him that we wanted to check in. We got our key and went up to our room. One nice big bed and a nice big bathroom. Our next step was the quest for dinner. We were very hungry after the day's earlier events, so we went downstairs. I handed our key to the grumpy receptionist. The time was 8 pm.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
"To get some dinner." I replied.
"It is late. Be back by eleven," the receptionist gruffed at us.
Almost everything was closed (it was a Sunday night). Luckily, we found a place nearby and seated ourselves right next to a couple from St. Paul Minnesota (who told us that they had run into some other Alaskans earlier). After a good dinner we went up to our hotel and took turns in the bathroom for hot baths, which were a godsend after our long day. It was especially nice because the bathtub was extra long so us long-legged ladies could recline and the tub was extra deep. After a nice bath I organized my stuff for the next day and called my mom. I informed her that we were okay and that everything was fine, and hung up, tearfully. I missed my home, Amber was distressed over her lost luggage, and I knew tomorrow was going to be rough.
We didn’t arrive until 2 hours later because we were lost wandering the streets of Notting Hill, but the urban scenery was pleasant. When we finally arrived at the markets after asking for directions, we saw what you’d expect to find if everyone on your street had a garage sale at the same time: vintage clothes, antiques, old jewelry, cds, records, etc.
It was when we went back to the hostel to get our bags that the problems began. Under the restaurant stairs, which had previously been empty, was now completely packed with other travelers’ suitcases.
As it turned out, Amber’s suitcase was missing. My big duffel bag was still there. All of Amber’s train tickets and passes had been inside of her suitcase.
I told Amber to keep digging through the bags. In the meantime, I ran upstairs to inform the receptionist that the bag was missing. There were two of them, watching the TV and stuffing their faces with popcorn.
“My friend’s bag is missing,” I announced.
One of the receptionists looked up at me, “What?”
“My friend and I left our bags here earlier. My friend’s bag is gone. Stolen, I think.”
“Oh,” the receptionist responded, without getting up, “look some more, I don’t know how I can help.”
When I finally found a manager, we confirmed the fact that Amber's bag was indeed gone. The manager was kind enough to take us through every single room in the hostel to see if someone had accidentally grabbed the suitcase. Not to my surprise, unfortunately, we did not find Amber's bag. I asked Amber if she had her pass protection plan paperwork with her (which refunds 100% the purchase of any tickets or passes in the event of the train pass being lost or stolen). She had it. She had 24 hours to make a police report. The helpful manager pointed amber in the direction of the police station down the road. In the mean time, I was stuffing down a salad and orange juice that I had bought earlier. I did offer to go with Amber down to the station, but she distractedly told me it was okay and she went on her own. I looked at the clock. We had missed our train to Paris. Oh, well. I tried to find out when we could catch a later train. The helpful manager had gone. The dumbass receptionists were the only other employees present. I asked them for a ticket to use their internet cafe.
"Sorry, the other computers are shut down and we just sold the last ticket." So I asked if they knew where I could buy Eurostar train tickets. Don't know. Do they have a phone book? Yes, but the sections that I need have been ripped out some time in the past. I tried the pay phone. Couldn't get it to work. Would the receptionists help me? No, why would they do that? In disgust, I left the hostel to find Amber since she had been gone for half an hour.
I got to the police station to find Amber still waiting to file a report. We hung out until it was her turn. After she was done, we went to the train station. When we showed up we found a very kind agent who sold us new tickets to Paris. We got aboard our train and everything was all right (or so we would think).
The train that took us through the Channel Tunnel, or Chunnel, was interesting. It is a very fast train that takes you under the English Channel from London to Paris in just under 3 hours. I was very pleased to get to see the beautiful English countryside, and then we spent 20 minutes in a dark tunnel that took us to the French countryside.
We got to Paris and to our Hotel, St. Germain's, safely. The hotel was very clean and had an interesting circular staircase. Amber began telling the receptionist about our reservation and the man very grumpily said, "Please, speak English." I piped up and told him that we wanted to check in. We got our key and went up to our room. One nice big bed and a nice big bathroom. Our next step was the quest for dinner. We were very hungry after the day's earlier events, so we went downstairs. I handed our key to the grumpy receptionist. The time was 8 pm.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
"To get some dinner." I replied.
"It is late. Be back by eleven," the receptionist gruffed at us.
Almost everything was closed (it was a Sunday night). Luckily, we found a place nearby and seated ourselves right next to a couple from St. Paul Minnesota (who told us that they had run into some other Alaskans earlier). After a good dinner we went up to our hotel and took turns in the bathroom for hot baths, which were a godsend after our long day. It was especially nice because the bathtub was extra long so us long-legged ladies could recline and the tub was extra deep. After a nice bath I organized my stuff for the next day and called my mom. I informed her that we were okay and that everything was fine, and hung up, tearfully. I missed my home, Amber was distressed over her lost luggage, and I knew tomorrow was going to be rough.
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