“Do you mind sterling?”

This is what the barista at Heathrow’s “Caffe Nero” asked me this afternoon morning regarding my change.. still in a daze after an 8 hour flight through time the night, after I emerged from the dungeon that is UK Border Agency and Customs. I needed my mocha, which so far has done nothing to perk me up, so I simply blinked at her and said “no.” I like silver? Being 3,000 miles from home and a complete rookie to this international travel thing I figured I wasn’t in the position to “mind” anything.
I grabbed my mug and heaved the suitcases that weigh more than I do over to a booth and collapsed. Only then did I look into my wallet to see what she’d given me, noticing at the time there was no paper returned to me from the €10 I handed her, but too apathetic to question anything. One more “what planet are you from” stare in response to what I FEEL are innocent questions and I’ll burst into tears. After I collected my thoughts I inspected the coins. One pound coins, equivalent to our Sacajawea gold dollars. It’s all very strange to me. I look outside and feel like I could hop in a car and drive to Minneapolis. It all looks so unassuming. I know that’s not the case. The abundance of accents and foreign languages in the airport I think is when it hit me.
(Ooh ooH! Just spotted a super-nanny-esque cab drive by the arrivals gate. I can already tell I’m going to be an uber-tourist. I also marvel every time a car drives by that the mechanisms are all backwards. I then try to envision myself driving a backwards car, shudder at how much anxiety it’d undoubtedly give me, and wonder how many people I’d send to the ER.)
I’m writing this at 2:00 p.m. my time. When I’ll be able to post it is another matter entirely. “Boingo” wireless may have just ripped me off €10 while denying me access to the internet. ‘Wireless hotspot’… my ass. My game plan was to check in for my AirMalta flight as soon as I could, and pass out in a corner at my gate for several hours. (sleeping cock-eyed on your own shoulder with a pillow made for munchkins on the flight over is no real sleep at all). Turns out there’s no staff at the AirMalta desk at 2:00 p.m. because my flight is the ONLY flight to Malta today. The Gulf Air man told me to check back at 5. Glorious.
I’m meeting a girl from my program named Sarah Hope at the airport in Malta to share a car to our apartment. She gets in even later than I do (12:45 a.m. for me, 1:25 a.m. for her). Hopefully this will allow me enough time to collect my bags, act like I know what I’m doing, and find the driver who is allegedly going to have her name on a sign..all before she lands. I firmly intend on rolling my bags into my room, and passing out fully clothed. The 8:00 a.m. meeting time for orientation tomorrow morning is going to come quick, but I’m sure 6 hours of sleep will seem like a lifetime after the day/s that seems to never end.
Stay tuned for a well-rested post with pretty pictures. :)

(update: alive and well in Malta. off to the beach!! Will post more later!)