This journal covers our participation in the 15th Annual Healing Arts Festival in London, England, followed by 10 days in Edinburgh, Scotland. I write the journal pages for my own record and for possible use in future writings, but so many people have encouraged further sharing of these travel writings, I’m again posting them on the web. Thanks for your interest. ``````

WEDNESDAY, NOV. 6, 2002:
TRAVEL TO LONDON

A new Virgin Atlantic Airlines rule says your carry-on bag can only weight 13 pounds. Both Tara and I are about eight pounds overweight, so we have to jam the extra contents into our already overstuffed suitcases.

The check-in woman explains that if an overhead bin should open and the bag were to fall on a child’s head, 13 pounds is better than 21 pounds.

After all the years planes have been carrying passengers, it’s comforting to know someone has figured that out. But considering the frequency with which airlines lose bags, I learned long ago to carry all my most important items in my carry-on bag.

In this case, the seminar manuals and workshop support materials have precedent, so even my CD Walkman and travel book must go.

I’m still three pounds overweight. The counter woman looks at me as she might a bad child. “What if I carry my seminar manuals in my hands?” I ask, placing my bag back on the scale.

“That will do nicely,” she says.

We leave the check-in counter, go through ex-ray and I put my manuals back in my carry-on bag. I hope the bag doesn’t fall out on a child. Of course it will be in the overhead bin above my seat, so there is little chance of that happening.

As we clear ex-ray, my 14-year old daughter Cheyenne is by my side and I look around for Tara. I find her sitting in a chair without shoes. “They’re ex-raying my shoes,” she says.

“They looked suspicious to me,” I say.

A 300-pound security woman looks at me with narrowed eyes. I forgot about the sign that says “Joke in this area and die!”

Once boarded, everything goes smoothly. We watch movies, are served a first-rate dinner, and sleep three hours before arriving in London at noon local time. The plane sits on the tarmac awaiting a gate. Printed on the back of the seat tray tables it says, “Fasten Seat Belts Whilst Seated.”

I point to “whilst” and say to Tara, “Is that word even in our dictionary?”

“It came from here and we butchered it,” Tara, ever-the-defender of other cultures, says.

I love to push her language buttons. “We fixed it,” I say. “Americans improved the language, just like we improve everything else.”

Her sputtering reaction is totally predictable and I won’t repeat it here for fear of offending sensitive ears.

Cheyenne says, “I didn’t know what whilst meant. I think ‘while’ is better.”

Tara mentions something about redneck American attitudes.

Click HERE for the continuation
of Dick’s London/Edinburgh
2002 Road Diary