I flew out of LAX on Monday evening.
First stop: Heathrow. Final destination: Copenhagen.
My flight wasn’t until 7:45PM, so I started the leisure morning with a farewell breakfast with mom at Four Daughter’s Kitchen in Manhattan Beach. Chocolate chip pancakes and avocado chorizo breakfast burrito.
The rest of the afternoon was spent lounging with the piggies. Interspersed with random bouts of packing and general sadness. It’s always hard to leave home, but it felt especially difficult this time.
Around 5pm, my mom drove me to the airport. We hung out for a bit at the Coffee Bean before security, then did the hug+kiss+bye+bye deal.
LAX was pretty empty, so that was a plus.
This was my first time in the Tom Bradley International terminal since they renovated it, and daaaayum. It’s gorgeous.
There are lots of shops, and a TON of eateries.
I wasn’t hungry, so I just hung out at the gate and watched the sun set.
The flight to Heathrow was pretty rough. I’ve done this journey 7 times now, and it’s almost always an easy breeze. Sure, being on a long haul flight is never really “fun” but I can always distract myself with movies and naps. But omg, not this time.
I had an aisle seat, but I basically had half a seat. The guy next to me (in the middle) was massive, and didn’t even bother putting our shared armrest down. Talk about awkward cuddles with strangers. He also alternated between crying, listening to his headphones at full blast (to the extent that I could hear his EDM music loud and clear over my own), “seat dancing” to said music, and continually creeping into my own seat real estate. Hygiene was also not a strong point. I honestly don’t have a lot of “travel nightmare” stories, but this one belongs to that category.
The Heathrow-to-Copenhagen flight was a dream by comparison. It was only an hour and twenty minutes, with no one in the middle seat next to me. BLESS.
See that thick layer of cotton candy clouds? It made sure Copes was grey and rainy when we landed.
Color me not-so-surprised.