Yesterday afternoon, the first day of our four-day stay in London, while Robin and I shared a local Stout and Lager in the Mayfair Chippy Shop, I decided necessity may be the Mother of all invention but calamity just might be the father of experience. In other words, losing one's brand new Passport between the airport and your first night's hotel forces one to become an expert on US Embassy Citizen Services in Central London. Stout and Lager can offer one great insights I discovered.
I've wracked my brain and I really don't know how it happened. Was I just careless or did someone really lift it from the top pocket of my backpack? I'll never know. But I DO know how to access emergency Citizen Services in a foreign country. That's probably worth knowing but whether it's worth $135 and an entire afternoon of valuable tourist time, probably not.
Our trip started out in a rush but otherwise pretty much like we planned. We got to Tucson International in plenty of time, got our boarding passes and had time to unwind just a little before boarding our connecting flight to Atlanta where we would be changing planes for the big jump across the pond.
We flew Delta, a pretty good airline for international travel. It might have just been me, but the Delta crew seemed a little more cheerful than when I've flown with them before. And, more importly on an international flight, the food was actually decent and fresh.
Whenever I travel more than three time zones and the lights are turned off in anticipation you will sleep, I get little confused whether the first meal is technically lunch or dinner, with the one an hour or so before touchdown breakfast or light lunch. Regardless, 'dinner' was hot ravioli with meat sauce chased down with a small but fresh roll and very generous quantities of free wine. Breakfast (brunch?) on the other end was cold and dominated by various forms of dairy - yoghurt, cheese and cream cheese on several choices of small breads. Both meals were pretty tasty and definitely fresh.
Probably most importantly, these meals were complimentary as were the pretty nice selection of fresh snacks and booze. I think I mentioned the booze was FREE. The flight magazine listed the wine as a whopping $8 but it was served free. Never mind that I would pretty much only use the chardonay for cooking, it was FREE. But I will admit while drinking this generous glass of wine,I rather ungenerously was thinking Delta might be serving free booze to impress the new customers it might have after those fliers decided not to fly with that bully airlne United. Nevermind, I have a suspicious nature.
Now on overnightnflights my biggest complaint with frankly all airlines is the practice of 'stacking' the seats so close together that it really IS tempting to pay the extra $40 for the Comfort Seats. The cheap seats on Delta were unbelievably cramped but Robin and I had chosen seats in the middle section with three seats, reservng the two aisle seats in the hopes we would have the middle to share. Booya! Accomplished. We took turns trying to sleep in the two joined seats in a fetal position without freezing our bodies into pretzel shapes but fankly, we were a bit exhausted and ready for some serious nap time when we got to our hotel.
Imagine my consternation when I reached down into my bag to pull out my passport and my credit cards at the Hotel to find they were missing. Yes, missing. Gone. To be fair, I was seriously weary when I left the plane which is why I may have inferred the Express train was our only option to get to Paddington Station which was closest to our hotel. It could also have factored into the loss of my passports and credit cards.
Frotunately, this trip is the first trip I have had to use the international calling options on my enabled phone. I immediately notified my bank to cancel the cards then tried to use my phone and the hotel's wifi to figure out how to notify the US government that someone else was potentially walking around as me. The website, in my weary, stressed and frazzled condition, defeated me. The Embassy was not far away so we decided to visit the Embassy to see what to do. Obviously, I desperately needed a travel document to leave this country, fly to Morocco and then get back home.
I have always found the stressed little old lady with the gray hair superpower works best in person. I was not so stressed, however, that I failed to observe that our current London Embassy looks very much like it's architect offered the cheapist bid and was constructed in the most utilitarian Modernist style. Although quite large it truly lacks pizazz.
To access this ugly Embassy, you have to approach a security bunker which serves much like the triage station in an emergency room. Got an appointment? Wait outside sir while we check for you. Missing your Passport Ma'am? Can we please see your driver's license or other photo ID?
Well, uh, no. Not even a copy of them. Not even a Costco card. Nonetheless, the guard took pity on me, called Citizen Emergency Services and got me an immediate appointment. My superpowers stayed strong enough to convince him I needed my friend with me to help so after some to-ing and fro-ing, she got to join me within the Embassy. Of course the real reason was that she had to pay for it.
To obtain an emergency Passport, you have to fill out all the paperwork you would have filled out for your original Passport. Your exhusband's name, father's name, mother'maiden name, dates of birth, places of birth etc. Honestly, some of the information I don't keep in my head. Then you fill out more paperwork listing the circumstances of the loss of your Passport (a little embarrassing when you don't know). Miraculously, after a few more interviews and some photo taking, I actually walked out with an official Passport - a baby one, with just a few pages but with the same cover and a better picture than my last one.
You'll be happy to know the Embassy people actually acted mostly like they work for me instead of vice versa, performing their tasks fairly quickly yet compassionately and efficiently. I felt so good walking out of the Embassy with at least a Passport, I chatted up some policemen to find out where Robin and I ccould find a good chippy shop as we were truly parched and hungry by then. And that's where this story ends, at Mayfair Chippy Shop, a lucky recommendation since the restaurant was once on the top cable show You Gotta Eat Here. Feeling relieved at our success, Robin and I shared a large local stout and lager and some of the best beer-batter fish fliets we both have ever eaten. Robin paid of course.
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