From America to London to Madrid

When you pack for a trip, make sure you check the weather before mistakingly assuming that it’s going to be warm. Being from Florida I usually forget that other parts of the world get cold — and stay cold — well past winter’s expiration date. London apparently didn’t get the memo that it’s time to be warm now.

Big Ben After two turbulent flights during which I was pretty sure we were all going to die, I landed at London Heathrow, grateful to be on land again and apparently underdressed. As Floridians, at the end of April we expect scorching heat and never-ending back sweat, so while everyone else in London was in their parkas and boots, fully prepared for the 48 degree rainy weather, I was strutting valiantly, densely, coldly, regrettably down the terminal in flip flops and a t-shirt. Before I even hit the streets I knew I was in trouble by the way two Hungarian girls with glorious budding mustaches stared at my feet in wide-eyed judgment, and through their rapid-fire Hungarian I overheard them say, “flip flops?!?” 

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