Freezing Fog

We flew on Aer Lingus (with lots of entrancing Irish accents) via Shannon and Dublin, to London's Heathrow. Ellie took a picture of me enjoying the verdant Irish countryside on our brief stay, while waiting for the freezing fog at Heathrow to clear sufficiently that we could transit there. After all our hassles getting 12-month student visas, they weren't even checked (!) by The Queen's immigration folks, as it seems that coming in from Ireland is about as hum-drum as driving across the bridge from New York State.

It is damp and cold (for these folks); a bit unpleasant, but not unlike balmy spring Vermont weather. After our several days of frantic packing and saying goodbye, the emotional turmoil, several nights wakeful with anticipation, and an extended plane journey, we were pooped. Christine put us to bed in the spare room; we fell -- at last -- asleep till the 8 AM dawn.

After a rasher of bacon, toast and two cups of coffee, the sun actually appears to be glimmering through the clouds of Olde Englande. We actually are in High Wycombe, staying with David (a graduate of Ellie's program) and his wife Christine, in a Victorian brick block just a block from the medieval market building in the old village center. Just blocks for Ellie to walk to the University buildings for the start of her program (tomorrow), with shops and pubs all around. The park -- complete with swans -- is just a few blocks away, and I'm looking forward to an exploratory run.