Like an Odyssey, only better

I've done it. Contrary to all expectations and against all odds, I have arrived at Heathrow Apirport, went to the money-changer and gave him my money (in exchange for strangely colorful, slightly too broad paper money and totally sweet metal coins) gotten on the bus (which they call a coach and has the door and driver on wrong sides), ridden to Oxford (on the wrong side of the road the whole way), gotten off at the right stop, successfully got a taxi and paid the driver (with "pounds" of money, no less), and checked into my room at the youth hostel.

As if that was not enough, I ventured out from the safety of my room to obtain a power outlet converter thing (that's the technical term for it), a move which very nearly proved my undoing. I was first directed by the kind but sadly uninformed girl at the hostel that "over that way, down the road" was very probably a store which likely had what I was looking for. I bravely strolled (maybe stumbled a little) down the road, and soon discovered a Staples. I went inside and asked for a converter thing. I was informed that yes they did have, but then, on further investigation, it turned out that they did not. However, they were able to direct me to a place which, quite possibly, did have power outlet converter things aplenty. I walked in the direction vaguely indicated by the clerk and soon enough came upon another electronics store. There I was at least spared the agony of false hope, being told immediately that no, they did not carry such objects. They were, happily, able to point out another place which... I wish, oh how I wish, that I were exaggerating. But I am not. Eventually, after much toil and hardship, which I endured in a very manly way, befitting a native American citizen, I did indeed find a store which sold power outlet converter things. And I took it back to my room. The reader will note that, throughout this entire process, I was able to not only passively receive directions to a physical location, but actually follow them, tracing with my own steps the line which their words had drawn. And now here I am, sitting in a bar/restaurant/pub, using their free wi-fi and sitting on their rather nice couch (which they probably have a strange, made-up word for).

In addition to this, I still have, in my direct and personal possession, my passport, my letter from Oxford, my laptop, my backpack, and my ridiculously huge suitcase. This is, without a doubt, a journey rivaling that of Odysseus, a journey truly deserving of the name "Odyssey." In fact, it may be appropriate to start calling epic journeys "Mackenzies" after this. This was an amazing journey, worthy of songs and tales, a story to be told, nay, proclaimed, nay sung over a roaring fire by a bard with a chuck norris beard and a lute made from a human skull. And I accomplished all this on one Dr. Pepper, one Coca-cola, two small dinner roles, one strangely chilled (and strangely coloured) piece of chicken and one small but unaccountably delicious piece of beef. I've been sitting at my laptop for about 2 minutes now, thinking about what to type, but we all know what I'm going to type at this point, so I'm just going to go for it. I am awesome. Boo-yah.

I'm very tired. You may have noticed. To my best reckoning, in the past 3o hours or so, I have gotten one hour of very fitful, very unrestful sleep while curled up on the airplane. I am awake and (relatively) upright at this very moment for one reason only: in about an hour, I will log on to Facebook and be greeted with a joyful "Kenzie!" from Anna. I'm talking to Steven now on FB. Hey, steven. Well, I'm done. Bye.