Our trip was delayed … by about half a day. Let me explain or catch you faithful viewers up-to-date on the Disabella tribe’s first impression of London. Our luggage was lost, and the airline had no recollection of where our suitcases could be. But then, dear readers, we received a message over the wire that our luggage had been located at the airport at 3:55 p.m. and was being sent to the courier. The courier promised a timeline of delivery that very night before our midnight departure time to the Euro Tunnel. Of course, our luggage did not arrive as promised, and we spent a restless night crammed in my brother’s house arguing and sneezing and coughing ... Picture this:

Five loud and obnoxious humans, one equally as obnoxious homeowner (my brother), his roommate, two of his energetic friends, and the storm of a century. The windows were rattling as my mother prepared a feast of a meal for family and friends as we chatted. After friends departed, all five of us had to cram on a small couch, a love seat, and an air mattress … or so we thought. It turns out that the air mattress was a flop – literally – and we had to squish. My sister and I slept on the bigger couch, butt to butt. It was an intense battle all night; teeth were grinding, covers were stolen, and my sister nearly fell off the couch and smacked her head on the coffee table. An emergency room run would have been the unfortunate icing on the crap cake we were experiencing thus far. My younger brother paced until midnight and then finally conked out on the floor cocooned in a comforter, sans pillow. My dad snoozed on the love seat while my mother also slept on the floor and coughed up a storm all night. In short, I slept fitfully once again, and all the while my older brother slept peacefully in his comfortable queen- size bed.

Finally, we awoke, and guess what? Our luggage was still AWOL. My mother called the airlines, and yes I say airlines because Heathrow was directing her to Dublin and Dublin to Philadelphia and then back to Dublin and then to Heathrow; it was a never-ending cycle of zero answers. Each customer service representative at the various airports had no idea why our luggage was missed for easy transfer or where the luggage currently resided. They claimed that the courier service had the three ginormous suitcases in custody and that we needed to contact them directly. Tell me why every single representative gave us a different European number for the same courier service, and not one telephone number worked. This back and forth began last night and continued throughout the morning.

For those of you who do not know my mother, she is a no-nonsense kind of woman, and where there is a will, she will always find the way. Eventually, after exchanging some course words with the customer service representative at the Heathrow Airport, she managed to swindle a textable number and the location of the courier service. So, guess what ladies and gents, we drove there ourselves, and now I finally have my luggage.

Like I said, a material girl is only satisfied when she retrieves her best clothing back from the luggage hoarders at the airports. But no matter, I’m over that now – a quote from one of my favorite professors.

After securing the luggage, we drove to Dover and ate a nice meal at Nandos where those legal participants on this journey consumed some delectable ciders and chowed down on some grub. (Boy, I’m beginning to sound like my father.) We laughed and ate, and my sister got a little tipsy because it was her first experience drinking legally with the family.

Once we felt full, we hopped back into the car, which by the way, is this monstrosity of a van that seats nine. The entire trip has consisted of throwback jams and meme sharing, mostly between my brothers, while my sister and I scream/sang at the top of our lungs as my mom snoozed through it all. I’m still not sure how she managed that; I guess raising four rowdy humans allows for you to sleep in the most unfit situations.

From Nandos, we made our way to the Euro Tunnel (the Chunnel), which would take us to France, so that we could travel from the United Kingdom to Europe. The Chunnel is the strangest contraption I’ve ever experienced. It is basically a train that specifically transports cars – with their passengers still in them – across the English Channel. And of course, I would have the absolute worst case of IBS in the history of my life. If you are not familiar with this unfortunate health condition, look it up at your own risk.

Basically, I had to relieve myself in a major way, and the Chunnel sways, so I had to quickly race to the restroom that I technically wasn’t supposed to use before the train accelerated. Let’s just say that there was a line when I emerged and only two bathrooms for the entire train filled with cars of various sizes. It was such an amazing experience, and I look forward to my next run-in with the devious IBS machine who consistently attempts to ruin my life at the most inopportune moments.

We emerged from the train and now had to travel about three hours or so to Amsterdam. After last night’s fitful sleep and jetlag, we need a night of rest before we explore the city tomorrow. While I only had one coffee today, I somehow managed to come out in one piece. Stay tuned for tomorrow’s adventures because there is a guarantee that there will be more excitement, embarrassment, or straight up ridiculousness to report tomorrow evening.