I didn't take that many pics in Manchester. I probably should have taken more, but had you gone through what I did that first day, I doubt you'd be up to take a lot of photos either. On the way to Manchester, I had to go through Heathrow (as I was flying United), so you get off the plane at Heathrow, follow the signs for other connections, and it should be simple, right? To start, the people at Washington Dulles (where I left) gave me all the wrong information, telling me that I'd have to pick up my bags and re-check them at the British Midland desk once I got to London. WRONG. My bags were checked all the way through to Manchester, so I never saw my bags until I landed at Manchester Airport. So I get off the plane and walk into the concourse at Heathrow, following everyone who's taking another flight somewhere else. I'm thinking I've got plenty of time to relax, we've arrived in London early, I'll be able to wash my face and go to the bathroom before boarding my next flight. That was the whole point of me booking the flight to Manchester within over 2 hours of arriving in Heathrow. We're corralled down a flight of stairs (next to an escalator that's not on) and we're waiting for a bus to take us to another terminal. (I just love how after I've traipsed down the stairs that some guy in a suit, not carrying anything, gets to go down the escalator.) When we get to the next terminal, we have to go through security, then to the check-in desks. I probably wasted 15 minutes in a line I didn't need to be in, because I thought I had to check in at the British Midland desk. WRONG. I forget where I got my boarding pass, but at that point, I was like, just give me the freakin' boarding pass, because my bags are on that plane and I don't want to lose my luggage!
Then it's off to passport control - total nightmare. They put the signs with the arrows for "EU" and "non-EU" so close to the actual clerk desks that if there's this long line of people, you have no idea which line you're supposed to be in. The line for non-EU passengers was probably 3 or 4 times as long as the British/EU line, and of course those people just breezed right through. Finally they ran out of EU passengers and switched those clerks to handle the non-EU people. When I'm finally waved through, I run like a maniac down the concourse, realizing after looking at my boarding pass that the flight to Manchester leaves out of gate C8, which of course is the last one, at the end of the concourse. I'm totally out of breath and barely able to squeak, "did I miss it?" to the BMI people standing there. I made it just in time (I was the last person on the plane), I got in there and squeezed myself into seat A of an ABC / DEF small jet. the couple seated in B and C looked mortified, and I actually fell asleep, ramming my head into the seat in front of me because I was so tired and also probably a little woozy from the last dose of Dramamine I took on the flight over the Atlantic. I even got yelled at by the stewardess when we arrived in Manchester because the window blind was closed and they wanted it open. Have you ever been yelled at by a stewardess for such a thing?
I stayed at the Premier Travel Inn GMEX. What happened was, I accidentally booked this hotel when originally I had chosen the one near the MEN Arena and the cathedral, but pressed the wrong button. It all turned out for the best because my hotel was the closest one to Bridgewater Hall, the last concert on the last night I was in town, so I really had a short walk to and from the venue that night. I had no way of knowing what would happen to me that night of course, but it was a good choice in the end.
two views from outside my hotel room window
two views of the GMEX
Bridgewater Hall
You can't see the Metrolink tram tracks that run parallel to Lower Mosley Street, but I certainly heard them every night. Manchester United was playing at Old Trafford that Sunday afternoon, so the hotel was full of red shirts for the entire weekend, and when I checked in on Friday, I couldn't get a room facing away from the street, so I had to deal with this one, with a god-awfully bright streetlamp in my view (thank goodness for really thick blackout curtains!). I even wrote a note when I left that they should consider giving whoever has to take this room in the future a discount, because I started to feel like Kramer in that Kenny Rogers chicken restaurant episode of Seinfeld - like my eyes were on fire!
Anyway, back to my first day in Manchester. The bit about arriving at in Manchester was a bit of an ordeal. I'm not used to dragging around luggage around, so I was exhausted walking around with my luggage. This will be the first place I will mention that if you are American, get ready to walk and walk long distances if you are going to England. They walk nearly everywhere, or walk to public transit - whether it be bus, subway (tube), or train. So you better rethink that large suitcase, even if it has wheels. Trying to get my suitcase over the tram tracks was a total nightmare! When you arrive in Manchester Airport, the way into town is to take a train (2.35 quid if I remember) to Manchester Piccadilly, the main train station in Manchester. This is not to be confused with Piccadilly Gardens, which is the city's main bus depot. So you arrive at Manchester Piccadilly, and I figured, okay, I'm going to take the Metrolink to the GMEX. That made the most sense - but then I noticed I went right past the hotel when I looked out the window! Oops. So I just got off and went back the other way one stop to St. Peter's Square. I probably could have hoofed it, but it was nearly noon, I was exhausted, and I just thought whatever! Since I couldn't check in, I dropped off my bags, and phoned up my friend Rachel from a pay phone outside the hotel. By this time, I was already a little worried because my ATM card was getting rejected by the machine in the hotel. Rachel works for the personnel department for the city council (I think) and she agreed to meet me in front of the city library (I forgot to take a picture of this, but it's this grand, round building in St. Peter's Square).
She took me to Barclay's and they were able to give me a cash advance using my passport as ID (expensive, don't do it!). But at least I had money now, I paid Rachel for her Apollo seated ticket, and we went for lunch in the Northern Quarter. She's veggie, so she took me to a veggie restaurant restaurant called Earth, which is located at the Manchester Buddhist Centre. I was starving, as I hadn't eaten anything since I'd gotten off my plane at Heathrow, so a Thai bean curry and a bottle of some grape sparking juice thing was just what the doctor ordered. Afterward, Rachel went back to work, and I was walking around Oldham Street, trying to find the Pop Boutique, because I have had this hankering for getting a blue jacket with rainbow striped sleeves like Morrissey's. I passed a couple record shops and made note of them, but I finally found the boutique. I walked in. I guess being American, I found it a bit disconcerting about how none of the workers cared I was there. In the U.S., you go into a clothes shop and they hone in on you like vultures, asking you, "can I help you find something?" or "do you need help?" They looked like they couldn't have cared less. It's a two-floor store, so I walked downstairs and this woman yelled at me saying, "the lower level of the shop is closed!" Um, okay, no need to shout. There WAS a wooden door that she could have closed, and I also passed another worker while going down the stairs, someone could have told me before I went down that it was closed. Whatever. It was scorching and I don't like getting yelled at when I've done nothing wrong. I had expected it to be around 65 F and it ended up being a good 10 degrees above that and blazingly sunny, very unusual for Manchester. I stepped into a couple different record shops but they were not what I had expected - everything is smaller in England including the stores, that was something I had to get used to. I ducked into the "famous" Affleck's Palace and marveled at the rock posters in one shop, shuddered at the tattoo and piercing parlor, stayed away from the store billed as "the largest condom supplier in the UK!" (uh okay...), and then eventually found my way back to the hotel to rest. I was so beat that I didn't even take pictures of the Morrissey mosaic on the wall outside Affleck's - I was so tired that I couldn't take pictures. That's how tired I was.
Eventually, nearly at 9 o'clock at night, I finally got out and walked around. I figured I had to drag myself to stay awake, because D.C. time is 5 hours earlier than England's, and I did not want to wake up at noon the next day. I got down to Chinatown and my ears were assaulted by the Cantonese dialect - ah, I slightly felt better hearing some Chinese! I went into a bakery - knowing full well that I couldn't eat anything there, since I'm allergic to wheat - and was going to ask a worker if she could recommend a good Chinese place around there for dinner. Totally ignored me. Tried to do the same in a news agent / little trinket shop, I wasn't ignored, but I wasn't helped either. I figured it was because I was speaking Mandarin (which I know more of than Cantonese), I bet I would have gotten actual advice if I could speak Cantonese. Pfffttt. Finally, after walking around in circles for over a half-hour, I found a McDonald's (the only McDonald's I ate at the entire trip, so congratulate me) and got a salad and fries. A couple of hooligans were standing outside the restaurant peering at me through the window, but I was too exhausted to care. After a shower (designed like a phone booth, you had to push in the door) and getting infuriated with a tempermental shower head back at the hotel, I scrambled into my king size bed, pulled up the covers, and went to sleep.
posted 06/06/06
added to 06/12/06
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