I cast my gaze downward to my open suitcase, all of my warm attire packed carefully; in stark contrast to the unorganized mess belonging to my fellow cellmates.
This is it, this is what I spent my entire savings on and went into debt for. To lie here in Newcastle, a 3-hour train ride, 4 time zones, more than 4000 miles, on an 8 hour flight from the steamy, humid, unbearably hot Florida Summer, that I've known all my life. I grimace at my plan to beat the heat by traveling across the pond to a country whose latitude is on par with Canada's, and supposedly, has no summer.
I, apparently, posses the power to bring the tyrannical climate of my home furnace with me. As, upon my arrival at Heathrow, there were parties in the street to celebrate England's hottest day in almost 100 years! Then, in my search of a good deal on lodging, I opted to stay in this Hostel – which has no windows or A/C (or as the locals call it, "air con"). The most depressing part though? I can't even get a pint of the Brown Ale, in its bloody namesake!
So, as I sit here in this heat, sweltering, oozing condensation, in a state of actual misery. I conclude that my hypothesis didn't work. Maybe next year I'll try Canada, and hope I don't melt the place with my luck...