The trip home from London was by far the most chaotic and stressful journey I have experienced. We left our housing early, allowing ourselves an hour and a half to arrive at the airport, and three hours to get through bag check and security. We ubered to the airport, as we could not fathom dragging our suitcases down the nearest tube station stairs, since there were no elevators. Although the drive was supposed to take 45 minutes, our driver ended up taking us a longer route, and it took us an hour and a half to get to the airport. Luckily, we had planned for this, but we still rushed to get into the airport. When arriving, we walked into the doors and were met with the line for bag check. The line wiggled throughout the giant entrance and ended at the entrance. The moving belt was not working, so they could not put anymore bags on the belt, therefore the line could not move. My friend and I, both on the same flight, ended up standing in the bag check line for two hours, and we were terrified we were going to miss our flight. At the last second, a worker called for anyone on our flight, and we went to the front of the line and speedily got through bag check, security, and absolutely sprinted to our gate. We luckily made it with a few minutes to spare and boarded our plane. While on the plane, we had an obscene amount of turbulence. I typically like turbulence, because it feels like a roller coaster in the air, but even this turbulence worried me, as it was significantly rough and lasted for about two hours. Luckily, we landed safely and I made it home, with a few more unnoteworthy struggles. I am thankful to have made it home but am now preparing to experience the post-London depression as I begin to fix my sleep schedule and reflect on the past few weeks abroad.