How I Became the Queen of England

A 12 day vacation requires some pacing, some stamina, some endurance, and a lot of cashmonies.

We were mentally preparing by planning a slow arrival day. An afternoon flight, settling in with our host (Australian friend of a friend) Grace, getting to know Clapham, South London, buying some groceries, going to sleep…

Turns out Grace and her friend Tom had other plans. Tourist adventures from the get-go were in store.

Rererewind. We landed in London and were immediately psyched that all the signs were in English. Customs asked too many questions (“How’s the weather in Spain?” “What are you doing tomorrow?” “How many exams do you have?” “What are your other flights this week?” “Are you illegally immigrating into our country?”) All I wanted to ask was “Why is your accent SO COOL?!”

We got 2 for 3 train tickets to Clapham Junction, which sounded very British and was therefore idyllic. We were also really happy about saving several pounds because they are scary and expensive. We found Grace and Tom at the station after a little while and then wandered aimlessly in the rain and marveled at a few things.

1.    Double decker buses and phone booths are as sweet as they look in the movies

2.      A real city! A real city! Bigger than Sevilla!

3.      People driving on the wrong side. Or maybe just the other side. That doesn’t make it wrong. But, does it?

We eventually took a little black cab and got to Grace’s cute skinny house on Cautley Avenue (now you can come find us!). And then we adventured. Everywhere. But actually. I saw every single thing I read about in the guidebook. Picadilly Circus, not a circus. Trafalgar Square, not a square.

We ended up at a restaurant in Leicester Square, in the theater district, for a great dinner at a great restaurant with vegetarian options marked. I tasted my first cider, a great veggie tart, and a huge goat cheese salad. And some really good mashed potatoes with peas in them. We even had dessert! Feasting! I barely realized they screwed up my order, twice (comped food!!!). If one were to ever use the ridiculous word of excitement known as “huzzah,” this would be the time.

After dinner, we strolled to the M&M store where I learned that British people have a sarcastic and absurd sense of humor from James, a yellow M&M employee who told us he personally painted the yellow candies himself, we could buy peanut butter varieties at a rival candy store, and he hated Asian tourists who asked to take pictures with him. His friend Tara, an M&M enthusiast from Canada currently employed at the store, was far less sadistic and gave us about 2quid worth of free candy. The British candy-coated lentils are better. (We found out they're actually made in France. European Union chocolate is better. Whatever.) We may be back there tomorrow. 

We strolled through SoHo and enjoyed the marvelous sites of sex shops and hip restaurants side by side. Tom chose “The Yard” to stop in for a drink. It looked and sounded really cool and turned out to be a fully gay bar covered in naked man decorations. We experienced mulled wine (British sangria?) and two bottles of chardonnay and bonded over our mutually ridiculous British, American, and Australian accents. Pronouncing “stupid” as “shtupid” does not have a rationalization. Neither does “Leicester” as “Lester.” We’re rolling with it. We’re honestly lovinglovingloving it. British people were so nice.

As we crossed over Millennium bridge to walk back through the South Bank to Waterloo station for the last Tube home, we saw a spectacular view of the Thames with Big Ben and the London Eye framing the sides.

Everything was great and now we are going to bed. So we can do more touristy things tomorrow. Huzzah!