Kilts and Haggis and Clean Towels

Who books a 25 minute flight? To anywhere? They call that a joyride. Or the distance from Dublin to Glasgow. I fell asleep on our 8 am flight out and woke up as we bumpily landed in the rainy gale force winds of Scotland’s not-capital.  For my first time, Ryanair was a little late and didn’t play that horrible revelry horn as we landed, congratulating themselves on an on-time job well-done. I was grateful – it’s not a tune you want to hear early in the day. Or ever.

Both places have a strong Gaelic background (most confusing language I’ve personally encountered), a lot of crude industrial zones, and a lot of beer drinking and animal farming. However, I can’t actually vouch for what’s in Glasgow other than the bagel I split with Kate in the train station before we boarded for Edinburgh.

The toy two-car train stopped in every single town between Glasgow and Edinburgh. About twelve. They were all very pretty – I even saw a rainbow at some point among the sheep grazing in the rolling green hills. I bet the Highlands are beautiful, but if I’m back, it’ll be in the summer. In Edinburgh, we were greeted by slaps in the face of freezing rain as we carried our twelve-day bags up some hill to nowhere. Indoors, we grabbed wifi at a McDonalds (my ‘cheese dippers with festive tomato sauce’ are occupying a stronghold in my diet and my heart this vacation…) and got in touch with our hotel, our friends, and our tummies.

The rain stopped, and the wind blew us right to the hotel check-in. Sometimes, removing the s from your accommodations and upgrading is worth the splurge - the provided plushier bath towels were exactly what we needed after a morning of travel and general dampness.

Here are some things about Edinburgh and Scotland and the UK in general:

1.      The money in Scotland is not accepted in England, I hear. It’s also bright colors (think regal purple, or monopoly money) so it looks fun to spend! Yea!

2.      Everywhere has those fantastic Dyson airblade hand-dryers. I once saw a job to work at a pop-up store for Dyson, and I totally should’ve done it – I love those machines! Normal air hand dryers in public bathrooms actually make the experience worse but those sleek-looking blade machines – quick, effective, hygienic, and awesome. Good for you, UK public wash closets!

3.      No wonder JK Rowling wrote Harry Potter here. I was expecting to see Hermione in the student center today, or Harry zipping through the skyline. All of the stoney architecture and the gothic spires and the Christmas lights just make me think of the HP Yule Ball! (and I didn’t even get past book four, to be honest.)

4.      While the Eurozone implodes, the pound is still strong. Very strong. And that hot chocolate today cost me about $4.50. But it didn’t look so bad in pounds. And it tasted like a million (insert relatable currency here  - I’ve been carrying three in my wallet, and I’m very confused). Marshmallows and whipped cream and warmth is really joy in a cup. 

5.      If you like a city as a chunk of hail smacks you across the cheek, it must really be quite precious. Edinburgh for the wintery weathery win.

Thanks to Maura’s friend Lainey who made us haggis for dinner, Scottish 'meatloaf' at her apartment! I only ate the side dishes but they were delicious – especially the banofee cheesecake! We hit up some slightly grungy bars with a crew of Americans and had a decent time. I met up with Ben, a friend from relative back-in-the-day and we caught up over a drink – served in a plastic glass without ice or a lime. Edinburgh, this is your one and perhaps only pitfall – fake glass glasses? Seriously? Seriously? That is Tacky McTacksterson. So, if you’re ever in Edinburgh, avoid the Hive. What kind of bar serves drinks in plastic glasses? Redeeming city qualities include a castle overlooking a cliff, so we’ll call it even.

I have all day Friday for this small gem of a city to keep winning me over.

Luck of the Irish

I am Irish. You'd never guess it, but I really am. Since the day I was born. Being a St. Patrick’s Day baby has resulted in a strong favoring of all things green, pots of gold, and a small island in the shadows of London. Logically, after spending several days in London, it only made sense to stop around the rest of the area before heading back to Spain/leaving Europe forever. We landed in Dublin for just about 36 hours starting Tuesday afternoon. Gatwick Airport had insane new security systems: rebagging liquids, full-body patdown, camera iris scans – and they weren’t even nice about it. Avoid that airport at all costs if you can. We were really glad to leave that heartless penitentiary of an airfield and land in Dublin just over an hour later. 

Airport, to bus, to hostel safe and sound, we ended up at Isaac’s one of “Dublin’s Best Hotels.” Not sure who decided that, nor do I have a frame of reference, but Isaac’s has been just fine. Wifi in the lobby, full kitchen, included breakfast, central heating, clean sheets, and some random guy’s clothing in my shower, that none of the neighbors can identify. Pretty standard on the positive side. 

A nice Lithuanian man offered me some butter, while telling me his life story in broken English, once I knew the capital of his homeland. True hostel friendships born at Isaacs.

So first evening in Dublin, we head to an undercover location to meet with the FBI. Aka Kate’s family friend who retired from his secret service and now consults for Ireland’s police force. He gave us a tour of his office complete with coffee and cookies before whisking us to Dublin’s fanciest hotel for drinks and then the shnazziest vietnamese restaurant. Since we had Chinese takeout the night before, I enjoyed two straight nights of tofu mania – much gastronomic enjoyment ensued, from dumplings and tempura to a full wok of stir fry. Courtesy of the FBI. Just kidding, but it was incredibly generous of this professional and society man to give us an introduction to Dublin.

We spent the rest of the evening at the famous Temple Bar, which I had never heard of prior to coming to Europe (so it can’t be that famous, right?). There, people did Irish pub things which include buying pints of beer, sitting on stools around barrels, listening to live folk covers, and shouting at each other drunkenly. I quite enjoyed myself.

In the morning, we walked through Trinity College’s campus. We didn’t want to pay to see the library and the Book of Kells because we’ve all seen Harry Potter and old bibles. Okay, not the real answers, but we just decided other sites would be better. We hit up the museum of natural history by accident, mistaking it for the museum of archaeology. The first was really just a huge hall of taxidermy. We lasted about ten minutes, totally creeped out the whole way. We then went to the National Gallery around the corner and were surprised to see Rembrandts, Monets, Bruegels, and a Picasso! The short visit made me appreciate Fox Meadow Elementary’s Learning to Look program. 

On our way out, we took advantage of the creative hands on area of the gallery and drew Christmas cards. I have no future in visual arts, really. But who doesn’t dig Christmas cheer?

Non-sequitor warning. We grabbed lunch at a cute café because they had mozzarella cheese in panini form – rarities in Spain. After eating that with the hugest hot chocolate ever, I made a near full recovery from my frozen state and proceeded to see lots of old stuff in the archaeology museum, the original primary destination. Viking capes, ancient engravings, and tavern coins – oh my. It was like a mini-British museum. But I’m sure Ireland would resent that comparison. Sorry.

We continued on for an alcohol adventure of an afternoon. First stop: Jameson Whiskey Distillery! Apparently, we were 25 minutes late (or 35 minutes early?) for our tour. Feeling time-crunched, and not like we were missing out too much, we joined the midway through tour, totally confusing the guide. We got our included whiskey beverages and Kate became a certified whiskey taster. She prefers Jameson to Jack Daniels and Johnny Walkers. To me, it did taste the least like wood, burning my lips minimally. The watered down cranberry whiskey drink I chose was delightful though – it tasted like nothing.

On an alcoroll, we walked far far far away to Guinness’s base plant. This massive distillery is a huge tourist attraction, employing every fashionable mode of advertising to captivate visitors, promising the opportunity to pull your own pint and see a great view of the city. Since I don’t appreciate beer, I had a diet coke. I am not embarrassed. I tried it. I didn’t like it. And that’s that. The view of Dublin all lit up at night was wonderful and definitely worth the multimedia and multisensory seven floors of tourvertisement. We got to touch barley and throw it in the air, see the 9000 year lease Mr. Guinness signed 200 years ago, smell and taste the beer, and feel like we were Dubliners, in the city, having a home-brewed pint. Or a diet coke. At the upstairs bar, we met two girls from Northeastern and ran into a Dartmouth student we’d met on our plane.

As you can now tell, Dublin is not very big. In just under 1000 words and 36 hours, I feel very satisfied with my visit. The city is a charming blend of Sevilla and Detroit in terms of size, ambiance, and recent development, still a bit rough around the edges… Dublin is a bro city – a place to chill with your friends in a cozy sweatshirt and never worry about the freezing rain outside. We have felt welcomed by everyone, from the secret agent to the random man who asked if we needed directions.

In case you wanted every last detail, like I do, we had veggie pizza delivered to our hostel, with jalapeno poppers (so healthy) and enjoyed the hostelculture.

Now we’re going to bed, praying the incoming snowstorm in Glasgow doesn’t affect our 8 am flight. Ha.

  

LondEnd

Today we slept in because our London Pass had expired, so there was basically nothing left to do. Just kidding - we had to go see the greatest heist in the world AKA The British Museum. Imagine a palatial vault, a treasure trove of things not originally from England, stolen over thousands of years of conquests and colonizing. Before we went to see cool old junk, we stopped in the ‘young visitors’ lunchroom’ because I figured we qualified and we had brunch to eat. We purchased bagels, lox, cream cheese, milk (not from a box, like in Spain), and orange juice. This brunch was an urgent affair, more urgent than possibly the best museum collection in the world... 

We grabbed a table in between rows of uniformed British schoolchildren, who were ALL at the museum at the same time as us, all eating their bagged sammies and crisps (not to be confused with French fry ‘chips’). I devoured that loaded bagel, before even remembering that I had in fact had the same bagel combo in Barcelona, when Julie homemade some about two months ago for Yom Kippur breakfast.

So, we ran through the entire museum in about an hour. We saw lots of mummies, ancient coins, old rings, and next year’s London Olympic medals. Highlights included an Easter Island statue, chunks from the Parthenon, and the famous Rosetta Stone. Did you know that the Rosetta Stone’s message is actually fairly insignificant? It just proclaims a proclamation of some pharaoh that isn’t important. What’s important is that it taught people hieroglyphics. I would like to learn some basic hieroglyphics. Did you know the word ‘meow’ was based off of hieroglyphic sound and picture combos? Now you do.

Next stop was shopping shopping shopping. I was wearing worn-through leggings and found a fantastic pair of new ones at the famed TopShop. We also bought mini sparkling cupcakes (Sprinkles, you may have been outdone) and played in the makeup section. We left with a selection of hosiery but skipped out on the marmite-flavored chocolate at the register.

Steps off of Oxford Street, we headed to Lucy’s (my old aupair) office around the corner. It. Was. Awesome. She had the best chocolates and made us amazing lattes from a fancy machine. We admired the indoor garden lofted above her desk area. Her office, an audio recording and retouching studio, works with that guy who narrates all the animal documentaries in that funny British accent! Cool!

We literally ran across West London over to Brown’s Hotel for High Tea. Absolutely not overrated, absolutely worth coming to London for, absolutely necessary in my future life. The server thanked me after laying a linen monogrammed napkin on my lap, and I got an entire plate of vegetarian sandwiches. We each got our own entire pot of tea, endless pastries, and dozens of other finger foods. The silverware was actually silver. There was a man playing Christmas music on a piano. The bathrooms had actual towels. The table next to us spoke French. I ate a quail egg on smoked mackerel, pomegranate jello, and classic cucumber sammies. So. So. So. Legit. My life couldn’t have been classier, until we walked across the street (a man in a top hat opened the door) into Tiffany’s, to further shop for future jewelry, namely diamonds.

After ogling shiny things for a bit, we walked up to the Palace Theater! We were picking up tickets! For a show! Hurrah! London makes me want to shout exclamatory words! We bought friendship bracelet materials on a hipster street of outdoor markets and vintage shops. Maybe that is supposed to be a secret and I shouldn’t embarrass Elizabeth and Kate. Oh well.

We got our absurdly high up (4^th floor) seats for Priscilla: Queen of the Desert, an up-and-coming musical based on drag queens in Australia. Alexandra came with us too, and reminded me at intermission that I’d seen La Cage Aux Folles with her the year before in New York, which was basically the same show. Mix that with Bran Nu Dae, the Australian musical movie I once saw in the Evanston Theater, and you have Priscilla.

It can be very confusing to see men with ripped bodies wearing sparkly corsets and feathered headdresses. Well, to each his/her own, and I enjoyed the play very much so.

We brought home some Chinese take away (not take out) and I had my first tofu in three months. I really missed beancurmixvegable. It was, as the Brits say, lovely.

As was this entire trip. Really. TripOfaLifetime. Saw the Queen, went to a castle, spoke with a Royal Guard, saw diamonds, saw dungeons, saw artifacts, had tea, had tofu, had so much fun.

The Woman Who Used to Live in My House

It’s pretty cold here. But now I’m in pajamas in bed and can barely remember that chilliness because of all the other great things I will now recount.

This morning, we went to St. Paul’s Cathedral, poked around a bit there and got to hear the chorus, and then experienced an Occupy London tent city firsthand right outside. Prep for coming home, I guess.

We jogged over Millennium Bridge to the Globe Theater. Set a couple hundred meters from the site of the original hailed Shakespearian hall, this unique building was reconstructed in the last thirty years as an as-exact-as-possible model of how the first Globe did things. Since I have a predilection for British Middle Ages and literature, this tour was exceedingly great.

We skipped the Tate Modern because we didn’t have time really, and I don’t fancy Modern Art at all anyway. Europe has made me incredibly jealous of America’s lack of old things and though this museum has a funky old factory building, it’s lower on my ‘Great World Sites’ priority list. 

We booked it to Waterloo to get the next train out to Windsor and caught one fairly fast, sinking into the seats and putting our feet up.

As we were eating our supermarket feast of bread, cheese, and apples (aka my diet), I struck up a conversation with a very smart-looking young woman. Unsurprisingly, (as we already happened on the queen) she was Northwestern alum! Working full-time consulting and living a super-glam life in London! Hello, future dreams! Que coincidencia!

We got off at Windsor-Eton Riverside and I was reunited ever so joyously with my au pair who I hadn’t seen since I was five. I am now older than she was when she lived in our house and took care of the three Groners.

We spent the afternoon braving London rain and touring Windsor Castle. The Queen was there at the same time as we were, just doors away. She is actually following us around. Her gun, sofa, and china collections are sure to delight any visitors. The best room was the green reception room, mostly just because I like green things. All the rooms were very garish, but in a good way. Just like Versailles, and the Napoleon Apartments, and the Casa de Pilatos…

On the way out, we took requisite royal guard pictures. However, there was a horrible and obnoxious and bizarre group of Asian tourists taunting the poor guard, taking photos in the strangest poses, and not thanking him for it. When I went up, I apologized to him and commented that the last man looked like a moronic ballerina and it was weird.

Now, remember the moment in the Wizard of Oz when the Tinman calls out to Dorothy. I was Dorothy, this guard was a Tinman, grey-suited and frozen.

So, you can imagine I was shocked when he responded to me. He said, “You could’ve done something about it.” Somehow, without moving his lips (since those furry hats have ridiculous chinstraps), he continued to have a conversation with us as we took a few frames. He was an adorable Prince Harry lookalike type and I really should’ve stuck around or asked what time his shift ended. Oh well.

Lucy took us back to her flat in Slough and showed me many many pictures of times I hardly remember in a house that doesn’t look the same with a family that looks much younger. She says we were just lovely, lovely, lovely and she had a lovely time. Apparently, I was the most difficult child, as Adam didn’t say or do much and Rebecca was barely three. I do know I was exceedingly bossy and believed I was about thirty years old. While I may now have discovered youthful enthusiasm, I cannot say the bossiness has been reversed. In some settings, I’d call me assertive and efficient. Tie those with enthusiasm and you’ve got one helluva young professional, right? Right? (Insert reassurance here, as European journeys make us all worry about our futures…)

Meanwhile, Lucy came back to London after a year of Clinton, USA T-shirts, Disneyland, and TGIFridays and got a job at an audio tech office as a receptionist. Now, she runs the place. Very impressive. Living the American Dream but in London, she also made us the best dinner ever, of a radish and rocket salad, baked tomato pepper gnocchi, and toasty garlic bread. I missed non-Spanish variety diets, specifically including gnocchi! She also showed us Queen Victoria’s water closet, now housed in the back of a pub, and informed me that ‘pasty’ is not pronounced paystee but paahstee. Oops. American accents make more sense, but sound less charming. Everyone here is as charming as their accents, including the random men on the train from Wales who told us we should go and explore the world as young women because it brings them joy, and have a Merry Christmas. Uh, okay. Thanks - you too!

We came back to our place in Clapham, exhausted. And so is this blog, again. 

Unbelievable, but True Stories of Miracles on the Streets of London (and some tourist recaps)

On my first full day in London, miracles happened.

I saw the Queen. The Queen. She was roughly as far from me as you are from this screen. In her car, wearing a cute pastel suit and matching hat, chatting with a lady-in-waiting, being ruler of half the world. Whoa.

When we set out to plan our London trip, we created both serious and joke goals ie, Visit Buckingham Palace, meet the Queen. Turns out, it’s harder to see Buckingham than the leading lady herself. She might just be in a sexy town car inches away from you outside Charing Cross station. We were just touring around, hitting up the War Rooms (where Churchill planned WWII) and Westminster Abbey (Royal Wedding, lots of dead people), walking back up to the tube. And suddenly a motorcase with THE QUEEN OF ENGLAND (and Australia, Canada, Scotland, Wales, and over twenty others…) passes by. I have never considered myself lucky, but now, I think I am.

I am not making this up. I saw the Queen of England, on my first full day in London. By chance. Or fate.

This moment was so impressionable on me that I purchased a 50p poster of HM first thing the following morning. We started our day at the Royal Mews, where the big fam keeps some of the silly Cinderella coaches on display. Think lots of smelly horses, velvety cushions, and goldleaf emblems. We proceeded to Buckingham Palace twenty minutes before the changing of the guard. Forget it. It was a complete mobscene (only Harrod’s was worse…) and 5’3” me couldn’t see anything. I swung up on the gates to catch just a glimpse before a policeman made me get down. He was the only not nice British person I’ve met so far. We decided we're better off Youtubing it. As we headed away from the guard change, we were a little disappointed, but since we saw the queen, nothing could really be upsetting.

We stopped by two more museums before a boat cruise: the Cavalry Museum (more horses, some funny hats, several shiny swords) and the Banqueting Room (frescos, flowers, beheadings – typical Brit stuff). The boat cruise was impossibly slow and the guide, inaudible. We were in a hurry, hoping to see the Tate Modern, St. Paul, London Bridge, Globe Theater, Tower Bridge, and London Tower (insertbreathinghere) in the afternoon. Hard to hurry when you're stuck on a boat though... Not sure why we thought this was remotely realistic in threeish hours. Without factoring in lunch.

We ended up at London Tower, (not a tower but actually) an entire village with hysterical tours run by ‘beefeaters’. While I still don’t positively know why they are called beefeaters, I do think they are delightful and charming people who know a lot about every single captured, tortured, and beheaded person in Britain in the last 1000 years. We also got to see the crown jewels there, which are shockingly sparkly. After Kate tried to sneak a picture, a guard made her delete it and then told us a wonderful history of the Crown of India, the shiniest of them all. Turns out, if you sold half the jewels, you could take half of India out of poverty in minutes. But, instead it’s in a box in the Tower of London, not being worn, and just being sparkly. We also saw the armor of every great royal, torture weapons in a dungeon, angry-looking young beefeaters, and the graves of most of those beheaded queens.

We took some nice dusk photos on Tower Bridge, which is what you probably think of as London Bridge. We sang the Fergie hit song “London Bridge,” a classic, before ascending to the top of the centuries old drawbridge. They have a beautiful photo gallery of other famous bridges, including the Brooklyn Bridge, which made me all excited for America again. How can you not enjoy the views of downtown London lit up around the Thames?! Pretty stuff. 

After procuring a sheet of children’s stickers and candy canes from the Bridge, we headed to Starbucks to rest our feet and get some wifi to plan our night. The original plan considered Brick Lane for Indian food and 24-hr bagels, but that was quickly reconsidered for a Hyde Park Harrod’s and Winter Wonderland adventure. Shopping and Christmas won.   I should really wait for New York bagels anyway (hint: that means everything toasted with veggie cream cheese, tomato/onion/lox at the airport…).

Harrod’s Christmas shop and souvenirs floor was a claustrophobic nightmare of tacky tourists clamoring for stuffed animals and keyrings, the only under 20GBP items in the whole store. We eventually escaped the utter madness of Texan accents and double-decker bus ornaments to the bottom floor: fine jewelry and accessories. Elizabeth looked for mittens, but only found cashmere. Kate and I searched engagement rings and emerald necklaces and interviewed a DeBeers associate on her favorite cuts and sets. We are now experts – we just need someone who loves us a lot to make that kind of sparkling investment. Kidding! Sort of…

After Harrod’s, we got lost and asked some chauffeurs for directions. They drive Rolls Royces outside Knightsbridge Apartments. If you know anyone who lives there, please do put us in touch.

Since we do not have wallets that sponsor DeBeers and Rolls Royces, we ate at a pub, enjoying chips and cider and such British fare. The subsequent Hyde Park WinterWonderland was a magical carnival world, with fudge and ice skating and lights. You could smell happiness. Or maybe just sugar and beer.

We tubed home after checking out the hotels on Park Lane. I will be sending every event department there my resume in the next week.

As this has been an exhaustive blog, so too was this day.  

Taking London by storm, ending up in the rain, and eating matzah ball soup on the way

When you only have 4 days in one of the world’s greatest cities, and you’re running on a college budget, and believing this is the most energy you’ll ever have, you pack everything in.

We invested in the London Pass, a dauntingly expensive card that gives tourists VIP access to 55 of London’s top sights. We wanted the maximum bang for the buck/pound and set out early to beat the crowds, get our passes, and get going. Paranoia won because we were the first ones to get our sweet cards and would be able to get started right away. With the recommendation to stick between Westminster and Trafalgar, we headed straight for nerd-central Churchill Museum and War Rooms. 

Thanks to the slightly fuzzy but memorable walk the night before, we were able to find the most direct route. We made a breakfast stop to casually eat some yogurt sitting on the steps of the National Gallery, in a deadlock staring contest with some famous lion statues of Trafalgar square. Pretty average start to the day, I’d say.

The War Rooms were a military history buff’s cloud nine. Original diaries from every day of Churchill’s career, audio clips from speeches he gave, and the famed pocket watch he wore spotted the extensive exhibition of this peculiar and powerful man’s life. I am now an expert, so ask me more if you care. I bet you don’t, but before we move on, I’ll just let you know that I beamed, gasped, and jumped for joy at the sites of battle maps with the pushpins of enemy lines still covering the walls of Churchill’s underground fortress bedroom, original furniture arranged just as was when he and his hundreds of coworkers abandoned the extensive safespace.  

After, we walked down to Westminster Abbey and toured around. Fancy church, old rooms, bright stained glass, and so many tombs. I didn’t realize that Kate and William had been married in a giant above-ground graveyard! Everyone important from Chaucer to Cromwell has been buried there at some point. The Abbey was like my Literature of Religion in Medieval England class coming to life. Plus, the audio guide had soundbites of the world-famous boys’ choir singing as you walked through. The oldest door in London is also inside the Abbey. Fun fact.

Next, the coolest thing that has ever happened in my life occurred. It’ll kick off the next post. It really deserves its own blog entirely.

After the coolest thing ever, we took the tube up to Kings Cross to take a picture at platform 9 3/4. Not located between 9 and 10, the platform is housed in a short shed outside. Disappointing. In order to find it, I walked up to an attendant and said “I have to ask you that horrible touristy question” and without missing a beat, she quickly directed us. That part was funner than the ‘platform’ itself. HP faux pas, London. We followed signs to the London Canal Museum, which was a shoebox exhibit in the middle of nowhere. Actually, it was an old icebox, not a shoebox. We learned more than is ever relevant or necessary about houseboats, canals, and refrigeration in olden times. 

Us canal experts then walked up the entire canal to Camden market. My boots broke at some point, and I forgot earrings. These are irrelevant to what was previously stated but provided great opportunities for ‘souvenirs’. I contemplated getting a piercing to fit in with the funky hipster market crowd better but decided I want my dad to let me live at home in two weeks…

We left the maze of crazy market stalls to head to Baker Street Chabad House. I took my two catholic school trip buddies to Friday night services and a free five course meal at Chabad of Bloomsbury, also featuring my camp friend Josh and my freshman year roommate Alexandra as well as a PDA French couple and a very rotund rabbi. I think everyone had a good time at the four hour affair. Yes, four.

Matzah ball soup actually heals your feet, your mind, and your soul, Jewish or not. Magic.

I walked through raininess for forty minutes home passing Sherlock Holmes sites, a Batman movie set/library, and other Bloomsbury highlights narrated well by Josh. We made it to Alexandra’s ‘dorm’ by Kings Cross just around midnight and had a lovely sleepover catching up on everything that’s happened in the last few months. The end.

But actually, you need to keep reading now to find about the coolest thing that ever happened to me ever. Ever.

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!