Traversing London, England

I say this now in retrospect, as the English days are over and I am no longer in the vicinity of The Queen. From Scotland, I sit back with a tall glass of rum and coke and reminisce on the first five days of my journey. I knew it would be all too soon before I was elsewhere, but London delivered and I couldn't have had better stories to tell.


December 18, 2008
The day began in Kate's room, fog in my eyes and a backpack half my size waiting to be holstered and carried cross country. The next few hours would be filled with travel, and as excited as I was to begin such a trek, I was just as equally hesitant. The road from Germany to England is not as smoothly paved as others, especially when traveling on a miniature budget. Thankfully, I can look back on this and say that not only did I survive the journey, but I mastered it, conquering multiple transfers and modes of public transportation. Here's the rundown, which is totally uninteresting but completely validating to my travelbility: Train from Dusseldorf to Kevalear, bus to Dusseldorf Weeze Airport, plane to England, train to Liverpool Street Train Station, and [red double decker] bus to Burough High Street where I booked into my hostel all by myself and with little to no fear of failure. Ironically, every success I had in London, I owe to my failures in Paris.

I spent the rest of the day being too exhausted to explore, and decided to settle into the hostel accommodations by reading a book in the common room. Nothing special, except that I talked to a middle aged man for a two hours. He was bald.

December 19, 2008
Breakfast in the hostel, which was simple, though all the more delicious being free. I tried to test out my friendliness by talking to a woman with a Doony and Burk purse, but she was way way way more interested in spreading butter than chatting with me. I finished my meal in a defeated silence, then went off to meet up for the free walking tour of the day. This is how I made my first two friends in England.

Meet Emily, Seattle raised, New Orleans educated and pursuing architecture like a mad geek in Glasgow, Scotland. She had giant wacky glasses too, which destined us to be friends, obviously.

Then there was Tom, the Australian boy who needs no introduction. What made him a total joy to be around, I can't say, but his presence made London that much more fun[ny]. Together we embarked on the Royal Walking Tour around the city, hitting the usual spots as Buckingham Palace (where we witnessed the Changing of the Guards), Big Ben, Westminster's Abbey and Houses of Parliament accordingly. Allow me to inject the fact that it was another astoundingly beautiful day.

When the tour ended, Emily and I headed back to the hostel where we attempted to figure out a plan for the last half of the day. After browsing a plethora of brochures and travel guides, we came upon an advertisement for Lost and Found Orchestra (from the creators of Stomp, where music is made from mundane items ranging from glasses and saws to children's toys and traffic cones) and were immediately sold. Best part? It was opening night, seats were still available and with our 'student discount,' we got in for a £5 steal. Let me just use this sentence to reinforce the fact that it was an incredible show!

Still on a production-high, we headed back to St. Christopher's Village (our hostel), bought some clementines and sat back in the common room to people-watch. Highlights of this event: Drunk Irish guy accosting the cutest little French Canadian you ever saw. "Which one would you die for? French or Canada?!"

December 20, 2008
Breakfast at St. Christopher's was a lot more eventful as I was immediately joined by Tom and Stagemaster, another Aussie who was staying in the same room as Tom and Emily. Stagemaster builds stages for crazy rock stars in order to travel and live in London, and we called him Stagemaster because any other name would be less fun to say. We made it very clear that we never wanted to know what his real name actually was, except, I figured it out. SPOILER ALERT! If you wish to remain forever oblivious to the true identity of the human named Stagemaster, then I suggest you skip over this sentence to the picture of Weet Bix below. His real name is Nathan. Disappointed, aren't you?

At breakfast there was an item that looked just like a granola bar, and as I bit into it, Tom straighted up in shock and yelled, "What are you doing?!" What I had just took a bite of was something called 'Weet Bix,' and is supposed to be devoured with milk. Without it, Weet Bix will absorb all the saliva from your mouth and make you cough out dust like a Hollywood mummy. Let's not even get into my experience with Vegemite.

We were later joined by two of the cutest Germans who's words were so lost in translation that you ended up hearing things like, "Ven ve arrived in London, ve buy many alcoholics at ze Duty Free. So, before ve go back to ze Germany, ve need to destroy all ze alcoholics. Maybe you can help." Huh? "Ja."

The agenda for the day was a trip to Tate Modern, a modern art gallery that is free to the public. With it's high ceilings and naked walls, modern art galleries are perfect for the people who love the sound of their own footsteps. I listened as a pair of gentlemen discussed depth, perception, reality. Focus, observe, interpret. 'You guys are amazing,' I thought, 'The only pieces in this block of empty space that amuses me.' Art, it seems, is all relative.

I tried to find something meaningful in Monet, something minimal in Mondrian, something abstract in Picasso, something surreal in Magritte. I failed at art appreciation, why was I there? A handsome London boy walked by and I found myself instantly distracted. I decided to pretend that I was an art enthusiast, throwing my back into a proper posture, furrowing my eyes, putting a thumb under my chin, pointer under my lip and even going so far as to push my spectacles up from the sides of the rim and let out an overly pensive sigh of comprehension. Are all these people faking too? What a show! Suddenly, we were all pretenders and Tate Modern was the most interesting place to be. Art. Is. Relative.

I found myself people watching; the art of people watching. I walked past a red-headed MILF in a Burberry mini-skirt just as she reached down to scratch the penthouse of her upper thigh. I bear witness to accidental vaginal art.

After this, Tom, Emily and I ate ostrich burgers in the Burough Street Market and went out in search of a pub, which was harder to find than expected. Half an hour of aimless wandering left us standing at the door of The Old Thames Side Inn ordering such obscenities as Bangers and Mash and Spotted Dick. Don't ask folks, just Google.

When meals were consumed, we headed to the downstairs bar which was curiously over-crowded... with Santa Clauses! We walked in feeling out of place, but were way too enthralled with the prospect with drinking at the North Pole to turn back. Let me be as clear as possible here, I'm talking 50 St. Nicks, drinking till drunk and having a great time advertising red velvet and faux fur. I was kissed on the hand twice, once on the cheek and even slapped on the butt for the first time in my life, proving that Mrs. Claus does not put out nearly as much as she should. We stayed until the bar closed and stumbled home to our hostel, merry and festive.

December 21, 2008
Tom took off on his own adventure to lands far off, so Emily and I made a goal to hit the main bridges. London Bridge, as infamous as it is, is also the greatest disappointment in all of England. We had walked across it, completely oblivious to the fact that we had just crossed over a nursery rhyme.

Tower Bridge, on the other hand, was a lot more impressive with it's regal towers and Tiffany Blue embellishments. But still, you don't hear anyone singing about it.

Later we embarked on a partially failed attempt to find Brick Lane Market (Brick Lane is elusive, so good luck fellow expeditioners). We did, however, discover Petticoat Lane Market, which momentarily reminded me of The South K. with it's cheap garb and persistant peddlers.

Around dusk, we adventured into and out of Kensington Gardens, feeling closer to Peter Pan and 101 Dalmations than ever before. After people watching and juggling clementines in the common room, we called it an early night and went to bed.

December 22, 2008
Happy Birthday. I felt like I carried a really cool secret around London that day, getting oddly excited to know I was 23 in the midst of a city that didn't actually care. Emily left for Amsterdam that morning, so I had the whole day to celebrate by myself.

My first stop was an impulsive visit to Southwark Cathedral, as it was both free and nearby. I wandered inside to a lady who greeted me warmly and took me on a brief and personal tour of the church. Eventually I made my way to a small room designed specifically for meditation and prayer and gave my thanks for guidance, purpose and clarity. It was here that the confusion and heartbreak of the past six months came into line with each other and every mistake and wrong-doing had an understandable purpose. I cried a little as I strangely do in these cathedrals, and felt an overwhelming sense of love. I was in London, embarking on the sub adventure of the greatest adventure of my life. Maintaining a love in Hawaii would have detracted from my experiences abroad, and though I wondered why it had to end as painfully as it did, I understood that any other way would have held me back from embracing every moment in Europe as my own. Though I still hurt and though I often still feel surges of frustration, I also have faith that there is a divine purpose behind the situation. I have been praying for clarity for months, and in the first Gothic church in all of London, I received it.

Following this minor pilgrimage, I did some light shopping at a variety of markets, revisited The Houses of Parliament, London Eye and Buckingham Palace and then returned to the Hostel to write postcards. Later, I met up with Stagemaster who was thoughtful enough to remember it was my birthday and suggested we go out for a birthday pint (or three). Introducing Bulmers, the greatest drink I've never had. After a couple bottles, we found a certain fascination in defacing candles (ie. bending them out of shape and getting wax everywhere) before it was high time to head home. I did, afterall, have an early flight to Scotland the next morning.

December 23, 2008
I have had no sense of time since my phone gave up on life and my ipod decided to freeze. I couldn't remember how to reset it, so I had to let it die out, leaving me wondering if I was going to make it to the train on time. I must say that I looked rather endearing with my massive backpack, navigating my way ever so politely through the rush hour crowds of London in my summer dress and floral boots. "Sorry, excuse me, entschuldigen."

On the train out of the city, I had a sadness in my heart that came from parting with a place that I had grown attached to. There were only good memories and large achievements that had birthed itself from England, and leaving suddenly seemed premature. With no ipod to distract from this minor breakup, I remained pensive and scribbled in my notebook. "Dear journal, I like London."

On to Edinburgh, Scotland.