Better late than never

Well so much for posting within a week or so.  That obviously didn't happen.  Unfortunately, as soon as I arrived back in California I got a terrible cold and was incapacitated for a whole two days which somewhat set the tone for the next two weeks or so.  I suppose more like three weeks now...

Anyway, I'm home, safe and sound, and will do as I previously intended and post several blogs relating to my European adventure and follow it with the final post about returning back to california and settling in.

Well, as promised, here is London:

I arrived in London early in the day on the thirtieth as planned.  I had with me one huge backpack weighing in at about 10k, a stuffed animal, a barely functioning computer, and a camera, ready to see everything in London that I hadn't gotten to see before.  I'd love to direct you at this point to my flickr page filled with photos of my whole trip, but unfortunately, Flickr has decided to suck, and I therefore can no longer access it.

Anyway, I stayed at Astor's Victoria Hostel just a few blocks down from the Victoria Coach Station.  It was a lovely hostel, or as lovely as one can expect from a hostel.  The beds were made of a very squeaky red metal and the luggage storage consisted of wire mesh cages under the bed upon which we could place a lock to secure our belongings.  I was only able to access the internet in the lobby, but that wasn't too bad.  I did try to skype once or twice in the kitchen area, but it was no good, mostly because of noise from the rest of the guests watching tele and talking or, on one night, getting quite drunk together.


My first day I went first to Kings Cross to take a photo with the iconic trolly, only to then learn that they charge somewhere in the realm of ten pounds for the photo, so I decided that I was happy getting a photo outside of the platform and spending a considerable amount less on a silly souvenir.

Here I am, looking like an exhausted dork:

Backpackers never wear makeup, didn't you know that?

So I left the station and found a Pret A Manger where I could have lunch with a view of St. Pancras.  From there I went to the British Museum, where I saw the Rosetta Stone:

Not my view from the cafe, this is much pretier.

British Museum!

Rosetta Stone

Although there was a lot to see and a lot to take in, I find that I have very little to actually enumerate.  I wandered and I observed and took an obscene amount of photos, all of which will be up on Photobucket as soon as I get my act together.  It was, like the Stonehenge experience, quite remarkable and not very easily put into words.

After that I went back and tracked down some dinner before heading to a ghost walk.  

Old school gaslight.  Probably the best part of the tour.  There are around two hundred of them scattered around the regions near Trafalgar square.

Now, I would like very much to tell you that, like the Jack the Ripper walk I took at Christmas time, the Ghost Walk was a little spooky and a lot of fun, but unfortunately, this guide really didn't hold a candle to the last guide.  He didn't seem interested in giving the spooky tour advertised on their website, but made it quite silly.  Maybe because there was a seven year old in the group (okay, who brings a child on a tour that is advertised to cause nightmares for weeks? I mean seriously, check your parenting handbook, I'm pretty sure that's in the "don't" section), but here I was expecting a slightly spooky, sort of eerie tour, and what I got was a few uncomfortable giggles, mostly silence, and a slightly judgmental guide.  Lame.  I was looking forward to being spooked for weeks!  I'm a masochist like that.

The tour wasn't that bad, just a bit disappointing.  I did get to snap this lovely photo while we were wandering through St. James Park, however:

Well, after that I went back to my hostel but decided to stop on the way for a glass of wine at the pub round the corner.  It was an incredible wine, and the bartender flirted with me for a bit and I wrote a beautiful letter to Molly which is still in it's envelope on my desk, and damn, I really need to send that.

Am I rambling yet?

Well, I think I was then, because I hadn't considered that, since I'd been up at five to catch my bus and barely slept during the ride, I was exhausted and probably a bit dehydrated because that wine went straight to my head.  So I stumbled back to my hostel on my first night a little bit drunk and feeling very nostalgic and pretentious.  As J.K. Rowling would say, "not very rock'n'roll."

Day two I awoke bright and early for a hosteler's meager aproximation of breakfast and went out into the world for my second walking tour.  The day's main attraction?  Westminster Abbey.

I am faced again with the challenge of explaining why I did not hate my tour, but why it pretty much sucked.  These are the memories that stay, of course, no matter how badly I try to replace them with the good memories, picking out souvenirs and snapping secret photos of various people's tombs (That's not weird, is it?)  Well, the walking tour got us in with group rates and between that and the cost of the tour itself I was saving about five quid, and that seemed a reasonable goal, so I went for it.  The tour was fine in itself, although they led us through quite quickly and there wasn't a lot of stopping and wandering to be done.  We followed the woman with the umbrella who told us the moment we were receiving our id badges (which were actually just little white stickers we put on our shoulders), that photography inside was strictly forbidden once we were inside the actual church.  So naturally I got in trouble while still outside for taking a photo.  Color me confused.

Westminster is lovley, though I won't go into too much detail, mostly because my memory is fading, but also because you can read that in any travel magazine.  I want to tell you what I remember: it was crowded.

Not with people, though there were TONS of people.  It was beginning to feel much more like a tourist attraction that an actual working church.  No, I mean it was crowded because there were tombs and relics and just things everywhere.  Everything was so busy.  And it was small.  I know you're probably confused when I say that.  You're probably thinking "Westminster Abbey is HUGE!" but alas, it is not.  If you've ever been to a cathedral at all you've probably been in something roughly the same size as Westminster, at least when it comes to the central cross.  That might have to do with it being so busy, but it really didn't have that cavernous awesome feeling that I expected.  It also lacked the hallowed feeling of Tintern Abbey.  That, again, goes back to the tourist attraction.  It was just... empty.

There's the main cross of the church, then a small back room area that I can't entirely remember the purpose of except that there were chairs with names on them, and there was an area off to the side where all of the tombs and memorials were.  I almost forget now who all was there, because I wasn't allowed the to take photos, but also because this was the section that were ushered through the fastest, and where we wanted to linger the longest.  After that we were taken back into the hallway outside and the guide explained that the tour was over, the bookshop that way, and have a lovely day.  A few of us wanted to go back and finish looking, but we were informed that was all there was to it.  Great, we pay for the tour and then learn that that is literally all we get, the tour, and that's it.  Oh well.  Such is life.

At this point it was about two in the afternoon.  I was exhausted and my feet were killing me.  A quick lunch and I was back at my dorm for a nap before going out again.  This was one of my lazier days, as my feet adjusted to near constant walking.  So I stayed at the dorm until around five when I dragged myself up to find dinner and then went in search of my final walking tour, this time with low expectations.  The only thing is, walking tours could be set aside during the day when I could wander around and explore myself.  In fact, I set aside a Sherlock Holmes tour knowing that it would probably disappoint, my feet were killing me, and I was starving.  But the thing about traveling alone as a woman is that I don't feel comfortable wandering alone at night.  So, either I was to resign myself to a glass of the same wine at the same pub every night of my stay, or I was to do walking tours.  So I did walking tours.

This was a pub walk, and as it happened, it was held by a woman who was the daughter of the man who runs London Walks.  So naturally it was about eighty million times better than the previous two tours.  Plus, alcohol.

We started in London proper, then crossed into Southwalk (say "Suth-uck"), where we learned about the Blackfriars and many other things forgotten in beer fog later on.  I had a fun moment where I explained why a man had exited the Globe theatre in full regalia, blew on a trumpet six times, and then ran back in.  I got a round of applause, it's cool, I'm kind of a big deal.  Then we stopped at a pub on the Thames where I had a reverse hobbit moment and got extremely excited that "it comes in half-pints", and then promptly realized that I needed to pee.  After we'd left the pub.  Oh to be me.

We stopped at two more pubs.  I spoke to several other walkers, made friends with four of them and enemies of one woman who, upon hearing that I was studying in Swansea furrowed her brow and said, in the way of one trying to ask a difficult question without appearing to be a racist old hag, "There are a lot of foreigners around there, aren't there?" When I looked seriously back at her and gave a thinly veiled, "Obviously" (What I actually said was, "well, it would be hard for me to tell, since I basically only hang out with the international crowd"), she clarified that I wasn't to worry, she was referring specifically to Syrians.  "There are quite a few Syrians in Swansea, aren't there?"  I, who hadn't met a single Syrian in Swansea, and even if I had wouldn't have informed her, announced that I'd seen a friend heading downstairs and hurried off only to learn that downstairs was the men's restroom.

Day three I spent mostly at the Tower of London.  I went first thing in the morning, collected my ticket and my audio tour, and then made a bee line for the crown jewels, which I'd heard was the way to do it.  I got in fairly quickly, and they were fascinating, but I think it's one of those things that I'll never be interested in.  I don't really care what Kate Middleton wore or when, and I don't care what jewels belong to whom.  I'm not a diamond person, I never will be.

Anyway, after I was back outside and allowed to take photos again, I found a good spot for my audio tour to begin and gave it a go.  I had thought of doing a tour with a yeoman of the guard, which is what most people do, but I'd read online that it was more trouble than it was worth, and this was pretty much true.

There were at least one hundred people clamouring to get in on this tour... thanks but no thanks.

He looked pretty cool though...

Then I parked it outside, listened to my audio tour, and began the day.  There's quite a bit to see, and I won't pretend that I saw it all.  The bloody tower was by far the most interesting and heart wrenching, where two young boys went in but never came out.  I had an ice cream on the same square where Anne Boleyn met her grisly fate, and watched as the line for the crown jewels stretched to Disneyland proportions.

This was before the crowd, after, the line was forming beyond the metal bars...

Tower bridge!

This is the main castly bit in the middle.

Guardsman station.

After the Tower I spent quite a bit of money on souvenirs and lunch and ate outside watching a man play the bagpipes.  He was quite good, actually.  The rest of the day was really just wandering around and getting my things together and searching for a Paddington Bear that I would't have to sell my firstborn child to buy (turns out this doesn't exist).  I did go to the National Gallery and the National Portrait Gallery, but by then I had had it to there with museums and spent the majority of my time downstairs in the cafe journaling, and I haven't much to say about them.  National Gallery: "They had amazing artwork that I saw and then I left."  And the Portrait Gallery, "they had portraits that I stared at confusedly and then left."  That's all there's to say there.  

Well, hopefully I can get Paris written before I die, but that's all there is for now!  Hopefully it wasn't too spastic.

Keep Calm and Carry On

What a whirlwind!

I’ve been in the United Kingdom now for four days.  After my entirely uneventful plane ride which involved a gin and tonic that cost me only about $6 (or 750 Iceland Kronas), I made my way to my hotel.  I met a lovely American girl who told me about the tubes and gave me a few pointers.  She even showed me to the taxi queue and warned me about the cold.  I did worry for a moment that she might be trying to take advantage- because of course they drive that into your brain when you’re preparing to go, but no, she was just a kind girl who remembered her first trip to England. 

The hotel was nice, nothing spectacular.  For £65 anyway it was fine.  Dodgy breakfast, but fine, whatever.  I did get to see Kensington on the first day, which was lovely.  I actually teared up a bit seeing Queen Victoria’s description of how Prince Albert died.  I slept early the first night and bought a hop-on-hop-off bus tour the next day which was nice, got to see everything pretty quickly, though I only went to Buckingham Palace, and The Globe Theatre. 

The Globe.  There are no words.  It was beautiful and everything I imagined it to be.  Our tour guide was a cheeky older woman who was very indignant about having her paving stones covered by a drinks caddy.  Apparently while building it, they sold paving stones for £300 each.  Once bought, the stones would receive an engraving of the buyers name.  She bought two, and they were covered by the caddy, and there really isn't much more to say about it.

Anyway, I managed to get a standing ticket to A Midsummer Nights Dream, and it was amazing.  I was actually doubled over laughing for most of it.  I can’t put into words why it was histerical, except to say that Puck was a bit like an awkward teenager, Oberon was a big tough faerie dude, and Titania was simultaneously beautiful and goofy.  Bottom was……. Bottom.  He had a very monotone voice but used these looks to convey everything and I was dying everytime he came on.  Every time he referenced Peter Quince he would say, “Peter Quince, Peter, is it Peter?  It’s Peter.  Peter Quince-” and then go on with his line.  Quince was this brilliant gay director; Snug was a typical country smithy, tall, stoic, with a pipe; the guy that played the moon was just ridiculous, and the guy that played the wall resembled closely the skinny annoying pirate in POTC, minus the wooden eye. 

I can’t say more than that, but it was amazing. 

Anyway, I'm here in Swansea now.  I’ve got five roommates, four of whom I’ve met and seem like cool people.  They apparently did think I was going to be a guy, though, which was interesting.  Four other guys and one girl.  They made me an English breakfast today, which was nice.  I tried blood pudding, but didn’t care for it.  They said it wasn’t as good as usual, so I’ll try it again.  Interestingly, while I am studying in Wales, all five of my roommates are English.  I have yet to really experience Wales.

I have to admit, everything feels like Christmas to me.  The weather, the way everyone’s swathed up, the fact that I’ve got a duvet on my bed which is labeled “13.5 Tog” which apparently means that its really warm.  The boiler doesn’t work right now either, it copped out sometime yesterday after the first tenant arrived and the man won’t be here until tomorrow to fix it.  Also no internet, so it should be today by the time this is actually posted. 

I think the best part of today is that… I'm sick.  I woke up with a sore throat yesterday and it’s developed into a cold.  Annoying that.  It doesn’t help that there’s no heat and its freezing outside.  Glad I bought the coat right about now, of course I was at Tesco yesterday buying linens and pillows and a duvet, and I saw coats for £50.  Of course.  Oh well, I love my coat.

Today was also the fresher’s party, something called “Fresh and Free.”  I wasn’t planning on going, but it was directly after the international welcome reception, so I figured I could stop buy.  It wasn’t awful, I met several people who were pretty cool and I'm excited for tomorrow’s orientation.  I may actually know some people. 

In all, I'm dubbing this a very good day.

Also pictures! (out of order)

 The fry up my roommates made for me my first morning here.

The globe!

Buckingham palace :)

T-79 Days; Seriously impatient now

I can't believe I wrote that it would be seventy nine days.  We are now in the seventies.  That is dangerously close to being the sixties, which is officially two months... I'm really not sure how that math adds up... though I realize that in my last post I thought it was three months until London, when in reality, it was three months until Swansea, and I was wrong about the hours.  But oh well, it was still an exciting day.

The countdown itself is until the day I leave for New York, so it's another few days until London and a week until Swansea.  So it's really more like T-79, 84, 87.

I've been having a lot of fun the last few days planning my trip to London.  I guess its one trip I had been planning on spending a lot of money on.  Maybe that's obvious, since I've already spent $230 on the hotel.  I know it would be cheaper to stay in a hostel, but I'm worried about being reachable in case my luggage is lost at the airport, and the risk of my luggage being stolen is exponentially higher at a hostel.  Because what I'll have with me on that trip is literally everything I'll have to my name, I thought it would be better to stay in a hotel on my first trip.  It's also because its a new city, new country, new continent.  I have never been out of the US before, save for a brief trip to Victoria in Canada once, and let's face it, that doesn't really count.  Since I don't know really what I'm doing, I think a hotel is definitely a better idea than a hostel.  Once I've gotten into the swing of things, I'll hostel until the cows come home, but until then, I'm living in luxury.

Aside from the hotel, I've been looking at attractions.  I had considered getting a London City Pass, or whatever its called.  Its basically a discount card that you can purchase for about £60 for one day.  The pass gets you access to the faster lines, and £90 worth of attractions, so if I was going to be going hog wild, it might actually save me money.  But I'm not really going to have time to get to £60 worth of stuff, let alone £90 in a single day.  So I scrapped that idea and have decided on one paid attraction for each of the three days I'll be in London.  In all, that brings my total to about £30 for attractions for the trip with about the same for food.

As far as where I'd like to go, I've almost definitely settled on Kensington, Natural History Museum, and the Globe theatre.  Natural History Museum is free, so I'm set there, Kensington is about £11 for students, and the Globe is £11 for the tour and £7 for standing room at a show.  I'll probably mostly just wander around near westminster and view it from afar, maybe stop by trafalgar square.  I had hoped to go to Camden Market, but it's just too out of the way for this trip, so I'll have to save it.  Of course, there are a million other things I'd LOVE to do but can't afford like St. Pauls Cathedral, The Tower of London, Buckingham Palace, Westminster, and the London Dungeons, but I figure I shouldn't burn a hole in my pocket too quickly.

Welp, that's about all I've got to share today.  I should probably proof read this, but I just can't bring myself to.  Is anyone even reading this?