Getting Home... (Part 1)

It seems like getting home was the longest and hardest part of the trip. This is going to be a long post, so I might break it up into a few parts.

So. I posted Saturday morning about the preparations to leave. It was so wonderful knowing that I was going to wake up in my own bed the next morning. I was very happy and relieved to know that I would see my husband soon. We all got onto the bus with the most insane driver we'd ever ridden with, loaded our luggage, then headed off to Heathrow. The drive was amusing. The driver felt that since he was bigger, he could kind of push his was over into lane changes, and he honked a lot. It was kind of weird compared to our normal bus drivers. Maybe he was a portent of odd things to come.

I had an e-ticket (unlike everyone else who had a physical ticket), so I went into the shorter e-ticket line. I shuffled along with everyone else and got to the front of the line. This is where my problems began. See, I checked in online, but I didn't print a boarding pass. I went to the little check-in kiosk and thought that it would print my boarding pass, but it told me that I could just get in line. Perfect, I got in line, and all was well. When I got to the front of the line, the lady doing passport security wouldn't let me go check in because I didn't have a printed boarding pass. Luckily, I had some back-up documentation that showed I was supposed to be on the flight, and that was fine.

I went to check in, and well... I just don't want to think about how it happened. It was all so fast. I was transferring my suitcase from the luggage trolley onto the conveyor belt to be checked in and wrestling with it a bit. I'm not sure if I dislocated my knee then fell, or fell and dislocated my knee in the process. It doesn't really matter, I suppose. I let out a rather blood-curdling scream and landed on the luggage trolley. I immediately had two security people around me asking me what happened and they called the paramedics. I tried my best to not scream and cry (it hurt like a son-of-a-bitch) while waiting. The found the person who was running our trip, Mary, and brought her over to me, and they all chatted and tried to keep me distracted while the paramedic was on his way.

20 minutes later (no, I'm not exaggerating), a very nice man on a bicycle came up and presented himself as the paramedic. He said that he could not relocate my knee, but he would give me some morphine and call for the ambulance to take me to the hospital. This is when I realized I wasn't going home, and while I tried to put on a stoic face, I was absolutely crushed. So, after 30 minutes and 4 other tries, he finally gets an IV in me. Now, if you know me well, you'll know my feelings on narcotics as pain relief. I don't like them, and I will avoid them it at possible. So I told him to please use the absolute lowest dose of the morphine he could. He started by saying the he would give me a half dose, but I eventually talked him into giving me a quarter dose, and giving me the other quarter if it didn't help enough. However, not 2 minutes after he gave me the first dose, the other paramedics (these ones with a stretcher and an ambulance) showed up.

Apparently, these two had a different certification or something than the guy who was on his own. They cut my jeans open (and I pleaded with everyone who was not a paramedic to NOT look at my knee. I know it doesn't look very appealing, and I can remain calm while others remain calm. If people look at my knee and freak the fuck out, well yeah, I'm probably going to freak out too.) Anyhow, my leg was pretty well numb from having sat on the trolley for almost an hour, and the morphine had started to kick in, so when they started manipulating my knee, I barely felt it. It felt like they just touched it, and my kneecap popped back into place. I felt
immediate and immense relief, and at that point, I wanted them just to put me in a splint then toss me on the flight. Unfortunately, that was not meant to be.

They told me that they did have to take me to the hospital, so they transferred me to a stretcher (actually, they just helped me up and I hopped over) and wheeled me out to the ambulance. Meanwhile, Mary said that she would stay with me and that the other folks on the trip would get home just fine. Mary took the luggage and put it into the "held luggage" area of the airport, then followed me out to the ambulance. They asked me about the dose of morphine I'd gotten, my medical history, and my address. One of the ambulance drivers was superbly amused when I told him that I was from San Dimas and had to explain to the other one why it was so funny. Finally, Mary got to the ambulance, and over an hour after I fell, I was on my way to the hospital.

Not much to tell here except that it was a 3 hour wait to see the doctor, an hour wait for the x-rays, and an hour to talk to the doctor and get my "treatment" all settled. Unfortunately, I'd picked a bad time to fall because normally, the treatment is just like the treatment here. They put your leg in an immobilizing brace, then they put you on crutches and send you on your way. Unfortunately, the "surgical appliances" department was closed, so they couldn't get me in a brace. My options were:

1. Have them put me in a cast, then come back the next day for the brace. (This is what the doctor preferred.)
   
2. Have them put me in a half-cast, then fly home the next day. (A half-cast is essentially a plaster splint. They put plaster up the back of your leg, then they wrap your entire leg up so it's soft on the front. The airlines will NOT let you fly with a full cast in case of swelling, but a half-cast is okay because it's mostly soft.)

Guess which one I picked. So, with leg in a cast and crutches on my arms (they're the other kind of crutches that go around your arms, not the kind that go under your armpits), we headed off to the hotel.

Wait, I guess I forgot something there. The hardest part of the whole experience was calling and telling Chris what happened. However, he is, as always, completely awesome and found us a hotel for the night. I don't know what we would have done without him.

Anyhow, we made our way to the Sheraton, and by this time, it was 6 hours after the actual injury. I hadn't had a thing to eat or drink since 6am that morning (and it was 6pm at night by now), so we went to the hotel and immediately got some food. Now, just to set the scene, I'm in a red shirt, blue jeans that had been slit up to my thigh, have an enormous cast from my ankle up to my mid-thigh, and I'm on crutches. I've told Mary to go ahead to the restaurant in the hotel and I will wash up and catch up with her, and she agrees. Mary has a hard time slowing down, and I know that walking with someone on crutches has to be an absolute nightmare for her. So, I get to the restaurant, let the Maitre de that I'm with Mary, and hobble my gimpy ass over to her. I order a nicoise salad, to which the waiter responds, "That's all you're going to have?!" I don't know why that cracked me up. He brought out an amuse-bouche for me from the chef (I'm assuming someone felt bad for the gimpy person because it's normally only part of their multi-course meals.) Anyhow, the salad was stupendous, and I started to feel vaguely human again.

I hobbled back up to the room, rinsed out my undergarments as best as I could, then crawled in bed. I spent the next two hours mentally tossing and turning. I couldn't stop reliving the moment I felt that distinctive pop in my leg, and trying to figure out whether I could have prevented it. I was trying so hard to be strong but my temper was getting short and I just wanted to be home.

Anyhow, I guess I'll break it off there. I'll try to write about the airport and the flight another time. I'm mostly writing this for myself so I'll remember what happened, so I'm sorry if I'm more into giving a detailed account than giving an amusing account right now.

My Last Morning in London

For those of you who know me well, brace yourself: I woke up, on my own, without an alarm clock, at 6:00am this morning. I wasn't quite awake, but I was conscious enough to grab my stuff and go take a shower. Good god, what's wrong with me?!

So today is my last day in London. I'm trying to pack and hoping that everything will fit and my big suitcase not be over 50 lbs. It feels pretty close right now and I still have to pack a few more things. Oh well. I've showered, I've had a quick breakfast, and now, I am going to go lie down and read while the other roomies rush around like chickens with their heads cut off. I'm sure I'll do that at the end too, but for now, it's lovely and peaceful. So, for my future reference, here is a list of things I think I will miss and that I don't think I will miss:

I will miss:

• The neighborhood. I love being able to run down the stairs and around the corner to the market if I need anything. Doing a bunch of small shopping trips just seems so much better than doing big huge shopping trips.
• The shower. Damn, I have some REALLY hot water and really good water pressure here.
  
• The daylight. It starts getting light around 4 or 5ish and doesn't get dark until 9 or 9:30. However, I know that I would die in the winter when it's dark ALL THE TIME.
• The weather. Yes, I've complained about the rain and the humidity, but it is pretty damn pleasant. I'm sitting right here by the window, absolutely freezing, but knowing that this will be the last time I will be cold (outside of the flight!) for a while.
• The greenery. This goes for more of the countryside than London, but damn it's green out there!
  
• The tube. It goes everywhere, it comes all the time, it's reasonably clean, and I have (had!) an unlimited pass for it.
  
• Walking. There's a ton of stuff within walking distance and having a car is very, very optional. Sure beats having to get into the car for everything.
• The variety. The part of town I'm in, I'm just as likely to hear french, german, or italian as I am to hear english. This is a spectacularly international city, and there's a certain homogeneous nature to all of the american accents back home.
  
• The Chocolate. Oh yes, I will miss that the most, probably.

I will NOT miss:

• The pollution. Yes, it's not too dirty of a city, but damn the air in the tube sucks. Lots and lots of particulate matter.
• Sharing my room with 2 people and the bathroom with 4 people. Yeah, seems like sharing with 1 person seems to be my limit. :)
• The exchange rate. Aren't I lucky? I came during the worst exchange rate ever! Must be nice for Brits to come over to visit us and live like kings.
• The crazy-assed schedule. I love going out as much as the next person, but after a while, all of the classical art museums tend to blend together.
• Traveling as a group. Yes, I've definitely gone out and have done my own thing a lot, but seriously, I can't STAND having to identify with this loud and obnoxious group of people sometimes. At least I got them to start standing on the right going up and down the escalators on the tube.

So all and all, a mixed bag. I'm going to shut down my computer now, and the next time, I post, I'll be home. Catch you in California!

Rain, rain, go away!

Let's start with this: I LOVE the rain. I really, really do. The little soft sprinkles in the morning that make everything glisten, the steady dripping rain of a gloomy day, the Wagnerian rain that makes you think the world will wash away, I love it all. I never thought I'd want it to stop, but I do, and here's why:

Rain when you're trying to make a .5 mile trek from the tube station is no big deal. (Oh, and I absolutely adore http://www.gmap-pedometer.com/. It's the best thing since... well, Google Maps.) Anyhow, it's not a long walk, and even if you walk slowly like I do, it's about a 15 minute leisurely walk, or a 10 minute hike. So I get out of the tub station, and it's not too bad. I get about 1/3 of the way there, and it starts raining just a little bit. I get about 1/2 way there, and it's time to put on the umbrella. Then I turn onto the street, and it's a pretty long block, and to quote U2, "the sky ripped open like a gaping wound, pelting the women and children." Holy shit, where's Noah because here's the flood. So I ponder whether I should take cover in a stoop and let it blow over, or keep walking. I decide to keep walking because there's a ton of stoops I can duck into if it gets any worse. I figure, well, at least it's coming down straight, right?

Then it gets worse. It is like there's someone about 50 feet up hauling buckets at me. The house is 50 yards away, but I have to cross the street, so I can't just make a straight dash for it. My leather shoes are starting to leak, I'm wet up to my knees, and my jacket is 100 times heavier because it's so wet. I duck under the nearest stoop and consider my options. If I run, I won't be able to hold my poor inadequate umbrella well enough. If I walk, I will wash away. I finally decide to power walk because it doesn't seem to be letting up at all.

It's gotten worse, if that's even possible, and it's about 30 minutes later. I have NO idea how I'm going to get home (I'm at a computer lab a 20 minute walk away from my flat), but at least I've found out that my backpack is largely water-resistant. If only my clothes were too.

At least I won't have to take a shower tonight. Hee!

UPDATE:
Apparently my backpack isn't as waterproof as I had hoped because when I opened it, I found my camera staring at me with a dead, unseeing eye. Yes, my camera and water don't get along, and hopefully it might limp along once it's dried out a bit on the inside. In the meantime, I hold out hope that my little friend will make it. Poor camera... it's served me so well!

Still Life... OF DEATH!

Still Life... OF DEATH!
Originally uploaded by jakeline

Someone asked me to take away his cigarettes so he wouldn't smoke them, so I decided to make a little still life. I love the illustration on the box of matches!

Reading

At home, I don't always have a lot of free time. When I read something, it's usually because it's a school assignment. So the idea of having a month of school where all we're reading is 4 short books and a bunch of poetry is pretty nice. Then on top of that, I don't have work, and I only have 3 channels on the TV. Holy cow, it's reading time!

I've been reading books like a parched man drinks water. I did a quick estimate, and I've read somewhere in the range of about 3,000 pages, and I feel like I've barely read at all. It's gotten so bad that I'm thinking of going down to the post office and shipping some books home. It seems silly to carry all of these spent books home in my luggage, right?

Unfortunately, I want to read more. I read All Quiet on the Western Front one afternoon while I was in the Lake District and then I was out of fresh books. When I came back to London, I felt like I was missing something (I mean, aside from home and hearth and all that). So last night, when I found that I had a book I hadn't read yet, I figured I would just read a chapter or two then go to bed at something like 10:30ish. I finally got enough self-control to put the book down at something like 2:30am. I then finished the book this morning before breakfast (tea and toast with nutella, just in case you are curious). And it's not like this is a short book. Sure, it has fairly big writing, but it's still a good 500 pages.

I suppose there are worse habits to have. The problem is that now I've read all my books (and I won't buy any more until I get Harry Potter on Friday night), so now the only thing to do is... well, be productive. Forget that. I think I'll just go for a walk instead.

It's a little weird thinking that this is my last Monday in London. I don't have anything formal planned until Wednesday (although I think I'll be going to the Tate and Tate Modern art museums tomorrow), so I'm kind of in a holding pattern. I really don't want to regret missing things that I wanted to see in the city, but I also don't want to feel obliged to do... well, anything. I enjoy having time where I'm not beholden to anything or anyone. It's such a rare thing to truly only have to consider yourself, and it feels a bit selfish. Kind of like the joy of moving out for the first time and realizing you can indeed have ice cream for dinner if it so suits you. We get locked into these roles that we put ourselves in -- employee, student, spouse -- and to be able to shrug all of them off and step into a role that's largely devoid of responsibility is freeing. On the other hand, if you're like me, you do stuff like forget to eat, get too little sleep, and ignore most of the very few responsibilities that you do have. The structure of my ordinary life is good for me, I can see now, but it's nice to be able to realize that. I'm sure I'll go through a bit of culture shock coming back home, but I know I'll secretly welcome the routine it brings.

Edinburgh: City of a Bajillion Steps

Edinburgh: City of a Bajillion Steps
Originally uploaded by jakeline

So after the Lake District (which is just breathtakingly beautiful), we went up to Edinburgh. I was a bit irritated that we didn't have anything specific planned for being in town, but that was fine. I was a bit disappointed by our accommodations at the bar/hostel (yes, on the street sign, it has "bar" in front of "hostel"), but that was fine as well. Then I went trudging around town, admittedly a bit tipsy, looking for an ATM when I found that the town has a freakin' kafrillion steps, and we were at the bottom of them.

As most of you probably know, I have a tricky knee. It's usually pretty okay as long as I don't stand for a long time or walk down a lot of steps. Oddly enough, walking *up* steps makes my muscles sore, but my knee certainly does just fine. I believe there's actually more stress put on your knees by going down stairs, but whatever the case, I've found that if I have to go down more than a few flights of stairs, my leg will start swelling.

Our hostel, as I mentioned, is at the bottom of... well, kind of a gorge. We're right next to the train tracks which cut through the middle of the city. So I go up one side of the city (only 20 billion steps), and I wander around and take a bridge to the other side of the city. Yes, the gorge we're staying in is so deep that they bridged it over. After being asked directions by very unfortunate tourists (I actually think I did direct them the right way!) and being serenaded by two elderly and VERY drunk scots, I find an ATM and set about finding my way home. I could go back the way I came, but I'm now on the same side of the gorge as my hostel is on, so I figure I should just start walking downhill and I'll find it eventually. Yeah. My options are to take a street which seemingly curves away from the direction our hostel is in, or try to go down a "close". The one I opted for is called "Fleshmarket Close" (and yes, I giggled like a maniac at that one), and as you can see in the picture, it's basically just an alleyway with steps. Steps that go down, down, down. It actually worked out okay and I was within about 200 yards of the hostel when I came out on the bottom.

However.

At this point, I was feeling fine. I hadn't quite walked off all the alcohol and I wasn't feeling any pain. I stopped drinking and just hung out with everyone in the bar area of the hostel then went to bed. Unfortunately, when I woke up, my knee and ankle were both huge and as painful as one might expect. I had another day and evening in Edinburgh and then we were to take the train 1/2 way home, stop at a city called York for a couple of hours, then continue on to London. It was at that point that I just cut the proverbial gordian knot. Instead of puttering around the city the next day, I went to Rosslyn Chapel (the masonic thing and the holy grail thing, blah blah blah), then hopped on a train and came back to London. Instead of sleeping with 12 other obnoxious people, I slept in my own bed in the flat. Instead of spending the entire next day traveling, I spent it at the Imperial War Museum, Harrods, and an antique book seller's place. Even better yet, I still had 3 free days in front of me with no flatmates in sight. They've all gone to Rome. HA!

So, all's well that ends well, right? They left an enormous mess in the flat, but they're gone and I have some peace. The train fare was a small price to pay for an extra day alone!

A quickie from the Lake District

I'm not in London this week. This has one big disadvantage: I left my laptop there! It was for a good reason, though, because we're travelling all this week. We're staying two nights in a hostel in Keswick, and we'll be hopping on a train tomorrow to go up to Edinburgh. I'm going to try to make this quick because I'm logged on through an internet cafe, and they are massively gouging me on the price. Well, not massively, but it's better than the hostel. I mean, they have a freakin' profanity filter on theirs, and I'd rather see my fucking internet with the word "fucking" on there, okay?

Anyhow, I've made an important decision: I'm going to quit my job and move up here. Okay, not really, but I can't even being to describe how freakin' amazing this place is. There are lovely green glades and lakes and waterfalls and trees and rivers and have I mentioned how green it is?! I'm certain I will be coming back here. All I can think is that I want to pack up a motorcycle and camp up here for a few weeks. It's just that amazing. Whenever I get to upload the pictures, I have to tell you that they can't even do the area the slightest bit of justice. I'll try to come up with some better words soon, but for now, "fucking amazing" will have to do.

Hyde Park/Kensington Gardens

If you value your life, run away!
Originally uploaded by jakeline

I decided to go to Kensington Gardens early in the morning when the light was good for photography. Then I realized that I’d rather sit and enjoy the empty flat, so I finished up a novel I was reading (Cryptonomicon by Neal Stephenson. Pretty good, but that man can’t end a story to save his life.) So, it ended up being about 6 in the evening before I got around to heading out. I’m actually glad I waited a bit because the evening was lovely. I walked up by the Albert Memorial, and there were people just sitting around chatting. Tons of people. Gobs of people. I took the path back and walked along the Serpentine to the Peter Pan statue. I’d heard people say that when you’re really in the park, you can forget that you’re in a city. I suppose that’s true to an extent, but you can definitely still hear traffic and see the tallest buildings. I guess when you live in the city, the sound of traffic is just background noise that you don’t hear any longer.

The park surprised me in that it wasn’t perfectly manicured lawns and precisely planted trees. I mean, a lot of it was that way, but there were areas that they let go a bit wild. But there were still people everywhere, even in the areas where the wild grass was left to do its thing.

Finally, it dawned on me: These people live in a flat like I do. The outdoors is largely paved over, and there’s no good place to play some frisbee. They can’t go into their backyards because they don’t have one. This is London’s backyard! Then I was struck with a bit of homesickness. I wanted my friends to be there so sit on a blanket, eating cheese and drinking wine, chasing after a frisbee, making fun of each other, flying a kite, and all of the other little things I take for granted. Living in the city makes so much more sense now! Having to share this big public space seems to change your sense of boundaries, of what is private and what is public. I saw people sharing intimate conversation on a blanket, completely oblivious to the crowds around them. I saw people good-naturedly kicking back a football that had gone astray. I’m not saying that this doesn’t happen in Southern California, but I’m saying that if a park back at home was that crowded, there would have been an uncomfortable vibe, which definitely didn’t exist here.

Also, anyone who doesn’t believe that birds evolved from dinosaurs need to go see the swans at the round pond. Those suckers have no fear of humans and are huge. They’ve lovely when gliding across the lake, but up close, they have these paleolithic legs and are surprisingly assertive about their personal area. I definitely snickered while watching a kid get scared off by a swan. I think there was a bit of nervousness in my laugh, though, because I’ve got to tell you: If one of those suckers hissed at me, you’d better bet I’d jump away too!

British Museum

I'm dating this for yesterday because I should have posted this then instead of now. Oh well. Anyhow, we went to the British Museum yesterday. It was a really fucked up trip on the tube because of this. So, there's really no air conditioning down there, and it's a nice and constant about 85 degrees with 99.99% humidity. And it's rush hour, so we're packed like... well, I would say sardines, but we were all coated with sweat instead of whatever sardines are covered with. Oil, I guess. Anyhow, we all bail off the train a couple of exits early and catch a different one. We end up losing someone in our group (poor thing), but we trudge onward. We take our 10-minute sidewalk-clogging march in rain and wind, and then we're there. The ediface is really imposing and austere, but pretty neat. The gravel front area and steps are clogged with fellow tourists waiting to have their bags inspected. After a cursory glance, we were in, and headed straight for the Rosetta Stone. First off, I thought that it would be round for some reason. It's not. I thought the writing would be really big. It's not (I'd say it's about a 20-point font, at most.) Thirdly, I had the urge to trip a woman and call her a stupid American. She shoved in front of me twice (okay, could be a simple mistake), and then told her husband just to "shove your way to the front. It's the only way." Dumb bitch.

We then saw the Elgin Marbles, which contrary to my first thought, are not round and colorful. They are lovely carvings, ripped from their home in some far-away land (Greece, I think) and plopped into the museum. They've asked for them back, and I think the English government has just thumbed their nose at them. Kind of like the issue with the Getty, I think.

After that, everyone wanted to go to get a drink and sit down, and I couldn't blame them after the horrific tube ride. This was at something like 5ish, and we had to be back to Regent's Park for a play at 8pm. Everyone wanted to run home to get some warmer clothes (and I eventually agreed with them), so we all decided to go back to the flat. I was a bit disappointed, but I could definitely see the rationale of this decision.

So, here is where I get a bit cocky: I am a very good navigator. I know where I'm going, I know how to get there, I know how to read a map, and I know when I should ask for directions. I'm very rarely wrong when looking for things. So, when the group took a random-ass route to leave the museum, I told them I would just meet them out front. I waited 5 minutes, and I figured I would just go ahead home without them. So I go to the tube station we agreed upon (different than the one we came in on so as not to be stuck in all of the nonsense with the Picadilly Line), and I end up stuck behind a bunch of tourists hogging the sidewalk. I'm not really annoyed because I'm really not in a hurry. I double-checked with someone else stuck behind the group to make sure that I'm going the right way to the tube station, and it starts to rain. A homeless, and probably not quite sane person, runs up to a couple of the tourist girls who are sharing an umbrella and huddles under it with them saying, "Thanks, ladies" or something like that. One of the guys from the group runs him off, and crazy homeless guy comes out with his best insult: "Fucking American."

Nice. I haven't had to pull the "I'm Canadian" ruse yet, but I'm keeping it in reserve.

Long story short (well, shorter), I made it back to the flat with a minimum of fuss. Took me about 20 to 30 minutes total. The rest of the group: 45 minutes behind me. The moral of the story: Jake knows where she's going, and you'd do better to follow her if you want to get home quickly. Oh, and we didn't make it to the play in Regent's Park. Too cold and rainy. Oh well.

Dolphin Fish Bar

Dolphin Fish Bar
Originally uploaded by jakeline

Yeah, I ran across this place at Stratford on Avon as well. It seems so wrong, but if you think about it, dolphins probably have really great taste in fish, right?

Unless they're talking about eating dolphins, which is right out.

Happy 4th of July (from Stratford on Avon)

Happy 4th of July (from Stratford on Avon)
Originally uploaded by jakeline

So I'm sitting here in my flat. It's 8pm, and I need to run to the store to get some yogurt and bread. I need to write an essay on The Communist Manifesto by tomorrow morning at 10am, and I'm feeling pretty sleepy. I still haven't had dinner, and we've been running around all day at Stratford Upon Avon.

Then it hits me. It's the 4th of July. At home, everyone is sweltering, and BBQing, and packing pic-a-nic baskets and all that good stuff, and I'm sitting here wondering if I need to bring my umbrella while I run down to the store. However, I did feel a bit at home today. You see, between seeing Anne Hathaway's house (that would be Shakespeare's wife) and Shakespeare's birth place, I wandered around town aimlessly. You know, it's nice seeing the historical monuments and all, but more interesting is just talking to the locals. So I make it a point to pop into shops while they're not busy and chat with the shop owners for a few minutes. I ran across this party shop, but I did resist the urge to go in. Utterly fantastic, though. Nice to know there are no hard feelings, right?

The Victoria and Albert, and Westminster Abbey

Flowers
Originally uploaded by jakeline

First off, before I forget. The funniest thing I've EVER seen is a open-topped tourist bus being caught in a rain storm. It was perfectly lovely, then the skies opened up and it started pouring... and these poor people stuck in the open top of the bus tried their damnedest to not get soaked. It was so funny, but also a "but for the grace of god, there go I" kind of moment. It made me snicker all day.

So yesterday, I went to the Victoria and Albert museum. It is an art museum, but it's very, very grand. I tried to take some pictures while I was in there, but frankly, any pictures I take would not do the area justice. I did get a couple of nice pictures of the courtyard, and I did like the picture I took of the info desk. What amazed me was the castings of major sculptures that had been done in the Victorian ages. They had one casting of a pillar (or something) in the colleseum that would have been 180 feet tall, if it hadn't been (intentionally) broken in half. The scale was unbelievable, especially in an enclosed building. I really enjoyed myself, and the photography gallery, although small, was fantastic. I couldn't figure out how to get a Salvador Dali mask home, so I left that one at the museum gift shop.

Today, I had class, then we went to the Westminster Abbey. It wasn't quite what I was expecting. You know how you have that crazy older relative who has their house absolutely crammed full of tchockes, so that you can't admire any of them because they're just freakin' everywhere? Well that's what the Westminster Abbey felt like. Except with coffins.

Natural History Museum and General Thoughts on London

I'm still sick. My ears creak and squeak, my throat feels like I unsuccessfully tried to swallow a golf ball, and I'm intermittently feverish. However, I feel amazingly better than I have all this week, so I figured it was time to go out and explore the neighborhood.

I was too sick to go to Kensington Gardens with everyone else (and I knew I would have to make up the trip), so I started walking up there. It's only about 1/2 mile away, so it's no big deal. The weather had been cloudy all morning, but little to no rain. Of course, the moment I stepped outside, it started sprinkling. No biggie. I bring my umbrella everywhere just for that reason. As I'm walking, it gets worse, but nothing I can't handle. Finally, when I get within about a block of the park, it starts raining in earnest, the wind gusts, and my umbrella turns inside-out. I took it as a sign and turned back. However, I didn't want my walk to be in vain (and I really didn't want to stare at the same 4 walls of the flat for the rest of the afternoon), so I decided to pop by one of the museums on the way home.

Now a couple of observations about London in general:

1) Londoners are ALWAYS in a rush. No one strolls, even the mother talking her child on a walk in the sunshine. I walk slowly even when I'm feeling great, so I immediately feel out of place on the sidewalks. I figured they might slow down in the museum, but largely, no. People seemed to charge from exhibit and exhibit as if they were late for an appointment.

2) London smells funny. I can't quite put my finger on it, but it's a rancid buttery, smoky smell. It's even less pleasant than it sounds. It's very odd to me because it comes up randomly, and I can't quite figure out the source. However, I'm certain that when I got home, I'll find that it smells odd there as well. Unfortunately, though, to me, the whole museum smelled vaguely gross. Maybe that's why I have no appetite here.

3) London weather hates me. I think it stopped raining just as soon as I went into the museum.

4) London drivers are very scary, but I haven't had too many more close calls. However, given the choice of taking a longer walk on the same side of the street, versus having to cross the street more, but having a shorter walk, I'll definitely take the longer walk. And I'm lazy! It does make me yearn for home, though. Who knew that I would look forward to the sanity of traffic in Los Angeles?

Anyhow, the museum wasn't very good. The building was spectacular, but the exhibits were dusty and depressing. On the upside, I saw my first dodo pelt. Uh whee?

One other thing I found out is that this area of the city is absolutely crawling with tourists. I mostly heard French and German, but there were definitely a smattering of American accents tossed in there as well. It's funny how easily one can pick out the Americans. I make a game of it on the street. See, Londoners are generally slim, and look like they want to be any place but where they are. They wear dark leather shoes and practical over garments. I haven't seen a Londoner over 25 (save construction workers) wearing jeans and a t-shirt. I can always spot the American 20-something females. They are a bit curvier, have on jeans, a form-fitting t-shirt (or a couple layered shirts), a sweatshirt, and flip-flops. They invariably travel in packs and are often carrying maps and looking lost. Generally speaking, if someone is wearing tennis shoes, they are a tourist. Exceptions may be given for small, ballet-slipper-like fashionable tennies.

Well, I'm going to get back to my reading, but that's my thoughts for having been here a week. Well, actually, one more thing. The car bombs.

I haven't been out of the flat much because I've been so sick. I've wanted to go down to the pub and strike up a conversation with a local and see their take on things. What I've found by way of the TV news, though, is that this isn't a huge deal. I mean, yeah, it is important, but if this happened in Los Angeles, we would have breaking news on this every 10 minutes. I've gotten more details from CNN than from BBC. I can't tell you why, but I'm assuming it's because no one was hurt, and these folks had pretty rudimentary devices. On the boards that I'm on, someone commented that they must be running the terrorist special olympics, and that just kind of summed up what I think people are feeling about this. I mean, they lived through the IRA -- they have "army" in their name for god's sake -- so why would a couple of amateurs like these knuckleheads ruffle anyone's feathers?