London Town
Just as promised:
London! I'll start at the beginning:
FRIDAY: Shannon and I leave Lit class early, with the intention of taking the bus to Glasgow and then to the Prestwick airport to catch a 9 PM flight. The bus finally leaves at 5, taking an hour to get to Glasgow and an additional hour to get out to the middle of nowhere/Prestwick airport. Upon arrival, we discover that Ryanair (the awful discount airline we keep flying on) has just closed the gate and won't let us take our flight. Beyond that, they don't even have another flight going to London for nine hours, and it will cost us an additional £40 to get on the standby list to see if we can get tickets. We curse Ryanair, and after a few minutes of freaking out, we decide to return to Edinburgh and attempt to get a flight out of the Edinburgh airport. A quick train ride, first to Glasgow and then back to Edinburgh, leaves us at Shannon's flat quickly booking EasyJet tickets for six thirty the next morning. Shannon heads off to bed and I head out to see some peeps at CandyBar (113-115 George Street). Upon arrival, I'm told that they're closing and denied admittance. I say "fuck it" and head over to my ol' favorite Halo, where that favorite bartender of mine Callum tells me they're also closing but I should meet him over at Berlin Bierhaus (3 Queensferry Lane) in half an hour. As its roughly thirty seconds from my flat, I oblige, and discover ONE OF THE MOST ROCKING, HOT AFTER-HOURS NIGHTCLUBS IN EDINBURGH. My mouth drops open as I see the two stages, the cheap drinks, the lovely young crowd dancing to latin house with live conga drumming, and I know that everyone should be there. I duck out quickly and dash to my flat, where I proceeded to ring everyone I knew to admonish them to join me at Berlin Bierhaus immediately. In the process, I meet Gloria, this marvelous girl from New York City who happened to be staying with some people in my flat. About five minutes later, Gloria, Alison, and I are in the fantastic club, dancing away and enjoying well-made cocktails and conversation. Soon, Callum joins us, and equally as soon the nightclub closes, which leads Callum to invite us back to his flat on London Street for beers. We oblige and pile into a cab, and head over to one of the sketchiest flats I've seen in this town. We hang out with his equally-sketch housemates for a bit, smoking and drinking and making merry like christmas, admiring Callum's hallucinogen-inspired paintings. Allison and I lean into each other on the couch, forehead-to-forehead, giving each other the fortitude to keep it together despite an extraordinary level of drunkenness. We also discover that, all this time, Callum thought that Alison and I were a married couple, and many years his senior, neither of which are true in the least. Five AM rolls around, and I realize that I need to meet Shannon for the airport ride in twenty minutes, so we run out onto the street and immediately catch a cab back to the flat.
SATURDAY: Ten minutes after arriving at my flat and grabbing my luggage, I'm standing on the corner of Princes and Queensferry streets, highly intoxicated but keeping my shit together. A sleepy Shannon meets me and chides me for my state, but we get on the airporter and whip out books to amuse ourselves with. A relatively unexciting series of buses and airports follow, the most notable aspect being that Shannon felt I was following her around like a puppy. A few hours later, we arrive at Paddington Station and make the quick journey to Hyde Park Court Hotel (48 Norfolk Square, Paddington) where we have procured a very cheap hotel room. We meet up with Rebecca, and I sober up. we celebrate for heading to Yo! Sushi at Paddington Station, where I am blown away by the fantastic chicken katsu and ultra-tasty sashimi. Shannon and Rebecca head out to do the first round of touristy shite, and I return to Hyde Park Court and start doing my spiral-form exploration pattern, wandering around the streets and orienting myself to this bizarre new place I found myself in. London blows me away by how profoundly international its culture is - I think I heard more languages spoken in that time than I have at any other point in my life. I was sold Cadbury chocolate bars by a woman in a near-full veil, and discovered Subway sandwich places that also sold halal curries next to their subs. I wander back to the hotel and sleep while the newly-arrived Alison and my other travel mates head out to the musical Fame! which I thankfully ducked out of.
SUNDAY: Touristy stuff for a bit. Rebecca and I did a dramatic flying leap onto the Circle Line train as the doors were closing and headed off to Embankment Station, where we were greeted by Big Ben and amusing buskers as soon as we stepped outside. We then proceeded to Buckingham Palace, Westminster Abbey, the Royal Mall (luckily not a shopping mall) and a few other relatively unexciting tourist things. In Parliament Square, we saw a barely-clothed man doing extremely aggressive pelvic thrusts and laughed at him - we later discovered that he was actually a very notable protestor who had been living in the square protesting for many years, although if he practices pelvic thrusting in public each moring I think I can see why his crusade has had to last so many years. We then headed to Trafalgar Square, by far one of my favorite parts of the city. We munched on tasty Pret A Manger sandwiches and realized that we had forgotten to Fall Back with our time, which made us gleeful! We then headed out to some markets, where I got a fabulous shirt at an underground boutique and postcards at an outdoor market stand. I also got the Original British Firefighters 2006 calendar, which I am torn as to whether I'll keep or give to Christopher, but time shall tell. Rebecca and I met up with Shannon and Alison at TKTS, gelato in hand, and planned the rest of our days. I headed off to the South, to wander along the Thames and the book sales held under the bridges. On the way, I discovered one of my favorite pastimes - reading on the underground. I finished up Suprised by Joy by C. S. Lewis (inexpressibly marvelous) and discovered as I began eavesdropping that almost everyone in the train was craining to see what I was reading, and was starting to engage in little conversations about Lewis or the forthcoming Narnia books. I felt quite good, having set a bookish mood on the Underground that day! Upon arriving at South Bank, I wandered into a gallery showing photographs of Kurt Cobain and Nirvana, where I saw several taken in, of all places, downtown Olympia! Reeling, I headed off to the Tate Modern. It's now one of my very favorite museums in the world - the turbine room, which currently houses the amazing installation Embankment by Rachel Whiteread, took my breath away completely. Their collection is astounding and quite well-curated, and I spent many hours wandering around. I also developed a taste for Warhol (wonder of wonders!) and finally got to see photographs by Jeff Wall in person. I met the ladies back at the hotel, my heart overflowing with joy at the fun day I'd spent so far. We headed off for dinner - this incredibly astounding little place, Niki Greek Taverna (15 London Street, Paddington) where we wisely sat downstairs in the private section and enjoyed some of the most amazing hummus and lamb dishes I've ever experienced. We left glowing with good red wine and incredibly full of tasty food to meet up with Julia, Alison's German friend who currently interns at one of the big architecture firms in London. We headed off for drinks and a night on the town, and with our faces still rosy returned to the hotel late and passed out.
MONDAY: I get up early and head out to the Victoria and Albert Museum, excited by the prospect of their Diane Arbus: Revelations show. First, though, I wander into their fashion collection, which blows my mind. Who would have known Queen Maude had been so influential to women's fashion? Who knew that Tracey Emin, one of my favorite artists, had a contract to make signature-line luggage? I wander through, starry-eyed, and discover the British Council's installation about the multicultural influences in British art and design. Freaking OUT! So excellent. I finally make my way through the immense maze of the V&A, through all sorts of Asian antiquities and marvelous displays of modern industrial design and technology, to Diane Arbus: Revelations. BETTER THAN POSSIBLY EXPECTED, BRILLIANT AS FUCK. I spent about an hour and a half freaking out quietly, being followed by security guards the whole time, before realizing I was due to meet up with the traveling girls in ten minutes for lunch at Harrod's. I dash out onto the street, and see the most immense and ornate Mormon church (not temple, church) I've ever seen. I dash inside, just to see what's going on, and the very rude front desk man hassles me as to what I'm doing. I say "fuck this shit!" and leave, seeing Harrod's in the distance. After a quick foray into the men's designer sections - where I discover that modern haute design for men is FUGLY SHITE - we get tasty crepes for lunch and split up yet again. Before leaving, I stopped by the Harrod's bookshop and picked up On Suicide by David Hume, Summer in Algiers by Albert Camus, and Jane Austen's Guide to Dating by Lauren Henderson, all of which have since proven to be shockingly marvelous and timely in my life. I head off to Notting Hill, where I immediately stumble upon Retro Man (34 Pembridge Road). SECONDHAND MECCA. I immediately shop till I drop, and emerge with a bag bulging with some of the best thrift scores of my life. I make a quick foray through some charity shops and secondhand bookstores, then decide to head early to the intersection of Buckingham Palace and Victoria streets where I will later meet my traveling companions. Because I realize I'm over an hour early, I visit Westminster Cathedral and get horrified by the intense scowls and darkness of their religious relics. I head back out to the sweet park next to Buckingham Palace and amuse myself with lakeside strolling and Falun Gong at twilight. It is finally time, and I reconvene with everyone to grab dinner. We settle on ASK (160 Victoria Street), where we enjoy fantastic food served by a lazy, rude, inefficient waiter. We tip fifty pence and dash out, horrified at the prospect of missing our flight which leaves in an hour and a half. After a mad dash back to the hotel to collect our things and a frenzied cab race to Waterloo Station, we board the train and begin fervently praying to make it to Stansted Airport on time. Of course, we arrive five minutes after Ryanair has closed boarding, officially 1) putting Ryanair on my permanent shit list and 2) leaving us stranded in Stansted airport with no flights leaving until mid-day Tuesday. Shannon begins to freak out a touch, due to a major brain lab experiment she is leading the next day for the Uni that she cannot miss. Alison and I investigate trains - too expensive - and buses - too slow - and suddenly it dawns on us: we can rent a car!
10 PM MONDAY - 7:30 AM TUESDAY: Alison and I decide that, despite never having 1) driven in the UK 2) driven in a car with right-side controls 3) driven on the wrong side of the fucking road, we're going to brave it because otherwise most darling Shannon will be royally fucked in terms of succeeding with her research position. We grab triple lattes at Costa and run out to our little blue rented Peugeot. After some major troubles learning how to reverse (who the hell knew you pull up the fabric around the damn stick shift to do so!?) we find ourselves on M11, driving into the dark night. The freaking-out slowly dissipates and we find ourselves quite comfortable on the wrong side of the road, shifting with our left hands. We pass through Sherwood Forest ("Robin Hood Country," as the signs told us) and many bizarre radio stations, most of which played either crazy house music or that hot new Madonna single "Hung Up" which immediately got stuck in all of our heads. Once we got onto A68, it was my turn to drive. There are no street lights almost anywhere on A68, and we drove nonstop with the brights on to make up for our pitifully weak headlights - pissing off a whole nation of truckdrivers, but only God needs to forgive sinners, eh? We pass astounding moonlit castles, crazy old Roman towns, and winnying horses that scare the hell out of us during cigarette breaks. Finally, as dawn was breaking, we found ourselves back in Scotland, on the far outskirts of Edinburgh. It was only as the dawn broke that we realized how astoundingly beautiful the land was - immense rolling hills, frightening and imposing energy windmills humming all around us, sweet little houses in the middle of farms. The idyll of the countryside gave forth to Edinburgh, where I discovered how truly terrifying it is to drive here!! We all marveled at how bizarre it was to see the city from the perspective of a car, how weird it was to drive streets you'd normally walk. We pulled up outside my flat on Raldolph Crescent and applauded ourselves for driving nine hours straight and not killing a soul. We went our ways, our hearts full with the greatness of our journey.
Thus endeth my London holiday - unless, of course, you want to count getting a parking ticket I'll never pay while we were parked outside my flat, or my empowering solo drive out to the Edinburgh airport to return our faithful Peugeot to its rightful owners. I spent the rest of the day writing postcards in Princes Street Gardens, reading books, and then going to cell group at King's Church. Who cares if I didn't sleep? Indeed, these are the salad days and I am consuming them wildly, if somewhat lethargically from sleep deprivation.
London! I'll start at the beginning:
FRIDAY: Shannon and I leave Lit class early, with the intention of taking the bus to Glasgow and then to the Prestwick airport to catch a 9 PM flight. The bus finally leaves at 5, taking an hour to get to Glasgow and an additional hour to get out to the middle of nowhere/Prestwick airport. Upon arrival, we discover that Ryanair (the awful discount airline we keep flying on) has just closed the gate and won't let us take our flight. Beyond that, they don't even have another flight going to London for nine hours, and it will cost us an additional £40 to get on the standby list to see if we can get tickets. We curse Ryanair, and after a few minutes of freaking out, we decide to return to Edinburgh and attempt to get a flight out of the Edinburgh airport. A quick train ride, first to Glasgow and then back to Edinburgh, leaves us at Shannon's flat quickly booking EasyJet tickets for six thirty the next morning. Shannon heads off to bed and I head out to see some peeps at CandyBar (113-115 George Street). Upon arrival, I'm told that they're closing and denied admittance. I say "fuck it" and head over to my ol' favorite Halo, where that favorite bartender of mine Callum tells me they're also closing but I should meet him over at Berlin Bierhaus (3 Queensferry Lane) in half an hour. As its roughly thirty seconds from my flat, I oblige, and discover ONE OF THE MOST ROCKING, HOT AFTER-HOURS NIGHTCLUBS IN EDINBURGH. My mouth drops open as I see the two stages, the cheap drinks, the lovely young crowd dancing to latin house with live conga drumming, and I know that everyone should be there. I duck out quickly and dash to my flat, where I proceeded to ring everyone I knew to admonish them to join me at Berlin Bierhaus immediately. In the process, I meet Gloria, this marvelous girl from New York City who happened to be staying with some people in my flat. About five minutes later, Gloria, Alison, and I are in the fantastic club, dancing away and enjoying well-made cocktails and conversation. Soon, Callum joins us, and equally as soon the nightclub closes, which leads Callum to invite us back to his flat on London Street for beers. We oblige and pile into a cab, and head over to one of the sketchiest flats I've seen in this town. We hang out with his equally-sketch housemates for a bit, smoking and drinking and making merry like christmas, admiring Callum's hallucinogen-inspired paintings. Allison and I lean into each other on the couch, forehead-to-forehead, giving each other the fortitude to keep it together despite an extraordinary level of drunkenness. We also discover that, all this time, Callum thought that Alison and I were a married couple, and many years his senior, neither of which are true in the least. Five AM rolls around, and I realize that I need to meet Shannon for the airport ride in twenty minutes, so we run out onto the street and immediately catch a cab back to the flat.
SATURDAY: Ten minutes after arriving at my flat and grabbing my luggage, I'm standing on the corner of Princes and Queensferry streets, highly intoxicated but keeping my shit together. A sleepy Shannon meets me and chides me for my state, but we get on the airporter and whip out books to amuse ourselves with. A relatively unexciting series of buses and airports follow, the most notable aspect being that Shannon felt I was following her around like a puppy. A few hours later, we arrive at Paddington Station and make the quick journey to Hyde Park Court Hotel (48 Norfolk Square, Paddington) where we have procured a very cheap hotel room. We meet up with Rebecca, and I sober up. we celebrate for heading to Yo! Sushi at Paddington Station, where I am blown away by the fantastic chicken katsu and ultra-tasty sashimi. Shannon and Rebecca head out to do the first round of touristy shite, and I return to Hyde Park Court and start doing my spiral-form exploration pattern, wandering around the streets and orienting myself to this bizarre new place I found myself in. London blows me away by how profoundly international its culture is - I think I heard more languages spoken in that time than I have at any other point in my life. I was sold Cadbury chocolate bars by a woman in a near-full veil, and discovered Subway sandwich places that also sold halal curries next to their subs. I wander back to the hotel and sleep while the newly-arrived Alison and my other travel mates head out to the musical Fame! which I thankfully ducked out of.
SUNDAY: Touristy stuff for a bit. Rebecca and I did a dramatic flying leap onto the Circle Line train as the doors were closing and headed off to Embankment Station, where we were greeted by Big Ben and amusing buskers as soon as we stepped outside. We then proceeded to Buckingham Palace, Westminster Abbey, the Royal Mall (luckily not a shopping mall) and a few other relatively unexciting tourist things. In Parliament Square, we saw a barely-clothed man doing extremely aggressive pelvic thrusts and laughed at him - we later discovered that he was actually a very notable protestor who had been living in the square protesting for many years, although if he practices pelvic thrusting in public each moring I think I can see why his crusade has had to last so many years. We then headed to Trafalgar Square, by far one of my favorite parts of the city. We munched on tasty Pret A Manger sandwiches and realized that we had forgotten to Fall Back with our time, which made us gleeful! We then headed out to some markets, where I got a fabulous shirt at an underground boutique and postcards at an outdoor market stand. I also got the Original British Firefighters 2006 calendar, which I am torn as to whether I'll keep or give to Christopher, but time shall tell. Rebecca and I met up with Shannon and Alison at TKTS, gelato in hand, and planned the rest of our days. I headed off to the South, to wander along the Thames and the book sales held under the bridges. On the way, I discovered one of my favorite pastimes - reading on the underground. I finished up Suprised by Joy by C. S. Lewis (inexpressibly marvelous) and discovered as I began eavesdropping that almost everyone in the train was craining to see what I was reading, and was starting to engage in little conversations about Lewis or the forthcoming Narnia books. I felt quite good, having set a bookish mood on the Underground that day! Upon arriving at South Bank, I wandered into a gallery showing photographs of Kurt Cobain and Nirvana, where I saw several taken in, of all places, downtown Olympia! Reeling, I headed off to the Tate Modern. It's now one of my very favorite museums in the world - the turbine room, which currently houses the amazing installation Embankment by Rachel Whiteread, took my breath away completely. Their collection is astounding and quite well-curated, and I spent many hours wandering around. I also developed a taste for Warhol (wonder of wonders!) and finally got to see photographs by Jeff Wall in person. I met the ladies back at the hotel, my heart overflowing with joy at the fun day I'd spent so far. We headed off for dinner - this incredibly astounding little place, Niki Greek Taverna (15 London Street, Paddington) where we wisely sat downstairs in the private section and enjoyed some of the most amazing hummus and lamb dishes I've ever experienced. We left glowing with good red wine and incredibly full of tasty food to meet up with Julia, Alison's German friend who currently interns at one of the big architecture firms in London. We headed off for drinks and a night on the town, and with our faces still rosy returned to the hotel late and passed out.
MONDAY: I get up early and head out to the Victoria and Albert Museum, excited by the prospect of their Diane Arbus: Revelations show. First, though, I wander into their fashion collection, which blows my mind. Who would have known Queen Maude had been so influential to women's fashion? Who knew that Tracey Emin, one of my favorite artists, had a contract to make signature-line luggage? I wander through, starry-eyed, and discover the British Council's installation about the multicultural influences in British art and design. Freaking OUT! So excellent. I finally make my way through the immense maze of the V&A, through all sorts of Asian antiquities and marvelous displays of modern industrial design and technology, to Diane Arbus: Revelations. BETTER THAN POSSIBLY EXPECTED, BRILLIANT AS FUCK. I spent about an hour and a half freaking out quietly, being followed by security guards the whole time, before realizing I was due to meet up with the traveling girls in ten minutes for lunch at Harrod's. I dash out onto the street, and see the most immense and ornate Mormon church (not temple, church) I've ever seen. I dash inside, just to see what's going on, and the very rude front desk man hassles me as to what I'm doing. I say "fuck this shit!" and leave, seeing Harrod's in the distance. After a quick foray into the men's designer sections - where I discover that modern haute design for men is FUGLY SHITE - we get tasty crepes for lunch and split up yet again. Before leaving, I stopped by the Harrod's bookshop and picked up On Suicide by David Hume, Summer in Algiers by Albert Camus, and Jane Austen's Guide to Dating by Lauren Henderson, all of which have since proven to be shockingly marvelous and timely in my life. I head off to Notting Hill, where I immediately stumble upon Retro Man (34 Pembridge Road). SECONDHAND MECCA. I immediately shop till I drop, and emerge with a bag bulging with some of the best thrift scores of my life. I make a quick foray through some charity shops and secondhand bookstores, then decide to head early to the intersection of Buckingham Palace and Victoria streets where I will later meet my traveling companions. Because I realize I'm over an hour early, I visit Westminster Cathedral and get horrified by the intense scowls and darkness of their religious relics. I head back out to the sweet park next to Buckingham Palace and amuse myself with lakeside strolling and Falun Gong at twilight. It is finally time, and I reconvene with everyone to grab dinner. We settle on ASK (160 Victoria Street), where we enjoy fantastic food served by a lazy, rude, inefficient waiter. We tip fifty pence and dash out, horrified at the prospect of missing our flight which leaves in an hour and a half. After a mad dash back to the hotel to collect our things and a frenzied cab race to Waterloo Station, we board the train and begin fervently praying to make it to Stansted Airport on time. Of course, we arrive five minutes after Ryanair has closed boarding, officially 1) putting Ryanair on my permanent shit list and 2) leaving us stranded in Stansted airport with no flights leaving until mid-day Tuesday. Shannon begins to freak out a touch, due to a major brain lab experiment she is leading the next day for the Uni that she cannot miss. Alison and I investigate trains - too expensive - and buses - too slow - and suddenly it dawns on us: we can rent a car!
10 PM MONDAY - 7:30 AM TUESDAY: Alison and I decide that, despite never having 1) driven in the UK 2) driven in a car with right-side controls 3) driven on the wrong side of the fucking road, we're going to brave it because otherwise most darling Shannon will be royally fucked in terms of succeeding with her research position. We grab triple lattes at Costa and run out to our little blue rented Peugeot. After some major troubles learning how to reverse (who the hell knew you pull up the fabric around the damn stick shift to do so!?) we find ourselves on M11, driving into the dark night. The freaking-out slowly dissipates and we find ourselves quite comfortable on the wrong side of the road, shifting with our left hands. We pass through Sherwood Forest ("Robin Hood Country," as the signs told us) and many bizarre radio stations, most of which played either crazy house music or that hot new Madonna single "Hung Up" which immediately got stuck in all of our heads. Once we got onto A68, it was my turn to drive. There are no street lights almost anywhere on A68, and we drove nonstop with the brights on to make up for our pitifully weak headlights - pissing off a whole nation of truckdrivers, but only God needs to forgive sinners, eh? We pass astounding moonlit castles, crazy old Roman towns, and winnying horses that scare the hell out of us during cigarette breaks. Finally, as dawn was breaking, we found ourselves back in Scotland, on the far outskirts of Edinburgh. It was only as the dawn broke that we realized how astoundingly beautiful the land was - immense rolling hills, frightening and imposing energy windmills humming all around us, sweet little houses in the middle of farms. The idyll of the countryside gave forth to Edinburgh, where I discovered how truly terrifying it is to drive here!! We all marveled at how bizarre it was to see the city from the perspective of a car, how weird it was to drive streets you'd normally walk. We pulled up outside my flat on Raldolph Crescent and applauded ourselves for driving nine hours straight and not killing a soul. We went our ways, our hearts full with the greatness of our journey.
Thus endeth my London holiday - unless, of course, you want to count getting a parking ticket I'll never pay while we were parked outside my flat, or my empowering solo drive out to the Edinburgh airport to return our faithful Peugeot to its rightful owners. I spent the rest of the day writing postcards in Princes Street Gardens, reading books, and then going to cell group at King's Church. Who cares if I didn't sleep? Indeed, these are the salad days and I am consuming them wildly, if somewhat lethargically from sleep deprivation.