United Kingdom

A few weeks ago I went across that good old English Channel to see London… and visit some friends. See, thanks to that crazy wonderful odyssey program Hendrix has, three of my friends (Jed, Jacob, and Brian) received funding to research the Parthenon. As some crazy British guy once took pieces of the Parthenon and brought them back to Britain, claiming them for everything English, part of their trip was to go through London, to see these pieces on display in the British Museum. I bought a Eurolines ticket, caught a bus at 7 one morning and then I was off! The bus really wasn't that bad. I have taken a greyhound before and I think the best term to describe that would be sketchy. Eurolines, however, felt much more… I'm going to go with the term "safe" here. Really, though, it wasn't that bad. I manage to sleep most of the way with a slight break for customs. Customs for Britain are ridiculous.

Picture this: We pulled up to where we were to go through the chunnel and then proceeded to go through so many check points. First there was the French checkpoint where they just asked for our passports and nothing really happened. Then came the Brits. We had a German busdriver and a very random collection of nationalities. The driver got on the intercom and said in his best, slow, incredibly over enunciated German, that we were to get off the bus with all of our luggage. We listened, went through another round of security, got back on the bus and then moved onto the next stop. Here, in the same exact German, we were asked to bring with us only our passports. So we go up to the little counters with these very bored looking people sitting behind them. Anyone with an EU passport was let through immediately. I was handed a form and told to go stand at a table in the corner to fill it out. It essentially asked me why I was going to the UK, where I was going to stay and when I was going to come back. No biggie. So I filled it out and then headed to the little counter again, pleased that I spoke English and would not have to navigate through this in a foreign language. This turned out to be a good thing as they spit-fired questions at me:

"Where are you going?"
"London."
"What are you going to do there?"
"Visit some friends and see the sights."
"Where are you staying?"
"With a friend."
"Who?"
"Harper" (a Hendrix grad who did not receive the Watson, but got the Walker Fellowship that let her still follow through with part of her project and was funding her stay in London. Also, take a look at Harper's cool Hawaiian couch)

"And where does she live?"
"I have it written down somewhere."
"How are you going to get in touch with her?"
"She's meeting me at the station."
"How long are you going to be in the UK?"
"Till Sunday."
"Did you already buy your tickets to come back?"
"Yes."
"Can I see them?"
"Okay."
"So you live in France?"
"Yes."
"When did you get there?"
"Mid September."
"What are you doing there?"
"I am a student."
"Do you have proof?"
"Yes, here's my student ID."
"So when are you going back to the states?"
"June."
"Not before then?"
"No."
"Okay."

Finally they determined that I was not a threat to the general population and let me through. The bus boarded a train which took us through the Chunnel and over to England!

The bus on your left, train wall on your right:

We arrived a lot later than anticipated, but that was okay because Harper had trouble finding the right bus station (located on Buckingham Palace Road). She brought me along to see some of her favorite spots in London, my first glimpse of Big Ben, Hyde Park, the Palace, and so on and so forth.

Les Bourgeois de Calais de Rodin! except a copy in England so The Burgher's of Calais by Rodin!

And the Thames...

the palace

walking to the palace

the park

the cold bird at the park

It was really nice, but also really cold as it continued to get darker. So we went ahead and left for her apartment. We went out to eat at the place that serves "the best pizza in all of London" and it was really good. Although that could have been because I hadn't had pizza since I had been over here. Some English TV and guide book flipping later, I was asleep on a Hawaiian couch and left the next day to wander around a bit by myself. I went to St. Paul's Cathedral, which was beautiful on the outside, but too expensive inside.

I found a bridge, crossed the Thames. I found Tower Bridge from there and went up in it, taking in the view.

and just for you Daddy, here are the pumps that make it, in layman's terms, go up and down

The acutal Tower of London with the crown jewels. Only it closes a lot earlier than you'd think. Next time, I suppose.

And Trafalgar Square

Then I ended up in front of the Globe (you know, Shakespeare's Globe). And what do you know, there was a festival going on, the Frost Fair. Apparently this used to happen every year at this time because the Thames would freeze over and the festival would be held on the ice. Thanks to global warming, the festival was on the banks. It offered a Christmas market much like in Lille, except this Christmas market had a bar carved out of ice and entertainment on the stage.

A bear ice sculpture!

A bar ice sculpture!

There were also husky dog races and a movie tent that was HEATED. I took advantage of this tent while I was waiting for Sylvie to get home.

You see, for the next two nights, I was staying Chez Sylvie. I used the wonderful site www.couchsurfing.com to find someone who would be willing to put me up for the two nights that I was to be in London. Sylvie responded saying that she would be happy to. We exchanged numbers and directions. I showed up at her apartment with a gift of some very nice bread and my booksack. She let me in, fed me, and invited me out that night. I turned her down as I was pretty exhausted and would be heading out early to meet up with the boys from Hendrix. When she found out just how early I'd be leaving she agreed that I should go ahead and stay in. She showed me to my lovely couch with it's view of the city and then got me situated: pillow, blankets, showing me how to use the electric shower. She also gave me directions on how to get to the British Museum, said that she'd see me tomorrow, and left.

Did I mention that all of this was in French? Because, en fait, Sylvie is French. She studied abroad in London for one year, returned to France to finish school, and then came back to London. Seven years later, she is a French teacher there and loves it. We talked quite a bit about language (especially switching from one to another) during supper and the next night before bed. As strange as it sounds, it was a relief to come home to French. I know that my English had been suffering a bit, but I was still surprised to find how hard the switch was. French was just more… comfortable. Weird, huh?

Anyway after leaving her apartment in the early morning time, I found the hostel that the guys were staying at and sat down on the inside only to discover a message on my phone. Jed had called saying that they would be late by about half an hour. Or maybe longer. I decided to walk around and found myself a nice little park with one of those fountains that come out of the ground. I spent a while munching on the pains au chocolats I had brought from Lille and watched as the water gurgled and threatened to spray up at any second. I kept waiting for the drinking birds to be taken completely by surprise, especially the one-legged pigeon. I would feel bad for that but with me getting see Jed, well, if anyone knows what Jed and I are like, they'll understand. So after an appropriate amount of time, I headed back to the hostel and went inside the tiny lobby area, hugged the radiator and essentially memorized the maps they had posted on the wall. (by the way, I really enjoyed navigating the underground; it's just a giant logic puzzle. Except color-coded. Or, rather, colour-coded) While I was staring impatiently at the walls, I thought I heard Jacob's voice outside. Nope, I was certain it was his voice. I tried to restrain myself, to stay inside until they actually opened the door. But that plan failed and I rushed out the door pretty much into them. Good thing, too, because apparently they were debating if this was in fact the right hostel.

Then it was time for some good hang-out-with-friends time. In London. We met up with some of Brian's friends that he knew from studying abroad in Manchester the year before. And we ran around, seeing cool things and whatnot.

British Museum, being one of thos cool things we saw.

It houses the Rosetta stone. That's right.

Jacob!

After the Museum, we walked around a bit and got to this view from the Tate

Then walked around some more and saw these lovely people

And these not so lovely (but incredibly funny) people

and an elephant

So I had thought really hard about paying to enter the Globe on Thursday and eventually decided to go in, but to wait until Saturday. Plus, there were these prostester's outside and I didn't want to steal their thunder.

My favorite sign was "ban the bard!"

Well, lucky me, the Globe was actually free for the weekend because of the festival. Sunday morning before catching my bus, we went over to that magical spot.

It was incredible. There were people dressed in time period costumes doing things like telling you to touch Shakespeare's right cheek before going in. Or waving their hand in front of your face and saying in a mysterious tone, "Shakespeare!" Or so many other jobs that I would love to have for a bit. Upon entering, I think my jaw just kind of dropped and stayed down there for a bit. After I managed to pick it back up and focus my eyes a bit, I saw that a group of musicians were playing on the stage and that people were just sort of exploring the whole area. So I followed suit.

Brian:

Jed:

I did have the opportunity to go on stage earlier, but when a lady is calling out, "Who wants to recite Shakespeare on stage!" to a giant group of people I kind of froze. I wish I would have done it, but there is something nice about watching it as well, especially when it is said with an English accent. Lovely. Amazing. I let the English nerd come out that day.

Then I awkwardly said goodbye and hopped a bus with another German driver. Did the whole passport thing. It was a lot simpler this time—the controllers just picked up the troubling passports (read: non EU), looked at them, then handed them all back to the driver. Turns out my last name has an interesting ring to it when read by a German. The ride back was worse. I was ready to get home and it was taking forever. When I finally saw that crane dressed up in blinky Christmas lights I was so ready to be back. It's weird how quickly you can get attached to a place. And how much I had missed French.