On my way

The view from which I've been the most breath-taken by London is the one I get when getting places. 

I'm still trying to figure out how to capture that feeling of breathlessness and I'm still not great at remembering to snap photos in those moments. But here are some pictures from my walk down the Thames to the Tate Modern. (I live about a three minute walk from the river and I get to cross it everyday on my walk to class.) 

 I tried to take a picture of the pack of 14-year-old girls fighting over candy while smoking cigarettes but they squealed away too quickly.

There was construction on the path along the river so I had to walk down to the bank. Even the criminals in London are in love. 

Rachel's dad's colleague invited us to his home in Hampstead for breakfast. We got there early (which was really, really early--we were expected at 9 a.m.) so we had just enough time to fall completely in love with their neighborhood. 

My photos don't do it any kind of justice. If you're ever in London, you must go to Hampstead. (Home of Jude Law, Sienna Miller, Emma Thompson, George Michael (when he's not in prison). The couple's daughter had a friend over for breakfast--her family's landlord is Ozzy Osbourne.)

British humor, British threats

Muhammed saves the day

Rachel and two of our new friends (Chelsea and Molly--I told you we had some) set out this morning to see Windsor Castle.

Windsor Castle. Photo credit: not me.

I set out with them, my objective being to charm my way into Windsor Castle (hoping I'd have more luck than I did with the guards at Parliament) because if only I could get inside, I'd then charm whoever hangs out there into giving Rachel and me tickets to the Royal Wedding. I put on my lip rouge, straightened my hair, drank my soy latte and warmed up my famous eye-lock so I'd be fit for a queen.

My famous eye-lock

We got to the train station, had a few laughs over the strange candy stand called "Humbug: Suck it and see," and walked with conviction to Ticket Salesman Window 5, ready to talk discounts. "We want to go to Windsor Castle. What's the cheapest way for us to do that?" we asked Muhammed, our ticket salesman.

"Windsor is closed," Muhammed told us, with conviction.

"What?"

"The state apartment is closed until the 21st."

We exchanged some disappointed glances and tried to explain to Muhammed that we wanted to go to Windsor Castle, with an implied expectation that he make it re-open.

"Have you been to Hampton Court? You should go there," Muhammed said. Then he pulled out a fancy brochure that looked like it contained coupons and pictures of Disney Land.

"Okay, we'll go there! You're the man, Muhammed!"

"Bring me back pictures!" Muhammed said, as we dropped our quid into the quid slot.

It turns out Hampton Court isn't Disney Land, but who needs Mickey and Jasmine when you have the actually-slept-in bed of Henry VIII?

When he wasn't eating, killing people, or starring in a Showtime series, this is where Henry VIII slept.

His bedroom ceiling. My glow-in-the-dark sticky stars are better, IMHO.

On our way up the stairs.

Their backyard. Only thing it's missing is my backyard's cool fire pit. Sucks for them... 

Once we finished exploring the castle and talking about how much better we would be at Princess-ing than the princesses of the past, we met the nicest Italian man who directed us to the best pizza in town. Too bad it wasn't in town...

On our way to the bus stop, to catch a ride to Kingston, the next town over.

We got to Kingston, found our pizza shop, didn't speak for a while so we could properly inhale our food, bought some Cow costumes that double as footy pajamas, and took the train home.

Muhammed saved the day.

It's been a week and we're still alive and we're not broke (yet)

Our first week in London is coming to its end. So far, so wonderful. 

We've spent our days laughing too loudly to the jokes made by our university's faculty members (who are all apparently professors/administrators by day, stand-up comics by night) during study abroad orientation meetings, walking miles and miles throughout the city (stopping every couple of hours for a cup of tea or shared meal of Indian food), and spending time with family and new friends (I swear we're in the process making some--despite my photos being of only Rachel, myself, and strangers).

Here are a few thoughts I've had in the process:

Rachel and I were destined for the pub culture. Sing-alongs are welcome, bar tenders sometimes change into Buzz Lightyear costumes, good conversation and better company is the objective, and it's all over by 11 p.m.

So many people in London are in love and those who are in love are really in love.  

According to Archie (cousin here), London, as a working culture, is the most similar to the United States--the only significant difference being their standard 25 days of paid vacation relative to our 10 days of paid vacation. It's what deters Londoners from moving to the States. We need to change that--you're supposed to work to live, not live to work. 

There's a weird gambling chain here (it looks like a CVS but contains much more excitement than the sale of gum and prescriptions) called LadBrokes. Silly, right?!

They like me here! 

What it looks like when Rach crosses the street here.

At an American style diner in Notting Hill. Everything was pretty accurate, except their portion sizes and...

...this! $18 for a box of Fruit Loops. 

Across the street from Parliament--a bunch of peace protesters, camped there since the British invasion of Iraq. 

Westminster Abbey

Probably the least silly of the photos we took outside of Parliament. Not shown: our yoga poses and cartwheels.

And again.

Sunny day in Londontown

Green Park

On tap for this week: a trip to Windsor, a trip to Canterbury, visits with some old friends who are in town, continued exploration, see a show, attend a service at Westminster, find free meals.

(Dad, next time I'm with Archie and Cashel, I promise I'll take a picture!)

I've always taken milk in my tea!

After flying first on a silly Canadian toy-like plane and then on a serious Canadian ship-like plane, Rachel and I landed in London Monday morning.

The silly one.

We were met at the airport by my cousin Archie. I hadn't seen him since I was six-years-old--we found him holding a "Libby Ashton" sign at arrivals. I've always known him to be my hilarious British cousin who designed one of Eminem's CD covers and, as it turns out, he's even cooler than I remembered.


Other than taking total advantage of my family in London, Rachel and I have explored it.

Unabashedly: Our first stop in London--and the last cup of Starbucks coffee I'll have for a few months. It's terrible here.

Rachel outside of her "local," says Archie.

Me, inside her local (we tried to capture the pub's feel, not my pensiveness. That's just an added bonus!)

We stumbled upon this chapel while we were exploring our primary academic building.

Our walk down the Strand, on our way to dinner at my Aunt Janet's.

All I know so far is that the city makes me feel what Harry Potter makes me feel--old, wizardly magic.