Good Ole London Town

I haven’t written in a while and it hasn’t been for a shortage of things to say but for the lack of appropriate words to express myself. I’ve had opportunities I’d never dreamed of and crossed lots off my bucket list. Since I last wrote I’ve travelled this continent including new parts of England. I’ve been to Italy, Sicily (my second trip to Italy), the Czech Republic and Croatia. I’ve been zorbing in Dorchester (picture me rolling down a hill in a big plastic ball), gone hiking in Cornwall and strolled the streets of Oxford. While all these experiences are worthy of more than just a mention, tonight my thoughts and admiration are focused on London town.

Very few days go by that I do not find myself utterly amazed at the life I lead. It’s not glamorous but it’s my definition of fabulous. I am consistently swept away by this place; the people, the accents, the sense of humor, the clothes, even the disappointing weather and taste of food. I love the culture, the history, the country, and the freedom I feel here. I once was told London is great because it has four proper seasons. That’s a lie, although my British friends would argue, “There was a summer … it lasted four days.” However, there is one point that is undeniable – all four seasons are properly celebrated. Spring brings ice cubes and summer drinks like Pimms (a liquor served with real fruit chunks and “lemonade” also known as American Sprite) and Elderflower Water (a cordial with mint leaves which is also mixed with “lemonade”). Summer brings chilly days with patches of rain or an occasional storm and lots of bare mid-drifts and butt cheeks. Yet despite the weather there’s an excitement in the air of weekend music festivals and outdoor movies. On sunny Friday afternoons hard working Londoners fill the local High Street pubs. People spill onto the sidewalks with their pints and fags (yes, still a common expression for a cigarette here). As I observe the scene I can’t help but appreciate the British commitment to relaxation and socialization.

I love the sounds of the city: squeaky breaks, horns honking, and lovers quarrelling - all just outside my open bedroom windows. It’s at these moments that I realize I love this city.

As my program is drawing to an end I’m faced with the hard decision: do I stay or do I go? All I can hope is either way I will always appreciate the little things that make this place all that Samuel Johnson promised it would be.

A Friendly Match

Tuesday evening some London friends and I bought tickets to attend the England/Ghana football (American soccer) match at Wembley Stadium. We decided to meet around 5:30 and eat since the match wasn't until 8. However, we still managed to be a little late. I've decided being late is a way of life for me in London. Distance travel and time are concepts I can't seem to fully grasp and understand here.

The spring forward time change happens several weeks after the change at home and just took place on Sunday. It's nice to have another hour of sunlight in the evenings and it was breathtaking walking up to the already iconic stadium with the sun setting around it. Once in our seats we were able the enjoy the match. We were in a mixed crowd area in the nosebleed section but the view was good. I never quite understood the term "friendly" match. I knew it didn't count for points but I had no idea that people would be cheering both ways. One guy had his face painted with the Ghana flag on one side and the England flag on the other. Many people wore scarves with each team on different ends, cheering for whoever was doing best at the moment. So many Americans are such die hard fans of the team they support that even the "friendliest" of matches could get messy. However, the 80,000 plus fans in the stadium Tuesday night just seemed happy to be there enjoying a very pleasant atmosphere.

After a hard fight from both teams England managed to score in the last minutes of the first half. My heart was a little disheartened having chosen to pull for Ghana (quite obviously for those of you who know me well); however, the whole place roared - Ghana fans included. I couldn't help but feel and enjoy the excitement. The second half was a hard fight between both teams and some very close goals for both sides. With four minutes to spare many people started to leave in order to beat the crowds to the tube station. However, a friend suggested we test our chances and stick it out until the end of the game. Two minutes later Ghana player, Asamoah Gyan, kicked a tricky goal kick and by a stoke of luck the ball soared straight by the England goalie into the awaiting net below making the score England 1 Ghana 1. The whole place roared, Ghana flags were flown and dances were done. The game ended with a tie making both sides happy and friendlier than ever.

I must admit the thought of 80,000 celebrating fans rushing toward the same tube line was a little overwhelming when leaving the stadium but the area planners and traffic officials had done a wonderful job designing and leading the crowds and effectively getting people safely out of the area and to home sweet home. Granted, the ride was rather tight and several arm pits were unintentionally shoved into faces, bad breathe was smelled and some accidentally passed bodily gasses; but all can be expected when traveling at a busy time on public transport.

Now that I've gotten my feet wet with European football, maybe I'm ready to brave a not so friendly local team game. Should the opportunity present itself I’d be hard pressed to turn it down.


Pictures by my boyfriend, Eastern Boy

“Are you a horny person?” A Southern Girl’s Experience in Ireland

This past weekend I took the opportunity to visit my good high school friend, Blondie, in western Ireland where she is student teaching this semester. The adventure started on Thursday morning when another friend from London and I boarded a Ryanair flight from London to the Shannon airport. The weekend was jam packed with shocking, surprising and hilarious experiences. However, I'll try to share only the best with you.

The Irish people are by far some of the friendliest people I have ever met. Being from the southern United States I experienced major culture shock when I realized Londoners don't talk to strangers. I often miss the random conversation with someone while standing in the line at the grocery store; but the Irish are the opposite and the change was quite pleasant.

The first night we spent in Limerick in a wonderful four star hotel, located within walking distance of the city center, where we had received a very great deal (hint - allowing us to stay within our student budget). Being it was St. Paddy's day we decide to follow Irish tradition and have a pint. The first bar we entered we could have heard a needle drop when we walked in (it is very much a local bar and we very obviously were not locals). We turned around, without getting a pint, and tripped on a few baby strollers on our way out the door. The second bar didn't serve food (something we all wanted desperately) and looked a little like it had an "underage" crowd, but the third pub was the charm! We probably would have missed it since it was hidden down a little side alley if the Irish music hadn't been spilling into the street luring us in. Inside the room was small and dimly lit but was the definition of what I always pictured as an Irish pub. All the tables were taken so we decided to gather in a back corner and wait. The first men to offer us the seats were probably old enough to be our grandfathers (however, we had the feeling they'd rather be our lovers). Sweet as it was, we didn't realize when we accepted the table that they would be joining us for the pint. Between the music and their slurred Irish accent (from old age, lack of teeth and far too much Guinness no doubt) the whole scene was rather comical. Somewhere between "please take our seat, I can't stand to leave a pretty lady standing" to "I'm a professional, can I take your picture" (with their point and shoot camera) to "can I have your email? I'll send you the pictures" we decided it was time to go. Giggling we walked around exploring Limerick before deciding it was safe to go back - thankfully they were gone. When we walked back in it was clear that everyone else in the bar knew that we were the American girls who had sat at the old men's table. I’ve had friends tell me that St. Pat’s in Ireland is not as big of a deal we make it in the States, but I must say I was not disappointed in the least. It was everything I expected and much more.

Now I’ve mentioned before that the London weather and my immune system don’t really get along and before this weekend the spring blooms had already set my allergies on full alert. Over the course of the weekend my symptoms worsened and between my spring cough and talking over Irish tunes I have completely lost my voice. Friday morning we took a bus to Listowel, my high school friend’s current “home” location. Listowel is one of the most pleasant places I have ever been. It’s quaint, bustling but quiet, surrounded by gorgeous landscapes, and decorated with bright colorful houses and shops.

Blondie has a lovely one bedroom flat in the city center and during her time she has become friends with the employees of the local bar across the street. She took us over to meet them on Friday evening. Over the course of the evening we found many of the (again) older local men chatting us up. And all of them had the cure for my struggling voice. My favorite advice came from a man with a thick Irish accent. He told us the same two stories (around 20 times) about when he’d been ill and the home remedies which worked for him. When the hot whiskey and honey he’d bought me didn’t do the trick on the spot he suggested I go to the local health food store and buy some honey. He insisted that the honey was made by “turbo bees” and that the bee farmers must give them extra “turbo” vitamins (when I questioned what turbo vitamins were he exclaimed “well I don’t know but they work!”) because they were the miracle drug. He caught me off guard when he paused and asked very seriously, “Are you a horny person?” My face displayed total shock for a good five seconds when the bartender said, “honey” and we all burst into fits of laughter. The difference in accent proved to be comical more than once.

Saturday we made our way back to Limerick for the night to be closer to the airport for our flight the next day. We weren’t as lucky to stay at the same place as before but found the budget hotel clean, comfortable and a good distance outside of the city center. I should pause here to explain Limerick doesn’t have the best reputation of Irish cities and is often referred to as a place a little rough around the edges. The teachers had warned Blondie and we were being careful but had had no problems so far. We decided to brave the less than reliable bus system (I feel so blessed to live in London where transport is so readably available, even if I curse it on many occasions). When the bus was 10 minutes late we should have given up and hailed a taxi, but determination had set in and we were patiently waiting when a car of teenage boys pulled up to the bus stop. They rolled down the window but said nothing. We heard a pop and they stared shocked at us before speeding off. It took us a moment to process what had happened and notice the smashed egg on Blondie’s leg. Now most people would be furious at the situation (and maybe it was lack of good sleep we had suffered over the last couple of days or the complete irony in the situation) but we just began to laugh and couldn’t stop. We kept replaying the occurrence – the boys’ shocked (maybe even disappointed) faces and our lack of reaction until after they’d gone were too much. We were walking to the nearest gas station to clean up the mess when the bus showed up (figures)! However, the evening was far from ruined and we sucked up our pride and decided to ask the gas station attendant to call a taxi instead. Dinner more than made up for the “bad eggs” (and yes, that is a pun). We chose a lovely little sit down restaurant with a very pleasant and attentive waiter who served us a chicken salad bread cracker hors d'oeuvres (compliments of the chef), homemade bread with homemade tomato butter, potato leek soup and a side house salad with balsamic vinegar dressing (extra for me; the waiter seemed to giggle every time I mentioned this request). And for dessert we decided to share, with his recommendation, carrot cake and thoroughly enjoyed wiping the plate completely clean. One more taxi ride back to the hotel, a good night’s sleep and a perfect end to a great weekend full of memories with good friends to last a lifetime.

Are We Ever Alone?

Technology has always been an important part of my generation’s life experience. When I was three Dad brought home our first home computer. I remember how I loved pushing the keys and how I was banned from doing so once it was set up in the office. The screen was green and it was clear that it was “not a toy” and definitely not one of my toys. Then came the rush of technology: bag car phones, dial-up internet, beepers, mobile phones (the ones that fit in your pocket), DSL and today there is so much more! So, I only vaguely remember a time when I wasn’t completely and utterly “connected” to anyone at any point of time. However, after a frustrating day I was sitting by myself in my room and I felt the sudden urge to be alone. I needed to get out. It was then that I started to realize that while I was completely alone in my room I didn’t feel that way. I was sharing the room with people virtually invading my space – friends chatted with me on Facebook, Gmail and Skype, e-mails and virtual messages flooded my inboxes (yes, plural) and my cell phone was just sitting there waiting to vibrate with a call or message. I needed to get away from all of it.

Putting on my jacket and shoes I couldn’t help but debate whether I should leave my cell at home. “What if I need it? Why would I need it? I’m just going for a walk.” I wasn’t sure I could “disconnect” myself from my “virtual” world.

England is one of the most watched countries in the world. London is completely “watched” by CCTV cameras. During my walk I spotted a CCTV camera on almost every corner. Some person in a room full of screens was probably watching my “alone” time and wondering why I just kept walking up and down the same (well lit) street in my neighborhood. I couldn’t help but think about it until the point that I realized maybe being truly alone isn’t a luxury that is available any more (at least in the modern world).

For my Sustainable Cities course I was required to go to the EcoBuild conference and attend a seminar as part of my research for the course. I chose to take part in a section titled “Reinventing Cities – looking to the future.” One of the speakers was an American academic anthropologist who is teaching at a leading University in Central London. He spoke about how our “digital” world is now our center and the elements (he suggested social, natural surroundings and spiritual lives) of our lives are in some way being related back to technology. Internet is available on phones, computers, free wifi computer spots around a city, and cyber cafes. We use the internet to find directions instead of using maps (and why not when it removes the need to think; Google even supplies pictures of the final destination and what to see along the way). We use the internet to create 3-D spaces and worlds; games that transport us to another time and place, online experiences that create an escape without even leaving the bedroom (or bed for that matter)!

There is even an application that allows your phone to connect to a server and post personal information about your whereabouts at any particular time to all your “social worlds.” “Joe Blow has just checked-in to INSERT YOUR FAVORITE LOCATION HERE.” Not even mentioning Joe Blow becomes virtual friends with anyone who sends him a request. Frankly, I find it all a little bit disturbing.

Since living in one of the most popular tourist destinations I have begun to wonder just how many times I am randomly photographed a day as part of someone’s holiday memories or maybe I’m doing something out of some other culture’s ordinary and someone grabs a camera phone to snap a shot and show friends. Did you know that Big Ben is the most photographed place in the world (which I find humorous since Big Ben is really just the machine that runs the clock and not the clock itself, but I digress)? The speaker also drew on this point before concluding that my generation really doesn’t know how to be alone or what it means to be alone. He also acknowledged that future generations are going to lose this concept of being alone or disconnected all together.

When I moved to Columbia for undergrad one of my biggest struggles was being in the city and not having a quiet place of my own. In high school I would enjoy going for a drive out to High Bridge or the old abandoned river lock just to sit, read, write, and think. My mom also reminded me of how I would go sit on my swing set everyday after school in first grade and just … be. This was time I looked forward to and valued. So is having time alone something people still value? How can we re-insert this concept back into the technology age? Where can we go to be alone? Where do you go to be alone?

I Went to Harrods and All I Could Do was Go to the Loo

It’s true! While a good high school friend was visiting this past weekend we added a visit to Harrods to our list of “must do” things. I had been resisting the urge due to my ever-dwindling bank account (and my desire to travel instead of shop). I quickly learned I had no need to worry. The cheapest dress I found still costs more than a month’s rent so there was no chance of getting swept away (so to say). However, we were able to make our way up the Egyptian staircase to the “Loo” (toilets termed by the Brits). The public bathrooms were nicer (and cleaner) than my own. I even had to resist the urge to sit. We washed our hands in the marble basin and giggled when she asked, “so have you had enough?” “I have if you have,” I replied.

While over all London is the expensive city it is known to be, there are exceptions to the rules. One of my favorite places to shop is Camden Market. There are rows and rows of craft jewelry, scarves, vintage clothing, old books and china sets, posters, etc. The list is endless. However, what makes Camden rank first on my list of markets is the stall after stall of food vendors; where I do believe almost every continent is represented. There is Mexican, Chinese, Indian, Italy, American, Moroccan and so much more. The entrance to the food market is always crowed with over zealous tourists who can’t wait to satisfy their taste buds; but I always stroll to the back (taking an odd sample here and there) where the crowds and the prices are less. On most days the friendly attendees will offer a deal on a meal and a drink just to make a sale. These, in my opinion, are the gems of the market.

Another market I’ve just discovered is within a five to ten minute walking distance of my new abode. The Borough Market is mainly produce that is home grown, organic and absolutely beautiful. Free samples are given on many items and I enjoy walking around sampling different olive oils, breads and baked goodies. On Saturday I was brave enough to try a hot breakfast sandwich called a “Bubble Bap.” This is British bacon (not to be confused with the crispy American bacon, this is most definitely country ham), cheese, eggs and “bubble” (mashed potato and spinach). I think I would have enjoyed the sandwich much more if the chunks of burnt potatoes had been left out of the mix, but it’s all part of the experience, right?

There is a small area down the street from the Green Park tube and located right outside the gate of the park where local artists set up shop to sell their artwork. Most of the paintings and photos are images of the popular London areas. However, there is one artist in particular who has captured my interest. He paints unique abstract art that represent all areas of London and are targeted more for the “Londoner’s” perspective of the city as opposed to a visitor’s view. I can in no way say that I have earned the right to call myself a “Londoner” but as soon as I saw the picture I understood it and loved it. I want that painting and if it’s still available when I’m working then consider it mine!

The more time I spend in this great city the more I appreciate all these little places I am able to enjoy, even on my tight budget. So move over Harrods, you have some competition!

Star Light, Star Bright, First Star I See Tonight

Tonight the sky was clear for the first time in a long while. As I waited on the train platform at the Kingston Station I was able to see the moon - a beautiful quarter crescent - and the North Star. The sight looked like a slightly rearranged South Carolina state flag, although the image is a little different from this view. As I looked up into the cold night air I was reminded of the song Mom would often sing to me growing up. She’d push my bangs back as she stroked my forehead (which I loved and absolutely hated when her arm got tired and she had to stop) and sing

I see the moon and the moon sees me
The moon sees the ones that I long to see
So God bless the moon and God bless me
God bless the ones that I long to see

I remember many instances when I was growing up where I’d be away from her and she would say, “Look out the window. Do you see the moon? I’m looking at the same moon right now. So we aren’t so far away from each other.” On one stubborn occasion I pouted, “No, it’s cloudy” to which she replied, “Well it’s there and we are both under it.” The thought of sharing one moon has always seemed to comfort me. As the years have gone by I have always remembered this and while I don’t always call home to hear it from her, the thought still brings me comfort.

Lately I’ve suffered from brief attacks of homesickness; most of them only last mere moments before I push the thoughts out of my mind and refuse to dwell on missing home. Many of these moments are triggered by the silliest things, for example, when I am not able to find a particular item - when I could name the exact store aisle at home. Then finally when I find what I’m looking for and it’s three times more than my home store price. Then I am presented with a dilemma, standing in the store staring at my much desired item and thinking “How much do I really want/need this item?” which eventually changes to “If I could only pop home, grab what I need, and pop back.” As quickly as the thought enters my head I send it packing right back out again. Still, pushing the desire to shop out of my head is much easier than pushing out the thought of my much missed family and friends.

As I enjoyed this nice clear sky, I couldn’t help but feel comforted by the thought that tonight when all the people I love dearly look up we will be staring at the same beautiful sight. So to all of you at home who I miss so much – I wish you a clear night too.

Snapshots of Marrakesh

Day One

We stepped off the airport bus into a crowded square of people hustling and bustling to sell homemade items, give horse driven carriage rides, take pictures with camels, snakes and traditionally dressed Moroccans. Our faces must have shown how overloaded our minds were trying to process (or maybe it was the group of white tourists with travel backpacks, suitcases and a map that gave us away – I guess we will never know) because we were suddenly swarmed by a dozen people offering to give us directions for a small finder’s fee. Typically, unsuspecting tourists see all these people gracious to help only to be told at the destination point that their services are going to cost 20 to 50 dirham (the current dirham to dollar exchange rate is about 9 dirham to the dollar); we were no different. We weaved our way through the busy square, dodging cars and motorized bicycles (yes, they had petals and motors – pretty clever) following the directions given to us by the hostel. Walk to the big square, find the big Coca Cola sign and take a left, then a right after Café de France, another right at the end of the alley, go through two Moroccan archways and take the first right after the second archway. No street names were given and they wouldn’t have helped anyway. We followed the last direction right down a dark stone ally (a little leery about whether this was where we were suppose to be) and found our way to house number 40. A quick knock on the door and we were welcomed into a rather dark hallway which lead into a candle lit den area. We sat on brightly colored sofas and floor cushions and were served our first tastes of Moroccan tea.

The hostel was lovely all around; the staff was welcoming and greeted us by name, the décor was exactly what I was expecting from an Moroccan household, the rooms were cozy and clean. The one downside, the bathrooms were a little rough, but hey, you can’t have it all.

Our first Moroccan meal was from a little restaurant on the edge of the big crazy square and was recommended to us by our hostel. One of the traditional dishes in Morocco is cooked in a tajine. A tajine is a clay pot with a lid and is heated over an open fire with different meats and vegetables inside. For about £3 we received a personal tajine dinner, bread and a coke. The meal was cooked to perfection, the meat was tender, the seasonings were delicious and the vegetables seemed to melt in my mouth. It was wonderful!

Day Two

We set out early to explore the city of Marrakesh. Map in hand we determined that the best way to find the souks (the shopping area of the square) would be to take a right off the main road. Not only were we lost within a matter of moments, but we also looked lost and had a map! It didn’t take long before a “helpful” man decided to show us the way to the tannery (a place none of us especially wanted to visit or could really understand why anyone would want to. We would much rather buy our leather bags in ignorant bliss in the comfort of the souks shopping area, without seeing the animals being dismembered). We followed for a good fifteen or twenty minutes before we realized maybe following an unknown man down dusty alleys was not the best way to find the area we most desired (plus, the unknown cost for his services was likely to be more than our student budgets). To our unwanted tour guide’s disappointment we were able to escape and found ourselves outside the city walls. We walked around the city until we were back at the entrance to the square where we found that just on the other side was the entrance to the souks. We had taken the scenic route for sure!

Morocco is a rich country in spices, oils and much more. The craftsmanship of their homemade tourist items did not disappoint and we found ourselves enjoying shopping for little things to take home. I’ve never been a big shopper and frankly, the thought of spending hours looking at things I do not need has never really satisfied me (I’d much rather spend my money on trips than things) but I felt like I wanted it all when exploring these little shops. I also discovered I am quite the negotiator and was happy to seek out a bargain or just walk away. Thanks to a friendly little shop owner who offered me a “student discount” I am now a proud owner of a green hookah. I have no idea how to use it and I don’t even know if I have all the parts, but it looks great as a decoration in my room! For a measly £7.50 I was happy to cross that off the bucket list.

Day Three

Breakfast at the hostel was maybe one of the best breakfasts I have ever eaten (and it was free so, of course, that made it that much better). Each day we were offered Moroccan tea and several different types of breads with honey and butter. We filled our tummies, packed small bags with the extras and headed off to explore the countryside in the Ourika Valley. We climbed to the top of the falls and were a little disappointed to find it wasn’t as large as we expected; however, we were more than amused by the homemade refrigerators which sprayed cold spring water on the bottles of water and Coke to keep them cold. The most exciting moment of the trip would be the fight that broke out in the little village while we lunched. At a far enough distance away we were safe from the fury but could see small bits of what was going on. During the course of the argument rocks were thrown, whole trees were picked up and swung around, clothes were stripped off and huge numbers of the community rushed to calm the angry man down. He was forced at one point to bow on a prayer mat; however, this only seemed to fuel his fire. We never found out what the commotion was all about, but we figured it must have been over a girl.

And to top off the end of a great day I even got to take a short ride on a camel. I decided I quite like these creatures and wouldn’t mind taking another ride again some day!

Day Four

We like to pack in the excitement until the very last minute. Our flight back to London wasn’t until around 5 p.m. Our last tour began at 8:45 a.m. where we were taken to the outskirts of the desert and the beginning of the Sahara desert. A facemask, helmet and a pair of goggles and we were ready to go on our first four-wheeling experience through the sandy land. We rode past small mud villages and over the bumpy terrain for two and a half hours until we were back at the van. Covered in dust we shared our personal driving experiences of moments when speed and sand almost didn’t agree and laughed that we had cheated danger. The final conclusion - our time in Marrakesh could only be described as a proper holiday, but how nice our own showers and beds were once we finally arrived back to home sweet London.

* Pictures taken by Eastern Boy

I Never Knew I was a ... Pink Floyd Fan!

Several days ago while searching the web for fun stuff to do in London I stumbled across an opportunity to win free tickets to the Australian Pink Floyd Rehearsal concert in West London. I’ve never been a big music buff and I can’t say that I have a single Pink Floyd song in my iTunes. However, for some odd reason I registered my name thinking “I’ll never win anyway!”

Around 1 p.m. Monday I received a phone call from a strange number. Now, since Mom subscribed to caller ID for the first time I have been a screener of phone calls. When the phone starts to ring I hear the No Doubt song, “I gotta screen my phone calls, no matter matter matter who calls I gotta screen my phone calls” and this particular call from an unknown number was no different. I let it roll over to voicemail. I have five voicemails dating back to 2010 that I still haven’t listen to; however, for some odd reason when the phone alerted me of the message I picked up the phone and dialed straight to hear who this unknown caller was and why he or she was calling.

“Hello, this is Jo from Ticketmaster’s Live Nation and you entered to win a couple of free tickets to the Australian Pink Floyd Rehearsal and I was just calling to let you know you have been chosen the winner. Please check your e-mail for more details. I hope you enjoy the show.”

When Eastern Boy and I arrived at the event the lady at the door crossed our names off the list, and we couldn’t help but feel rather important to even have our names on a list anywhere in London. We were ushered into a small greeting area where about 50 other people were gathered eating hors d'oeuvres and drinking complimentary champagne. We felt rather out of place in the sea of mostly middle aged men, but quickly found a comfortable spot to stand back and take in the scene. There were all types of people and we got the impression that a lot of them knew each other. There was a group of business men with a few ladies, hard rocker types (one very clearly had brought his younger female escort for the night), a couple of girls about our age (they must have been random ticket winners too) and a couple of families with pre-teen aged children.

Around 7 p.m. they directed us into the auditorium and handed us 3-D glasses. There was a big pink bunny in the corner of the room and a big purple creature that sort of resembled the rabbit from Donnie Darko. The lights dimmed and a movie started. We put on our glasses and watched. Frankly, I have to admit that the meaning of the video was lost on me. Things were blowing up, there was a man’s face, some creepy laughing, drums, babies crawling, more things blowing up – you get the picture.

I realized that the Aussie Pink Floyd really doesn’t sing very much, but the instrumental was amazing and the light show to match the music was phenomenal. We even got to sing along to the only song we knew: “We don’t need no education, we don’t need no thought control.”

The rehearsal ended and Eastern Boy and I snapped a few more shots of us in the 3-D glasses and headed out the door. We were stopped before we exited and asked a few questions on video about what we thought of the show.

Camera Man: Did you enjoy the show?
Eastern Boy and Me: “Yes! It was great.”
Camera Man: “What was your favorite part?”
Eastern Boy and Me: “The whole thing; the lights, the music”
Camera Man: “Would you buy a ticket to go to see the Aussie Pink Floyd on tour?”
Long pause while thinking about the price of tickets and my student budget
Eastern Boy and Me: “Uhhh, yes! Of course. Going home to do it tonight! Thank you.”

We giggled all about our responses to the questions, especially the last one, all the way through dinner at Pizza Hut (yumm) and most of the way back to Central London.

All in all, it was a fun free night out. In the future I will be more likely to put my name in the pot for things I wouldn’t normally do, because I never know when that simple free ticket could lead to a fabulously fun evening. Truth be told, if I weren’t living on a student’s budget I might actually see them on tour.

Before I Kick the Bucket

For several years now, I’ve been soaking up other people’s stories and adventures. I’ve scrolled through hundreds of wonderful Facebook pictures of fabulous places I have yet to visit. Now, I am in no way down playing how blessed I have been to be the measly age of 24 (although, I’ll admit I am starting to feel quite old) and have experienced so many wonderful things and places thus far; but that doesn’t mean a girl can’t dream! Over a year ago I began writing my “bucket list” - a list of things I want to do before I die. It is in no way complete, but it’s gotten quite long. So I hope you enjoy everything I hope to be able to accomplish, before I kick my bucket!

1. See the pyramids at Giza
2. Jump out of a plane over Switzerland
3. Ride a camel through the desert in Morocco
4. Buy a hookah (primarily for decoration purposes!)
5. Backpack through Italy and ride a gondola in Venice
6. Drive a car on the autobahn in Germany (and live to tell the tale)!
7. Get lost in the Grand Canyon (but then find my way out)!
8. Do Vegas in style and stay in a penthouse on the strip
9. Taste wine in North Cali
10. Ride through the Panama canal

“Life is either a daring adventure or nothing at all.” Helen Keller

11. Take a picture with Christ the Redeemer in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil
12. Go to the Olympic games in London
13. Eat Chinese food in China
14. Learn to surf with the Aussies
15. Swim with Dolphins, maybe even sharks and sting rays
16. Go to the very top of the Eiffel Tour
17. See a show at the Moulin Rouge
18. Go topless on a beach in Greece (Ok, maybe a very private beach with a population of one – ME!)
19. Climb Mt. Kilimanjaro in three days

“If you’re not living on the edge, you’re taking up too much space!” Anonymous

20. Go to an outdoor movie
21. Ride in a hot air balloon
22. Go paragliding
23. Participate in The Rickshaw Run in India - a 5000km journey across the gnarliest roads while riding in a Rickshaw (As long as I am not the one behind the wagon … but in it! )
24. Take a ride on the Trans-Siberian Railway – the longest railway in the world connecting Moscow with the Far East provinces of Russia, Mongolia, China and the Sea of Japan (this will be done during the summer for sure!)
25. Drive down Route 66 seeing the country along the way.
26. Go Zorbing – This is a big plastic ball that rolls you down a big hill. For a little extra excitement water can be added to create a feeling like you are in a washing machine (That is NOT part of my list. I’ll leave that for my clothes to enjoy)
27. Adopt a litter box trained rabbit
28. Go whale-watching off the coast of Iceland
29. Attend the Kentucky Derby in style
30. Run with the bulls (ok … maybe just see them run)
31. White water raft the Zambezi river in Zimbabwe and then relax next to Victoria Falls
32. Get soaked while standing by Niagara Falls
33. See the Northern Lights
34. Lie on the beaches of Thailand
35. Hold a poisonous snake (and get a really great picture – then hand it back!)
36. Spend some time in the Amazon Rainforest

“Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming – “WOW – What a Ride!” Anonymous

37. Stand on The Great Wall of China
38. Take a picture “leaning” on The Leaning Tower of Pisa
39. Go island hopping in the Caribbean
40. Attend high tea in London
41. Watch a sumo wrestling match in Japan
42. Visit the Imperial Palace in Tokyo
43. Spend some time taking in the lifestyle in Croatia
44. Climb to the top of the Statue of Liberty
45. Ride a steamboat down the Mississippi River
46. Walk across the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco
47. Ride a Cable Car to the “Full House” house and take a picture
48. Meet the President (or any national leader)
49. See Mount Rushmore
50. Throw beads at Mardi Gras in New Orleans
51. Complete a Mud Run
52. Throw tomatoes in the La Tomatina Food fight in the Valencian town of Buñol.
53. Float down a river on an innertube
54. Go deep sea fishing off the coast of Africa
55. Visit the Rockies
56. Inspire someone to do something different and experience something brand new

"If being crazy means living life as if it matters then I don't care if we are completely insane." Revolutionary Road


* These are in not particular order of importance, but just a random collection of ideas as I thought to write them down.

Taking No Day for Granted

It’s amazing to me that it is already almost the middle of January! Time passes so quickly these days and I find myself really starting to savor all my time here. I am realizing there is a possibility that I might not be able to stay at the end of my program as I had hoped and I am determined to use this year to take every opportunity presented to me.

This past Saturday I was lucky enough to get the opportunity to travel with a friend from home who was in London on business, to Paris for the day. We started off at the Eiffel Tower. I had tried to reserve tickets in advance but hadn’t been able to do so, which I guess is good because the very top was closed due to strong winds. However, we decided to brave the stairs to the 2nd floor. The line was a good bit shorter and the cost was half the price! However, over 700 steps later we were sure we would be hurting the next day (and yes, I was and I still am in some serious pain!). Even the view from the 2nd floor was definitely worth each and every step.

The rest of the day we hurried from sight to sight trying to take in as much as possible. We were even able to take a boat cruise on the Seine. We walked from the Eiffel Tour to the Arc de Triomphe, down the Champs-Elysees, across to the Louvre, and finally to the Notre Dame Cathedral before heading back to the Gare du Nord for the train back to London.

As I walked around the city I couldn’t help but feel so blessed to be able to take a day trip to Paris; and even more blessed to be able to return to London at the end of the day. I’ve grown attached to this place - the people, the lifestyle. It’s made me re-evaluate the way that I look at my culture. I often feel that Americans rush through life to accomplish particular predetermined goals (go to college, get a job, find a honey, settle down, buy a house, get a dog, pop out some little people – you get the picture) that we often forget to enjoy each step along the way and take our time checking off the items. I’m going to draw out this adventure as long as I can, because I’m not ready to check off “live in London” quite yet.

My sublet is finally coming to an end and I have been looking for a new place to call home. I have been filled with a mix of emotions over this change. Should I feel happy, sad or just plain bothered about having to move? Many days the frustrations of the flat drive me a little bit insane; but searching for a new room in London could quite possibility drive me completely mental! The stresses of searching for a particular area, in a particular price range, with reasonable flat mates, and a certain time frame would have the same effect on most people. I never understood these people who go out one morning and come back with the perfect room at the perfect price with the coolest people. I am not one of those lucky souls! However, after days of searching, emailing, calling, visiting and countless “oh hell NOs” (pardon the phrase NN!) I have decided to move closer to the city centre, since so much of my time is spent in that area. My soon-to-be new home is about a five-minute walk from London Bridge and in a very nice, quiet little area. The house has three stories and approximately 15 rooms. Each floor has its own kitchen and bathroom. My room is a large double room with a space to create a sitting area if I wish to spend the money. I even have my own sink in a little closet area. The walls are bare and I must supply all the bedding and decorations (right now my wall decorations consist of South African flags and pictures of lions), but I am excited about having a place that is really mine.

The semester is finally winding down and I have one more assignment to complete before a “real” 10-day break. It’s the perfect amount of time to pack, clean, move and pop down to Morocco for a few days of holiday! So if I could say one thing to Father Time it would be “please slow down!”

Ringin' In the New Year

Less than a week ago, Eastern Boy and I boarded a Ryanair flight to Poland to spend some time at his parents’ home in Lubrza and spend the New Year with many of his childhood friends. We landed in Poznan around 11:30 a.m. and took a train to Lubrza. The train was packed but we were able to get two seats next to each other to enjoy the ride. Eastern Boy was exhausted from working 10 straight shifts, including the night we left. He had changed his schedule so that he could get off work at 12 a.m., run home and finish packing, and meet me to catch our first bus around 2:30 a.m. to Victoria coach station where we jumped onto a hot, sticky, over-crowded airport shuttle at 3:30 a.m. to Stansted airport. We arrived at the airport around 5 a.m. and waited in a long line for check in and security. Finally on the plane at 6:45 a.m. we passed out. So, after boarding the train in Poland Kris was out cold again. Even though I have been to Poland a couple of times already, I was much too excited to sleep.

As London has discovered the hard way, the climate in Europe is very much changing, and in Poland it is no different. Snow is not uncommon for that area but this year the country has received a significant increase in snow accumulation. The roads were completely covered and drivers were driving on at least two to three feet of packed snow while walkers pushed their way through more than five feet in places. It was like a very cold winter wonderland. Even the tree branches showed no signs of their natural color. It was gorgeous!

Eastern Boy’s parents are always welcoming and greeted us with warm food and Christmas gifts. We both received fabulous new thick fleece jackets to wear as an extra layer under our winter coats and of course, chocolates! We spent the two days exploring his little village and many of his favorite places. Then we headed back to Poznan to ring in the New Year at a Black and White party with some more of his friends.

I had quite a scare after I returned to London and discovered I had misplaced my passport somewhere between the airport and home. Panic set in as I realized the gravity of the situation. A new passport is $135 and a new visa is £200, plus the wait time in applying and receiving. I franticly began calling the airport and bus companies to see if any passports had been found. The lady at the airport shuttle company took my name and number and said she would call me if it turned up. Around midnight that same night I received a call from an unknown number, against my urge to ignore the call I answered. My passport had been found on the shuttle bus and would be waiting for me to pick up the next day at Victoria Coach Station! A perfect example of the power of prayer!

January has many exciting times ahead! While classes don’t start until February I have three more assignments due in the next few weeks to finish complete the semester. Motivation is lacking at the moment and to satisfy my need for procrastination I jumped on a tour bus to Windsor Castle, Stonehenge, and Bath. I am consistently amazed at the beauty of this country and the history that it holds. A couple of random facts that were learned during my adventure which I found of great interest: thatched roofs were made weatherproof by dipping the materials into wax so that rain wouldn’t destroy the straw. The roofs would hang rather low so it was common for cats and even dogs to be seen walking on the top of houses. However, when it rained the roofs would become slick, causing the animals to slip right off, creating the term “it’s raining cats and dogs.” Another old saying refers to the law allowing a husband to beat his wife. However, the stick could only be as thick as the husband’s thumb, creating the saying, the “rule of thumb.”

Later this month I have planned a day trip to Paris and a weekend trip to Morocco (both trips require a passport)! I know a little excitement is exactly what I need in order to be prepared for settling down and starting classes the beginning of February.