London II

Having traveled to London twice, I had my reservations about going on the bus tour. It turned out to be very informative and interesting. For example, I found out that the government won’t dig into Green Park to plant flowers because it was a mass gravesite during the plague, and scientists fear the virus might still be active.

After the tour I walked a free-spirited girl named Ashleigh to the British Museum. She was an intense conversationalist; it felt like a conversation in a movie where there are very few pauses, and at the end you’re left knowing a great deal more about the person than you did five or ten minutes earlier.

From there I walked to the University of Westminster to meet with Erin again. I could have taken the tube, but I had time so I walked. It was on this walk that I realized I could not survive in a place like London. The streets were jam-packed with cars narrowly missing pedestrians. It felt as if everyone’s life was on a parking meter and each had errands to run before their time expired. The cars pounded my ears as they raced by, and their exhaust invaded my nose. It was unending; the feeling continued through the food court and on the subway. Erin, who is more perceptive of my feelings than most people, decided at the last second that we should visit a park, despite the cold.

The nearest park was bitter, murky Green Park. All I could think about as I passed the circle of gnarled trees were the remains of plagued bodies feeding them. It was an unpleasant thought, but at least it was quiet enough that I was able to retain a thought without it being honked or hustled away. I was glad Erin had decided on the park. We had a pleasant time, although death seemed to run through more than the trees that day.

London I

London rushed by like a tube line racing by a meter from one’s face. It was a joy seeing Erin for the first time in weeks. She showed me her colorful dorm in central London. The room was a clean yellow with a beautiful trim along only two walls, almost as if the rooms were converted from doubles to singles as an afterthought. After going to Eat*, we went to the Victoria and Albert Museum.

The Victoria and Albert Museum was an amalgamated collection of antiquities. The displays ranged from iron fences to ancient Japanese pottery. We walked out of the museum under a pink London night sky to see the temporary skating rink sandwiched by museums.


The night was concluded with Indian food. I felt underdressed in my cargo pants and hooded sweatshirt, but the vivacious doorman insisted that we come in for dinner. To our right were quiet English professors. Behind us was a quiet, trendy London couple. To our far left was a quiet British couple. To our close left were… Americans. Not so quiet. Two sorority girls had apparently decided to try Indian food. Conceited and loud, they furthered the stereotype of Americans for everyone else in the room. Erin and I did our best to counter the stereotype, but we went mostly unnoticed. I suppose it’s always that way—the loud ones are noticed.

*The sandwich shop’s name was, in fact, Eat.

The Flight

I lugged my overweight backpack to the terminal with red eyes. Nick was sitting there with his red backpack listening to his iPod. I stared with dry eyes for a second giving an “AIFS Prague?” look, but I don’t think he was paying attention. I sat down. Then I got up and sat down someplace else with a view of the 777. Then I got up, used the restroom, and sat down someplace else. I was unable to sit still.

When I sat down the third time, Nick and I silently continued to ask if the other was part of the Prague trip without being receptive enough to realize that the other’s answer was ‘yep.’ Our nonverbal discussion was interrupted by Marie, who stepped in front of me and asked, “are you Kevin?” She had facebooked me and clearly knew more about me than I knew about her. She had big eyes, hair with a hint of red, and a green college sweatshirt from neither her college nor her hometown’s. We quickly became acquainted. Once I boarded the plane, I met Nick, who coincidentally was seated behind me. Our introduction was shortened by a talkative Scottish man sitting beside me who took a great interest in the chess club I coached during high school. Apparently the schools in Glasgow have no extracurriculars—something he is working very hard to fix.

After takeoff I was tempted by the wide selection of movies, but fended off the enticement with a sleeping pill. The pill resulted in a slight amnesia—I remember there was cheesecake served with dinner but I don’t remember eating it. In any case, I awoke to, “Breakfast sir.” And, before I knew it, I was in a minivan with 3 others on our way to central London.