London: Walking Enough That Your Heels Go Numb

On Tuesday evening, Rachel and I gathered all of our things together, and bundled up, like the intrepid explorers we are, bags slung over shoulders, suitcases rolling. Looking at these photos again, part of me thinks, "Yes, I look pretty travel-ready. But I also kind of look like I'm about to go fishing with that hat on. Lawd." The hat was a gift, and I absolutely love it, but my hair is just a tetch too long to pull off the 1920's bob look with it, so we end up instead with long-hair Kelli, who kind of looks like fisherman-Kelli. Hmm.

I loved it. I looked exactly like what European backpackers are supposed to look like.

To be fair, the hat saved my life after the night we had traveling to London...

And so we begin the harrowing tale of traveling on an all-night bus to London. First, Rachel and I took a bus from a stop near my house, to the Central Station in Utrecht. Once there, we hauled our bags through the station (stopping briefly to obtain french fries with "pinda saus," or peanut sauce, another Dutch delicacy that I just had to make Rachel try before she left) and went to the bus stop for Eurolines, the bus company I bought our tickets to London with. We wait.

We wait some more.

We wait for an hour, and the bus is late.

Fifteen minutes late. And it's cold. We're angry, and upset, and afraid we've messed up somehow, that the bus has been canceled... My feet are numb, again.

The bus screams into the station, finally. The driver bolts out and immediately starts shouting instructions about bags, passengers, etc, in a thick Eastern European accent. It's not the best way to start a 10 hour bus trip. He roughly grabs my papers out of my hands, and asks me "One?" And I say, "No, I'm traveling with my friend, too." And he angrily repeats, "One!?" And I point to Rachel, and I say, "No, I'm traveling with her..." And he shoves my papers back at me and grabs my bag, and says, "One bag?? IS that all??" And I mumble out, "Yes, Jesus, only one bag."

We all pile into the bus. There are a fair amount of people already on, some sleeping, everyone looking tired. A young mom sits next to her baby and young daughter. The man behind her warily eyes the baby, who is practically falling out of her car seat. He nudges the woman, and she rights the child. We shuffle past to the far back, where we sit down, tired but glad to be off our feet. The bus starts up and whips back out of the station.

Immediately, the radio comes on. It's some horrible rap/howling music, not in English or Dutch. Arabic maybe? Who knows. What I do know, is that it's 10:30 at night, and the bus driver should be forbidden from playing music so late. I thank the small baby Jesus that I brought my extremely large headphones. Clapping them over my ears, I put on my "Snuggle" playlist, and try to rest against the window. Rachel is doing the same, headphones in, neck pillow behind her head.

1:30 rolls around. It's late. I'm half-asleep, half-awake, desperately wishing for a bed. The bus has stopped. A horrible "tap-tap-tap" sounds over the loud-speaker. "Um, yes! Hello. It is required by Eurolines that we now have a 30 minute break, that's 30 minutes people. Please be back on the bus in 30 minutes, yes, thank you." I'm so, so tired. I can't even think about getting out of the bus. Rachel wearily drags herself out of her seat and goes to the rest stop. When she comes back, I decide to heave myself out of my seat and do the same. The man behind the young mom is upset, asking everyone where she went off to, as the baby is now crying. I get off the bus, just in time to see the poor young mom running out of the bathroom to get back to the bus.

We get back on, we take off again. We're falling asleep, again, when that horrendous "tap-tap-tap" sounds a third time, driving needles into my ears, and I would give anything, anything, just to go to sleep now, to go away and just have a bed where there would be no noises, no TAPPING. "Um, hello. Yes, we must go through customs now. Everyone needs to have their passports. Try not to take so long, please. Thank you."

I completely forgot about customs. I get up, grab my passport, and head out with Rachel. We look at each other like, "I'm either going to die, or I am extremely close to death." We line up, it's freezing and windy outside. We get inside the customs building, and are ushered to several U.K. inspectors. The one I've been assigned to is grilling the woman in front of me about why she's going to the U.K. It's probably 3:30? I'm pretty sure nobody knows why they're going somewhere at 3:30. The woman doesn't seem to speak English too well, to boot, and she just keeps repeating that she is "So excited to go sight-seeing in London." When the woman asks her who she's traveling with, "I am excited to go sight-seeing, yes!" After about five minutes, the inspector just passes her on. Then I go up. She grills me about who I'm traveling with, about my residence permit for the Netherlands, about why I'm going to England, who I'm staying with, if I'll be doing any traveling. I just want to cry. I am so tired, and so, so unwilling to deal with this woman's crazy questioning. She stamps my passport, finally, and I slog my way back to the bus.

Rachel is looking somewhat dazed and shocked outside the bus, waiting for me. "I'm so tired," she mumbles. I can only agree. We get back on. Ten minutes later, we pull onto a ferry, and the tap-tap man comes back on, telling us we have to get off the bus while we are on the ferry. The ferry ride is about two hours long. I'm too tired to cry. Rachel and I get off, bringing our snacks and jackets with us. We find a couch on the ferry and collapse in an exhausted heap, munching some granola bars and some kettle corn. We pile our jackets on top of ourselves, and slip into a sort of exhausted half-sleep.

Around 5:45, the ferry ride ends, and we uncurl ourselves from the couch, making our way back to the bus in exhausted relief, knowing that at least now we will have around 3 hours of uninterrupted travel. We drive off the ferry, and I marvel at the fact that it would appear we've landed at Dover - seeing as the cliffs above the bus are white. It was beautiful, even in my exhaustion.

Three tired hours later, we arrive in London. I've had about an hour of fitful sleep - once the sun comes up, good luck trying to get me to stay asleep. My body is like the perfect biological clock - wake up when the sun rises, fall asleep a few hours after the sun sets, regardless of time zone changes.

Sunrise over England, as seen from the back of a bus

We get off the bus, and are immediately blasted (mind you, we're already like walking zombies) by the swell and rush of Wednesday morning's rush hour in London. We make our way to the subway (also known as the Tube). Exhausted, we buy two tickets, one way, for the egregious price of 4.50 pound a person (That's like $7). We squirm, duck, and force our way through the steaming salami-crush of people and find the train that will take us to South Kensington. We get off the tube, and start walking to Suzy's (a cousin of my good friend Tom, who agreed to let us stay with her while we were in London). Rachel is not in the best mood. I'm not either, but the sheer, overwhelmingly cool sensation of being in ENGLAND has got me on a sugar-high. I keep thinking, "Jane Austen might have written about this place. Or that place. Or that one!"

We find Suzy's and knock. We're a little early. Suzy answers the door, hair still wet, having just gotten out of the shower. She looks a bit surprised to see us, and a bit flustered by the time of our arrival. We go inside. She shows us around, and I give her the Dutch gifts I have brought to thank her for letting us stay with her. In one memorable moment, she looks at Rachel, who is about to drop, and just says, "You're not a morning person are you?" At which Rachel grunted and went to go lie down on the couch. Suzy finished getting ready, as did her roommate, and both left, leaving Rachel and I alone in the flat.

I went upstairs, and took a shower, figuring that if I laid down, I probably wouldn't manage to get back up again. Rachel is curled up on the couch, asleep. I take our newly obtained flat keys and go out in search of breakfast. Walking around South Kensington is a real trip - it's one of the super posh, rich neighborhoods of London, with Stella McCartney, Ralph Lauren, and other high-fashion name stores littering every corner. But I was clean, with a cute new jacket from Amsterdam, and a nice hat. So whatever, rich people. Eat an egg.

I finally found a grocery store, after much searching, and bought us bagels, and cream cheese, apples, and a coffee for Rachel at a little cafe on the way back. I brought breakfast back, and sat down with Rachel, who was now awake and appearing remarkably refreshed after having taken a shower, to plan out how we were going to get to Camden, where we had lunch reservations at 1:30. Eventually, we figured out the tube route using the various maps and I guides I had bought back in Amsterdam, and we left the flat. It took us a while to find the restaurant, mostly because Camden is centered on the Camden Markets, a giant, weaving marketplace, filled to the brim with artists, vintage clothing, jewelry, and other knicks and knacks. Within this catacomb-like place, we finally found The Cuban, the restaurant I had bought a Groupon for. We sat down, and marveled at the marketplace around us. The Camden Markets really do feel like something out of a medieval faire marketplace. Bustling with activity, and food, people, clothes, dresses, shoes, scarves, necklaces, earrings, paper lanterns...

We had tapas and sangria for lunch. It was marvelous.

The meal included sweet potato crisps, packed sweet potato and goat cheese balls, hummus and pita, olives, onion rings, Calamari, Spicy chicken fingers, and mushrooms with Pancetta and cheese

After eating our fill of tapas, we went out and explored the crazy maze that is the Camden Markets. I bought an adorable pair of hand-crafted white rose-shaped earrings, Rachel bought some old postcards from the early 1900's, with writing on them, for her Aunt's collection. It was basically wonderful. The only not-wonderful part were the skeevier shop-owners, who, every time we would try to look at something in their shop, rush up to us and immediately be like, "How much you want it for, eh? How much?" So, we didn't go away with any clothes.

We left Camden and made our way towards King's Cross Station, for the sole purpose of getting pictures with Platform 9 and 3/4.

A beautiful wrought-iron gate, leading to a small church, on our way to King's Cross

Sunshine! We got lucky - the weather was phenomenal for our entire trip.

Pancras Station, behind which is King's Cross

Oh, yeah.

If only it was REAL.

We left King's Cross and walked towards the Thames and Big Ben/The Houses of Parliament. We walked along the Thames for a bit before going to Verve, a bar/club, where we started our totally awesome, epic London Pub Crawl.

By the London Eye - I really wanted to ride it, but at more than 20 pounds a person, it was just way too expensive.

Pub Crawl! We heard about them on the walking tour in Amsterdam, and we decided to try one out in London! It was very fun, but more bars/nightclubs than pubs. Next time, I want to tour old-fashioned pubs!

We had a good night. We went to something like six bars, paid 15 pounds for the evening, and got a free drink at each bar. It was good. There was a significant amount of dancing later on in the evening. Randomly, one of the guys on the pub crawl was a guy from Columbus, who travels to Athens regularly to DJ, who just happened to be on vacation in London...The world is so small, sometimes.

Thursday morning, after taking a long while to sleep off the awful Tuesday night trip, we woke up, and I went and got us breakfast again. We went into London proper and walked to the Buckingham Palace, where we were saddened to learn that they only offer tours of the Palace in the summer. Makes sense, I suppose. I'm sure that's when it is at its most beautiful!

Outside Buckingham Palace

Ah, Horse-Drawn Carriages in London

Sitting on the steps right across from the Palace. There's a big statue behind us of Queen Victoria, appearing as the triumphant leader on the outward facing side, and the caring mother on the inward facing side. God, to be as cool as Victoria.

We went on the London Free Walking Tour (I love Sandeman's Tours, look them up if you are in a big city and want a good tour for an excellent price - just the cost of the tip!) around 11. Our tour guide was super cute and spunky, a theatre major, so appropriately able to tell us stories about:

The most famous man to break into Buckingham Palace, in the 80's (Yes, the 1980's, folks) was an Irishman. He climbed a fence, broke a window, and proceeded to run from room to room in the palace. When the security guards noticed the flashing lights, they assumed the system must be broken because warnings were coming from every single room (he was running a lot, quickly, all over the place). So, they turned off the security system to re-set it. OF COURSE THEY DID. So, Mr. Irishman gets thirsty, goes and drinks a whole bottle of expensive port, sits on the Queen's throne (shame!), and eats a can of dog food, which he opens with a knife, which he also cuts himself with, seeing as he's downed an entire bottle of port. Drunk, dog-food covered, bleeding Mr. Irishman manages to stumble into the queen's bedroom, where he wakes her up. She, very calmly (she's the Queen, goddamit) talks to him, to keep him calm, all the while, pressing her emergency button, which doesn't work because, oh, yes, they turned the security system off. Finally, he asks the Queen if she's got any "fags" (cigarettes). She says she doesn't, but she'll call down for one. At which point, she calls and tells the security people, "Ah, yes, I need a cigarette for the drunk, bleeding man in MY ROOM." At which point the security team finally comes running, and the man is arrested (but, interestingly, not charged, because at the time, the Palace was public property, so he wasn't technically breaking in!).

And also, a story about how, every 5th of November, the insane plot of Guy Fawkes is remembered when children burn his effigy in a giant bonfire. Because that's not creepy at all. She also vividly described what being "drawn and quartered" means. I will spare you the details.

After our tour, our leader took us to a great little pub, where we had good, English ale, and fish and chips. Because that's what you do when you're in England!

And here we will show you a selection of photos from the walking tour:

The Palace Horse Guards. Apparently Queen Victoria added these men for the sole purpose of being seen around town as representations of the crown. Also, they apparently take ten hours to get themselves and their horses ready. I don't even know how that's even possible. Also, they are supposed to be like, fierce warriors, but I got a good look at some of these fellas, and they just kind of look doughy with chin straps and weird, billowy cloak things. Like something out of Monty Python. Hey...

A horse crossing signal, and a human crossing signal. Only in London.

These guys. Creepily calm, all the time. I just want to like, be around one for a whole day. And then, I want to write them a nice note, like, "Thank you for serving," or something. These guys are actually ninjas, unlike the dough-men of the earlier picture.

I loved the cabs with the British flags painted on them. It's typography, full of words about travel and communication. Cool, right??

Westminster Abbey. Big expensive (16 pound a person to get in). Beautiful.

Also: Huge. Also: Built in, I kid you not, the 1200s. Well, the main part. Those two tower things were added by Queen Victoria.

After fish and chips, we went to the British Museum, which was interesting, but after a whole day of walking, we were just dog-tired, and we had reservations for a fancy dinner-cabaret show at 7:30, so we kind of had to book it out of the museum to get home and get ready in time for the show.

But! Not so much booking that we couldn't take pictures with the iconic phonebooths.

I had a bit of small, teensy breakdown at the flat after coming back from the British Museum, in a rush, and without anything to wear, I momentarily despaired. I had a cute outfit packed for our evening at the cabaret, but to my horror, when I put it on...I looked like big bird, with extra-large fluffy bottom feathers. In the end, after much deliberation, I decided to hell with it, and wore it anyway. Oh, well! We got to the cabaret, and were met with one of the most bizarre places I've ever been - an underground, chill, lounge area, filled with smoke machine smoke to create the effect of a 1920's club. Everyone had their own plush, velvet-couch nook, facing the stage. It was great! Rachel and I started with a duck pate, and a fluffy goat cheese, olive oil with crisp bread appetizers. Then Rachel had sage gnocchi, and I had a walnut-crusted cod. For dessert, Rachel had a delicious pair of ice-creams and sorbets, and I had a cheese plate. We were very full when we were done, and the show was wonderful - like a sexy Cirque du Soleil.

On Friday morning, Rachel left very early for Heathrow, and I meandered around London, waiting for my bus to Cardiff. I was very sad to see Rachel go, like she was taking a piece of home back with her. But I am lucky, because to ease the sadness of her leaving, I had an amazing, thrilling, exciting Doctor Who convention to look forward to, in Cardiff, Wales, one of the most beautiful places I have ever been. Till next time!