Catching Up

First of all, I'm sorry to have been so long without an update.  In the frenzy of traveling it's been difficult, first to find an internet terminal, and second, to set aside valuable sightseeing time to update my pictures or blog.  Where I had hoped that my first post might serve as a model for near-daily updates, I'm quickly realizing that this kind of frequency is going to be unrealistic.  I'll try to have pictures for each day of travel, and in the hope that a picture really is worth a thousand words, forego some of the lesser details of each day, focusing instead on the highlights.

My second day in London, Saturday, I wandered around Trafalgar Square and the surrounding area.  As I mentioned in my last post, it was the day of the America-England match, and the whole city was buzzing with the kind of national fervor that only sports can inspire.  Trafalgar was a hub for pre-game festivities, and rarely would more than a minute pass between enthusiastic choruses of "Rule, Britannia."  Seeing a beer in every hand, I decided to make my first legal alcohol purchase, but, as a visitor, wanted to make sure there wasn't anything I needed to know before cracking open a cold one in public, so I approached two friendly looking police offficers.

Me:  "Excuse me, it's legal to have open containers of alcohol here, right?"
First officer:  "Uhm yeah.  I think so."
Second officer:  "I've never been told differently."

If drinking in public was a crime, clearly it was not one I was likely to be arrested for.  I gathered from locals that the match was to be shown on a giant screen in the square, so I found a good spot and settled in, enjoying the festive spirit.  As good a spot as I secured, however, I was out of luck, because a technological failure prevented the screening, much to everyone's disappointment.  When I realized that I wasn't going to be able to watch the game, I began scrambling to find a pub in which to watch it.  Unfortunately, this was a remarkably popular plan, and pub after pub was filled to capacity, with little chance of anyone leaving before the end of the game.  Eventually I found a sports pub with a glass front, and a giant television, and joined a crowd of fans watching from the sidewalk.  It wasn't the most atmospheric spot, but it didn't lack for enthusiasm, and soon officers were necessary to keep us from blocking the flow of traffic.

In the end, America drew England 1-1, and the Britons were horrified.  The game created instant cameraderie between Americans on the street, and the gloomy local vibe couldn't bring me down.

What almost did, however, was the two hours it took me to find the hostel that I booked because of its location, Swiss Cottage: far enough from central London to be very reasonably priced, but still only five minutes from an Underground station.  The hostel was so far out of London, in fact, as to be just outside the range of all four of my maps.  Undeterred, I copied down directions from the Underground station and embarked.  Unfortunately, both lines running near Swiss Cottage were down for weekend maintenance.  After finally parsing London's labyrinthine bus system I eventually found the neighborhood, and wandered, asking anyone who happened to be out so late. I found the place around 1:30, and slept very, very soundly.

Sunday, I awandered to a neighborhood called Marylebone and found a wonderful annual street fair reminiscent of Bele Chere.  Local vendors were selling local wares, and it was fun milling around and sampling delicious food.  At exactly five, though, the festival ended, and ironfisted security prevented any further sales.  Not to be kept down by the man, however, I managed to buy a block of goat cheese by forgetting three pounds on the table at the sellers' instruction.  Along with a baguette from a local bakery, the cheese made a delicious, if rich, supper, and I ate in an old churchyard where Edmond Hoyle is buried.

After dinner I wandered through a few local pubs, and watched the Germany-Australia game with Germans, Australians, and a friendly old New Zealander.  After some time, I got a tip that the street festival hadn't ended so much as transitioned to a nearby park, and I went there to lounge on the grass and hear some great, live music.

Monday I made it to Buckingham Palace and to Westminster Abbey, as well as Parliament.  I missed the changing of the guard at the palace, but I took lots of pictures of the lavish monuments nearby.  Westminster Abbey was incredible, in much the same way St.Paul's Cathedral was.  I was able to see the burial places of Henry V, and Henry VII, Elizabeth I, and Mary, Queen of Scots, among countless others.  The history of the place was fantastic, and I spent the whole afternoon there.  As I was leaving, visitors were arriving for evening service, which helped me to appreciate the abbey's role as a living place of worship, rather than just a museum.

Parliament was equally impressive.  The two houses meet in an ornate palace (of which Big Ben is a part).  The halls are massive and ornately decorated, and, to their credit, thoroughly impress upon one the significance of the events taking place.  To me, however, they also felt incredibly removed from the goings on of the rest of the city.  On my way through security, I voluntarily produced my second--and last, since my first knife went missing two nights prior--pocket knife when asked if I was carrying anything metal or potentially dangerous.  Security was horrified at the size of the knife, and I briefly relished in fitting the image of the brash American cowboy.  My enthusiasm was pre-empted, however, when I was taken to meet with a police officer, who informed me that locking blades are illegal in the U.K.  Shocked, I pleaded to keep the knife and the friendly officer complied, on the condition that I not carry it for the rest of my time in London.  I eagerly agreed, and went on to watch Parliament.

I sat in on both houses for about twenty minutes apiece, before heading off.  Afterward I walked along the River Thames, gradually making my way to the London Eye.  I made it as they were closing, only to be informed that without buying a ticket, I wouldn't be able to ride, and that the ticket office was closed.  Seeing my disappointment, the fellow working the line asked if it was my last chance to see it in London.  I told him in earnest that it was, and he quickly ushered me through for free.  Once through the gate, however, I had to go through security, with a man less forgiving than the police officer at Parliament.  He refused to return my knife to me, and as a foreigner possessing an illegal item, we both knew I had very little leverage.

Having paid my admission, I rode the London Eye and had my breath taken away by the spectacular view of the city.  I'm not sure it was worth the knife, but it was a valuable experience nonetheless.

 Tuesday, the day of my flight, I wanted to make sure I had Indian food, as I'd been told London is the best place to get Indian food outside of India.  I found a restaurant near Tate Modern, and I wasn't disappointed.  I had amazing vindaloo that came with Cobra, a tasty British-Indian beer.  Afterward, I dashed off to Tate Modern to see as much of the museum as possible before heading to the airport.  I was only able to stay briefly, but I enjoyed rushing through the gallery, and I was able to see Dali's Metamorphosis of Narcissus, a favorite of mine.  Afterward, knowing that I had no time to waste in getting to the airport I hustled back to the Underground station in order to get to Liverpool Street station to reclaim my pack before heading off to Heathrow.

As I descended into the station, I heard an ominous voice:  "Due to a person under the train, expect heavy delays on the Northern line".  This incredibly oblique message meant bad news.  Apprehensively, I proceeded to the platform, where I saw throngs of people waiting.  After several minutes the next train arrived, and I knew I was not in luck.  The car was a veritable sardine tin, with people packed wall-to-wall and hardly room to scratch one's nose.  A couple of brave souls attempted to board, but were repelled by the sheer human density.  I turned and fled, racing to the nearest station running another line, Blackfriar's and fearing I had cut it too close.  I sprinted north, no doubt a comic sight in my socks and sandals, daypack bouncing.  I made the station in record time, but was horrified to see that it was closed for repair.  Barely stopping to consult my map I proceeded to the next closest station, St. Paul's, a half an hour after I had no time to waste.

I claimed my bag, then took the subway to Paddington Station for the Express train to Heathrow, trying to make up any lost time.  I made it to the airport an hour before departure, discouraged, but not entirely without hope. This changed when I found out that the Air China desk had closed 30 minutes prior. Needless to say, I missed my flight.  After receiving the runaround from various airlines, I was eventually able to rebook for the next day.

Pictures:

London - Day 2

London - Day 3

London　- Day 4

London - Day 5

I'm in a beautiful beach town called Kamakura now, but I'm out of time, so I'll try to catch up soon with an account (and more pictures) of my time so far in the Land of the Rising Sun.