Hampstead part III: Kenwood House

(part two is posted directly before this. i am posting in quicker succession than usual, so read the two preceding posts to catch up to where i am now, if you feel so inclined)

I begin to the left, as told, and it’s not long before I come to their library. It’s beautiful. I love libraries. It wasn’t enormous and it was ornate enough to be inviting but not too intimidating. I wanted to sit down and read a book. No photos were allowed but I’ll try to find a photo online or I may go back for some postcards or souvenirs.

(taken from the kenwood house section of english heritage's site. this is a shot of the library) 

I move onto the next room where I hear creepy music like some man is just singing some sketchy drinking song in a nearby room. I thought they must have some odd historic video playing upstairs until the man guarding the other room came in to try to figure out the music as well. We both looked at each other and kind of shrugged and laughed. We had a moment. Then I went into the room he was guarding, one of the main art rooms. In addition to some nice portraits by Gainsborough, Reynolds, and Romney there were two non-english works worth mentioning.

First is the self-portrait by Rembrandt which is widely thought to be one of his best, apparently.

Second is, and the one I am more interested in, is “The Guitar Player” by Vermeer.

I can’t recall exactly what the man said but either there are 6 Vermeers in the UK and 4 must stay at all times, or there are 4 Vermeers in the UK and 2 must stay at all time. I think it is the 6/4. But this one NEVER moves. Never.

Vermeer’s wife/lover had used this to pay off a debt and the person at Kenwood back in the day (I don’t know the whole lineage. You’ll find I don’t know the full story to a lot of things this trip as it was quite the whirlwind adventure, but hopefully I give enough info that you could google it if you want to know more). Anyway, she used it to pay off a debt, and this guy bought it from a dealer. She later tried to buy it back, to no avail; it was the only one she ever tried to buy back, which led people to believe that the girl in the painting might be one of their daughters.

vermeer's "guitar player" from the kenwood house site.

The painting itself is quite striking. It certainly fits in with Vermeer’s use of light and putting a girl in a domestic setting, but it looks different, more casual almost. In some ways it looks less detailed, but it others it seems more so. Like the guitar strings, for example, appear to be vibrating like they were just strummed. The girl glances to the side as though someone just called her name while she was practicing. A framed landscape hangs in the background (I love stuff like that: a painting within a painting). Evidence shows Vermeer possibly used a camera obscura. He has cropped the painting at her arm, but the canvas was not altered. This is how it was painted, which is unlike the style at the time. It was nice, and I learned quite a bit from my new ‘what’s that weird music’ friend.

I moved throughout the lovely house, to a room that had paintings by my boy JMW Turner.  I love him. There was also a portrait of a man whose name I forget already, but he was an inventor as well and the Skeleton Clock he had created sat directly across the room from him.

Kenwood House had a great decorative arts collection; much of it made possible by the Victoria and Albert Museum, one of my favorite museums of all time. Another painting looked like it easily could have been my mom as a kid, and a different one in the room like pretty much exactly like me.

I walked through a music room containing a piano, harp, organ, etc. and then made my way upstairs. The second level had portraits of the people and the family related to Kenwood House in some way. Some were pretty awesome. One artist seemed to do things very much like Holbein (of the famed Henry the  IIV portrait). Another room contained jewelry (including some crazy iron stuff from Berlin), and a bunch of mini portraits –not really my thing. BUT there was a wall of shoe buckles. YES cases and cases of shoes buckles. I love shoe buckles now. I want them. Bring back shoe buckles!

I ended with a trip to the museum store, almost bought many many things, but actually bought a book for two pounds on sale that highlighted the free English Heritage sights across London and the UK. Worthy, I think, of 2 pounds.  Then I take myself to the other side of the building , past the orangery under repair and into the Steward’s Room – a little café where I buy a huge and delightful cheddar and tomato sandwich. With mayo of course. Yuck. Why the mayo, England? Always. Mayo.

Hampstead Heath part II: i accidentally stalk a family

This is it. it seemed like I had walked for so long. Sadly it was kind of a cloudy day. Cold too, though it didn’t seem so after the trek and I wound up having to take off and carry my jacket. Apparently you can see wonderful views of the city through the trees on Hampstead Heath, but it was a bit too overcast. It’s ok. I was content with the lakes, fall foliage, and unleashed dogs romping around through the leaves.

I wander by the water reading  the signs about the scum and duckweed then find myself somehow pretty much accidentally stalking this couple and their small child who was in a stroller. So that’s awkward. I follow them up a hill keeping a certain distance that I had calculated to scientifically be considered the least creepy. i noticed a building in the distance and asked myself whether it was Kenwood House (which I was trying to reach) or even possibly somewhere with toilets, but it was far and I decided it was neither. Unfortunately I didn’t pause long enough to allow the couple and child to get far enough ahead so before long I caught up with them again. This time we were on a beautiful path lined with autumnal colored trees.

All of the sudden their little boy starts to run away from them and in my direction. “NO! Adam!” they yell. And he turns around and runs back to them. They look at me. I look at them. I smile a little and say hello, because what else can you do when someone just yelled as though you were going to steal their child? (as if I am remotely interested in being responsible for a child). They smile back. A little TOO smiley. A smile that says they clearly think I am nuts and want nothing to do with me. a smile that asks ‘are you planning on eating our baby?’ and a smile that answers its own question with an emphatic ‘yes. Yes you are.’ This is when I decided to make a point of using my freakishly long legs to quicken my pace and pass them.

After I have gotten far enough away, I decide to meander a bit more. Near a pond was a lovely blue winged bird that I DID actually stalk, and it probably also wondered if I would eat its babies. (note: I ate no one’s babies). Then I come across a street. Bad news. but then I find a map! Good news!

So I reorient  myself and start wandering again. I come to a path covered in leaves, which were cleverly covering lots of mud. I decide to take this path because the colors just look so darn nice. I only almost fell twice.

Soon I see I an iron fence and decide it is probably a good idea to follow it. which it was. After I go in the entrance I see a sign saying ‘Kenwood House and Estate.’  Ha! Made it! and I am not even a girl scout. I walk along a path that seems to go on forever, yet get nowhere; past two old ladies with two matching poodles; past a young man throwing a ball across the vast expanse of green so his less sissy dog could retrieve it. Finally, I come across signs and follow them until I come to a gravelly driveway leading to a lovely mansion that was of course, undergoing construction (another theme of this trip, you will find). I let myself in, after my wiping my shoes on their shoe cleaner outside, and then a man at the front desk asks if I’ve been there before. After I say no, he kindly tells me that it’s free (obviously I look like I need things to be free, which is fine by me) and he tells me everything else I might need to know. He was very kind and informative.

 this was interesting. i believe it was a way to buffer the old tree and protect it since it was weak.

the journey to hampstead heath

Thursday 6.11.08

I awake after another near sleepless night, shower, get ready and run out the door around 8:30am. I dress fairly warm as it is November and quite chilly. It’s quite hard to ‘backpack’ through Europe when it is winter since you have to carry around a coat and a hat and gloves and blah blah blah. In the summer you have waaaayy less to carry around. This is why, in addition to the backpack I borrowed from jess, I also brought a huge suitcase, that jenna was kind enough to let me leave there when I did the main section of my wandering around Europe.

Back to the plot though. I pick up my favorite yoghurt at tesco (Muellers fruit corners, of course [anyone know if i can buy this anywhere in the state?s]), a spork, and I make my way towards Camden town. I find the Camden lock and sit down on steps nearby to enjoy my not-so-english breakfast. Finding a Carphone Warehouse was top on my list. The name still makes me kind of tilt my head. Why car phone? For cars? And its definitely not a warehouse. But they are found on essentially every main street in London and they are the place to go to top-up your pay-as-you-go phone. Which is why I went there of course. A very nice man helps me get 5 pounds on the phone jenna lent me, so I can actually communicate…at least while I am in England.

Business first. Now onto the happy wandering.   I continue down the road and browse the few shops that are open at this hour. I seemed to have walked farther than I have before because I came across a building that I surely would have remembered had I seen it before.  It had what seemed to be Egyptian painted papyrus columns with two statues of black cats on either side. I forgot what I was called but it was interesting and it made me check my book. I couldn’t find my good London map so I was forced to carry around a huge Fodor’s book that was outdated by four years.   [ I looked it up since and found out it is now called Greater London House]. Upon consulting my book I find I am undoubtedly going the wrong way.

So I turn around and begin to retrace my steps, finding that many more shops have opened up in the meantime. I see people with these little starbucks cups and my free sample radar fires up. A few seconds after my senses have heightened to find the free food, a man on the street comes right up to me with a tray offering a taste of a Dark Cherry Mocha or something like that. I say thank you and he tells me to take the last one too so I could have one for later. I decline politely and thank him again [WHAT?!!? This is outrageous. I cannot believe I would decline this. And I don’t remember doing it. The only explanations are: either my guilt of taking the last sample outweighed my love of free things, or I was worried my stomach would hurt. ] The sample was pretty good actually. I wonder if they have it in the states now?

I finally get on the right street towards Hampstead Heath. This is quite a physical challenge for a bum like me. it is pretty much walking uphill forever. I can walk FOREVER on straight flat land. I can run down hills when hiking. But I cannot, I repeat, cannot, properly walk up a hill without getting tired. I feel this is some sort of design flaw in my anatomy, for this has always been true, even when I was super athletic. Hampstead Heath seems like a very nice neighborhood. I had never been there before. I soon turn onto a street that I hope will lead me up to aforementioned ‘heath’ (triggered by the sign that read: “no thru traffic-environmental area.”

After about three steps, the street becomes absolutely silent. I can hear the thud of my feet on the sidewalk. An old lady and an unleashed dog amble past me. A young policeman smiles at me and says hello. I notice the beautiful, yet quaint, architecture. Nothing too ostentatious. perfection. Really. I pictured celebrities like Chris Martin/ Gwen Paltrow or James May (possibly my future husband) living here in this neighborhood. If I could live anywhere in the world, I think it might be here. It could very possibly be (to me at least) the greatest street in the greatest neighborhood in the greatest city in the greatest country on earth. Though living in Regent’s Park was pretty stellar as well.  Oh well. Too bad. You need to have wheelbarrows full of money to live here. I wish my dreams were not based on money.

After this absolutely idyllic stroll through winding streets while listening to birds chirp and squirrels  forage, I see the opening to a park...

byzantium and fireworks

Later on in the gas leak day.

Our day actually  starts at 130ish. We decided to go to the Byzantium exhibit at the royal academy of art where neither of us have ever been. Jenna has to do a project on it for class, so it works out quite well all around. The building was beautiful on the outside, with a courtyard full of geometric sculptures that also served as seats, around which were small, short fountains. The exhibit itself was wonderful. I got the student discount even though I am no longer really a student. The sign said ‘approved ids only.’ I am not sure how you get these ids approved or if there is some sort of id approver who just sits there and googles you and scrunches up his face to look at you and then the id. And then states “Approved’. I am pretty sure this is the case. And I did not have that.So when I walked up, the lady asked if I was  a student. I am cheap so I just said yes, but my id is American. And she brusquely said it doesn’t matter where its from and took it and gave me four pounds off (33 percent off!). I felt kind of bad. But I have no money. So I didn’t feel bad enough to not do it.

Inside, the exhibit was huge. Much bigger than I expected. It covered the whole of Byzantium’s history, essentially. Although I took an entire course called Byzantine Art, it doesn’t mean I remember anything from it. Jenna surely does. She would come up to me and whisper something all artsy and educated and I would eventually just pretend to know what she was talking about. “ah yes, yes. I do think that paten was residential. I am not sure how it could be any more clear.” While my mouth was saying this, a different scene played out in my mind. two brain cells were rubbing sticks together trying to make a spark in order to stay alive in the hazardous conditions. two others used a third as a battering ram to open every old rusty, dusty door in my brain hoping to find some of the knowledge about art that I carelessly shoved away in a corner somewhere. The remaining three were, respectively, repeating Morrissey lyrics, dreaming of donuts, and trying to figure out how such a well-treated, non drugged, non liquored-up brain got to be in such a sad state with zero memory power. Poor brain.

Deep down I knew this material but I just couldn’t scrape it together in time, and I often cant convince jenna that I am not nearly as smart as people seem to foolishly think I am, so I just went along with her.  I did see some wonderful illuminated books and manuscripts and some micromosaics that were quite phenomenal. I have always appreciated detail.

Oh and we saw the Sinai icons.

Yeah that’s kind of a big deal.

 art loves jesus. So much. So much art is jesusy, for the record. And while I am not jesusy, I find it quite interesting that that is something that just lasts throughout the art world. Also. i hate iconoclasm. So stupid. Religious fanaticism brings nothing but destruction and sadness. If people want to paint jesus, let them paint jesus. Everyone just chill out and BE NICE TO EACH OTHER. That’s what jesus would want.

After our stroll through this religious opulence, we walked in search of a restaurant; we passed a market, I don’t really remember where exactly or what it was for, but we did not buy anything. I love things like this. Just stumbling across a little town of tents, each with someone hawking something different. Most of it junk, but some of it is a treasure to someone. Awww.

However I did want to buy a fedora, and jenna mocked me openly. I did not buy that fedora, but I WILL buy a fedora and I WILL wear it. One day… but not that day.

We walk to picadilly and pass by the 39 Steps theatre; that was a fantastic play I saw while I was studying abroad at regents. AND it was FREE. What an awesome theatre class that was. [note: since writing this journal, I have also read the book. You should read it. It’s really quite good]. After some traipsing around trying to figure out what to eat we decide to go to this pizza place that jenna has been talking about. we took the tube to London bridge and wandered around for quite some time  because she couldn’t remember quite  where it was and of course I had no idea.  We persevered through a labyrinth of cobblestone streets and dark alleyways (actually a perfect pastime for me) until we finally came across Amano.

Jenna would not let me just order plain pizza, like the boring eater I am, so I wound up with a rocket salad and a pizza that had smoke mozzarella, roasted tomatoes, pine nuts, and avocado. It was actually quite delicious, so I am glad she forced me to be interesting. I couldn’t finish it so I asked them to wrap it up (something that seems to confuse Brits most of the time) and I think jenna ate the rest at a later date. I don’t like waste. The waiter was also brought jenna red wine even after they had a very lengthy discussion about how she wanted white. So overall, good food, but a slightly confused staff.

After dinner we head to the tube to try to catch some Guy Fawkes day fireworks in South London (Clapham to be exact). They shoot off fireworks throughout the week at different locations in london. one of the best times I had when I studied abroad was seeing the fireworks at Alexandra Palace. It was perched on hill, right outside the palace. They had their own display synched up with music, but you could also see many displays all throughout the city because it was such a great vantage point.

So you can see how this fireworks experience may have been a bit sub-par. The tube was absolutely PACKED. And so hot. And awful. But that’s how it is. Since we were running late, we got there after they had started and didn’t have a terribly good vantage point. although it wasn’t as ideal as Ally Pally, the display was actually still really great; the finale in particular was quite impressive and colorful. However, people a few feet away from us came remarkably close to starting a fire. You’ll find that this experience won’t be the first time on this trip where I find myself close to potential fire. Maybe it’s me.

We did a fantastic job of speedwalking down the street and managed to get on the tube when it was MUCH less crowded. We got home, planned out our next day, I used the computer to book some hostels/transportation. Unfortunately I barely slept that night and woke up early enough to leave the house at the same time jenna had to leave for class. My plan for the day was a walk around Hampstead Heath and Regent’s Park (sigh. I miss it so) , then meet up with Helen- a friend I met while at Regent’s- in order to see the new Bond movie at the same theatre on Baker Street where we saw the last one a few years prior. That is all for today.

jenna outside her apartment. she may be upset with me for posting this. but i like it. they were lovely doors.

 this was in jenna's garden. yup that's a giraffe head. not sure what the story is behind this, whose it was or how it got there, but i want to know it.

outside the byzantium exhibit

clapham fireworks for guy fawkes day

jenna's apt has an exit sign. i forget what is was before it was an apartment but apparently everyone needed to know where the exit was. actually this would come in handy in the event of, say , a gas leak.

gas leaks and 'the damp'

Nov 9

So let’s go back, way back to that original Wednesday. I do believe I left off with the mysterious and exciting gas leak. Yes.

A quick tour of jenna’s flat. She had a surprisingly spacious room and a big bed, which was good considering I was sleeping in it, and this was when my personal space bubble was surprisingly far bigger than it is now.  She showed me her roommate colin’s room, which was quite tiny. Poor colin. What a champ, giving her the big room. She had a bed, a table, some drawers, etc, as well as a slightly mysterious closet. ( HINT: FORESHADOWING)

I have no idea what time we went to bed. Maybe 2? Maybe 3? After many strongbows. That is all I know. But I DO know that we awoke at 7am to a phone call. Apparently it is colin’s old roommate, a dapper South African named Sean. He has some news for us. “ohhey, by the way, jenna ,there’s a gas leak.” “Really?” says jenna, “ When did you find this out?” “Last night,” says sean. “Where’s it coming from?”  Oh just that closet in your room. No worries.”  “OH OK COOL.”

That’s my version at least. Jenna was probably more eloquent while at the same time being more profane. Something only she can do really. So around 8:30 sean comes in with a man from National Grid. I am still in pajamas. Most likely still in bed. When the come in the room.  Fun! Good morning strangers! I wish we could have met on better terms. Such as. Not in bed. And not during a gas leak. But here we are.

So it seems that the National Grid man found several problems, including gas leaks and switches and levers that won’t turn off. To elucidate: if there is a house fire or something of that nature, there is literally no way to switch off the gas seeing as this man could not physically move it at all.  The man seemed like he could have at some point been the inspiration for a Billy Bragg song. A very nice, hardworking, blue-collar, Cockney man probably in some kind of union somewhere.

Well anyway, since jenna doesn’t officially live there yet (it’s complicated) and sean was the one who called in the Grid man (actually it was another guy the day before who called the Grid guy because he smelled gas when he was there inspecting “The Damp.” Yes, it seems they also have a horror movie growing in their little flat:

“THE DAMP”: In a woooorld where your towels never full dry, where your skin will always be dewy, where you life is ruled by….THE DAMP. When you least expect it: an unseemly water stain, an innocent drip from the holes in your skylight that the ivy tries to fight through, it’s THE DAMP. Coming soon to theatres near you this holiday season.

This film is not yet rated”

Ahem. Excuse me. So yes. The  Grid guy’s damsels in distress radar must have gone off, because about ten minutes after he leaves because he doesn’t have the necessary part, we hear a knock on the door. Still in our pajamas mind you. Jenna answers the door and I overhear the same man explain that he has a friend who fixes this kind of stuff, that he called him, and he is coming in 45 minutes. The man then said that he would wait outside for him, and refused our offer to let him wait inside. He really was awesome. What an upstanding human being.

We take this time to each shower and get changed into presentable clothing and out of pajamas. The two men eventually come back in. They clearly enjoyed one another’s company and they were laughing and joking the whole. I believe a direct quote from one was: “I think I am actually sweating. What is this? I am leaking!” Then we all enjoy a cup of tea together in the kitchen.

GAS LEAKS ARE FUN AND HIP AND COOL. You should try it. all the cool kids are doing it.

Our newfound teatime buddies fix up the leak and put on some new levers, warning us that the heat might not work for a while ( They were not fibbing).

I used all this time to plan and research, seeing as I hadn’t actually booked a bunch of trains or hostels…a bit last minute this time… so all that time certainly did not go to waste.

The men leave us a note telling us what was wrong with the gassy closet so that jenna and colin can explain it to their jerk landlord, and then the men leave without even attempting to bill jenna. Saints. They must have daughters, we decided. Daughters that they didn’t want to die in gas leaks, as we very well could have. (not really, I couldn’t even smell it). I think they are nice, kind, helpful men. Jenna says it’s because all British men are misogynists who think girls can’t do anything.

Either way. Pretty sure we couldn’t have fixed that gas leak. BUT it was a very exciting way to start the day. And jenna’s claim that she her London luck is much like my American luck is proven.

Leak free is the way to be.That sounds like a tagline for one of those overactive bladder commercials. How gauche and inappropriate. i apologize.

there is a concern for safety at least. this is where it all came from.

 one of the free papers they give out in london, wine glass, and the many thanks i believe is part of the note from the gas leak fixers. 

oh yeah. we also found out who our new president was when we woke up. britain was really very very happy about this. as witnessed from the many strangers who discussed the new president with me on my journey. everyone i spoke to thought there was really no other option. just like my tube friends' "it's got to be obama" statement emphasizes

only the classiest of accomodations

PART THREE OF EUROPEAN ADVENTURE

Next page of journal:

My journal goes out of order, but the narrative explains this, and I am just going to copy it down as is.  The next pages of my journal has what seems to be a grocer list written by  jenna. It states:

“ 05/11/04   [ it definitely says 04. it was 08]:

  We need:

Toilet paper

Milk

Wine

Crisps

TO NOT HAVE A GAS LEAK”

I love her.

Following this is a list of nicknames we have come up with for a teacher whose name will not be revealed at this time. we made like 20. thats my favorite part. nothing mean really, just so ridiculous.

On this page I also felt it was a good idea to write down jenna’s phone number and full address. That way I cannot lose it. good for me. the next page is a list of notes jenna made for her class, regarding the Byzantium exhibit. The next few pages are just filled with notes regarding where to meet Alicia in Salzburg . what other trains/planes/automobiles I have booked. Notes about places I wanted to go. notes about hostels that I hadn’t booked til arriving in London. I booked sir tobys about 4 days before going there. Same with the old nazi hotel in Salzburg. More on these later. And now. Finally. Back to the written story.

9.11.08

Let me begin by saying I am currently sitting on one bed ( I say that because there are two, which makes me a bit nervous for the fee upon checkout) in my room in Pension Alderhof. Although I just found out I could have stayed in the Sallerhof another night for cheaper, this hotel is ok. I miss the Sallerhof. It was so perfect and idyllic, snuggled up against the mountain (Monschberg?), smelling a little like poop in a farm type way, but not enough to be offensive, just enough to know you were in the country. And the palace I still want to go to is right near Sallerhof. Oh well, I am still going to try to squeeze it in in the morning (wish me luck!)

Pension Alderhof is 3 minutes from the Bahnhof, which is a plus, but it looks like I am not going to take advantage of this since I plan on  checking out early and taking my stuff to Hellbrun. But I can get straight on the train to Munich if things are close.

Anyway, the Pension is located in a very Turkish neighborhood, right near some sketchy Erotica shops. People here are also really into underwear, lots of underwear shops. But this is worse. The building itself is pretty interesting. And old. I think I read on the website that this is one of the original pre-war buildings and that meetings of the Nazi party were held here. In which case, that’s pretty awesome. And a bit sketchy. It also might explain why my room smells like old people, old cigarette smoke, and Nazis. At least, I think that’s what Nazis might smell like. Pretty sure I am right.

In addition to my two beds, I have a very interesting painted cabinet with a key and a lock, a table with 2 lamps and a phone, another table with two chairs (2 people, remember, god I hope she doesn’t try to charge me the double rate. I will not even begin to know what to do.)

No clock, however,

Austrian rooms have no clocks. Why is this? This is odd. All I have is: a phone from Scott that I can’t fully get to work, thus it is pretty much a fancy clock and alarm clock;  an English pay-as-you-go phone that I don’t seem to have the charger for; and a rectangular, albeit nice watch that I cant always read properly (this seems foolish). But I have managed to get up on time thus far.  I am looking forward to another “8 hours of sleep”. Or at least 8 hours of being in bed.

Last night was the first since the two nights before I flew to London. I have been living like a spy (yeah I saw the new james bond movie). Trying to take in my surroundings without drawing too much attention. Listening to what others have to say. People watching. Analyzing everyone. and catching a nap here and there for a couple of hours, traveling everywhere in every mode of transportation all over Europe. Thus far I have no gun. And have not done a shoulder roll.

I hope this is rectified by the end of my trip.

 I am not cut out for travel. Or places where I don’t speak the language well.  I freak out a little. Even though I knows some German, I just get nervous and look at Alicia. But my tour guide is gone now. Its only me til Wednesday. Plus I have not had too much computer access, so I have published no blogs. And I have not been able to keep up with this journal either. I thought I would do it on planes and trains but so far I just want to sleep on them. maybe on tomorrow’s train, if I don’t finish catching up tonight. Which I won’t, I can tell you already.

tube rides, british men, and near death

Nov 4/5

I really did almost cry when I landed in London; how weak is that? I was just so happy. Ew. Everyone go throw up. I will now. Ok back.

As per usual, good old Great Britian was a bit skeptical about letting me in. The man at the desk eyed me suspiciously as he asked me many detailed questions such as why was  I there? Vacation. Who am I staying with? My friend. What is her name? jenna . Why is she here? School. What school? Christies. For what? Uh. Grad school. For art history. When are you leaving? Well I am leaving in a few days, traveling, then coming back and flying out of here. Where else are you traveling to? Uh  Germany, Austria, Prague… But you are leaving the UK? Yes. When do you leave go back to amercia? Um in two weeks. What airline? Continental. When? Where is your ticket? What is your flight number? Where does your friend live? What is her number? Uh.. well…I cant find the piece of paper with her address right now, it’s somewhere in my bag. I know I am meeting her at chalk farm and I wrote down her street I just don’t remember the house number. You don’t have her address? No not at the moment. And how are you getting to Chalk Farm? the tube. And what happens if she doesn’t meet you there? Uh…well I think she’s a better friend than that. Fine. Well don’t do that again. Always have an address. Go on.

I omitted many other questions. I do think the fact that I studied abroad confused them. and maybe someone had written some note in code about my plan to use the last of my money to come live there if I need to become a hobo. All I know is they are soooo onto me.

Anyway. Back to the main story.

Unfortunately despite my thinking London was home, I realized I really didn’t live here when a couple in the airport asked me how to get tickets for the tube. I had my two year old oyster card in my pocket and decided to see if that still worked, only to find out that not only was it functioning but it had 7 pounds on it! yay! However, when the couple in the airport tried to get me to help them I could not. They wanted a three day pass or something like that and the machines didn’t seem to offer it. I hope it was the machine’s fault and not mine.

Another man – who happened to be the man sitting in my row on the plane – came down with his daughter and was having an equivalent amount of trouble. I swiped my oyster card and walked through the gates, while my new friend pushed my luggage through to me. There was a train waiting to depart but I refused to leave my comrades behind. They couldn’t get the machine to take their tickets (it was too late at night I think – 11pm due to our flight being delayed), and try as I may I could not assist. Finally a tube worker shows up out of nowhere and tells them that they have to go through this other gate as he just glances at their ticket. They were very pleased that I waited for them for some reason “you’re too kind,” one of them says. (Those kind of phrases always make me a little nervous…too kind? Why not ‘you’re just kind enough’? or ‘your kindness has been wholly sufficient in this situation’. it makes me second guess myself to be called ‘too kind’.

We sit in the nearly empty car, joined only by another couple who sat across from me, and participate in some lovely small talk. It is my airport friends’ first time to London so they ask some things to do, if I like being there, etc etc. All was fine and dandy until they started asking me about their hotel or if I knew the best way to get to Buckingham Palace and I for the life of me could not remember. Nor did I have my awesome laminated London map. Just a guide book. With junk maps. I failed again. Sigh.

We ride for a while before  it starts to fill up in central London. I am sitting awkwardly straddling a huge suitcase with my legs so it doesn’t roll and holding onto my huge backpack that is on the seat next to me. At one stop a guy on the platform looks in at me and waves enthusiastically through the window. I kind of look around in a who else can you possibly be waving at kind of way before I halfheartedly and very confusedly raise my hand a bit to acknowledge this.

My other airport friends from across the way (who are the only ones left from the heathrow troupe) laugh as they watch this kid chat me up for the remainder of his ride. He sat down two seats over and immediately began talking to me about I don’t even know what. He’s sloshed. Which of course explains the rest of his behavior. He asks me what I think of his friend James, who went and stood some 7 feet away at least, and then proceeded to try to get me to admit he was a ‘sexy beast.’ As in ‘isn’t james there a sexy beast?’ “hmm. Well I don’t know james,’ I say ‘ you seem interested though, perhaps you should talk to him? Want me to get him to come over here?’ He of course states ‘oh I know him. I’ve had him many times.’  Don’t you just love drunk british men? Because I do. He gives up on his james mission for a while and then all of the sudden lights up again and asks about the election.. “it’s got to be obama right? it’s got to be” Did I vote, he asks? ‘Yes’ I say, ‘absentee ballot before I came over.’ Then he goes on to say “it will also start a fun game of when will he get assassinated.” Then he apologizes a bit and says he’s sorry, that it’s an awful thing to say but it’s true. This is a common thing I found. I had several Brits say to me that they were both extremely excited about obama and that they think he is going to get assassinated within a matter of time.

I ask him why Bush hasn’t been assassinated then, clearly enough people hate him. He then explains ( I keep saying he because I don’t actually remember my new friend’s name. he may not have told me. Though we did shake hands all formal like)… he then explains that it’s because rednecks love bush. And that’s who will do it. the rednecks. The US is not gonna let crazy fundamentalist terrorists get to your pres, he says, but the rednecks will do it. He’s got a point, unfortunately.

Towards the end of this subject his friend james the sexy beast comes over and apologizes profusely for his drunk friend. To which my new friend says ‘ nah she loves it. you’re alright, aren’t you? I’m sorry’ then apologizes more. And I just laughed and said ‘no no it’s fine’, and the people across the way can hardly contain themselves.

I should point out that NO ONE else on the tube was talking. Granted it is fairly loud as the old trains squeak and creak as they rush along the tracks, but still, there was no other conversation. Most people do not talk on the tube. And you particularly do not speak to strangers. Unless that stranger is me. Lots of London rules seem to be broken for me. But anyway, that adds a little to the visual of this true spectacle that was occurring.

Then my new friend continues with the politics saying things like “obama. Yeah, so abortions, they’re cool? Making love to everyone ? ‘ and as I said um and began to formulate how to respond to this and the word ‘cool’ being used with ‘abortion’ , not something I had heard before. But before I could respond in any way he switched over to asking if I could do him a favor.

I did not say yes. Because by now I knew my new friend well. And I think he has pretty lofty ideas for favors. So I say,’ well, it depends on what you need because I don’t want to make promises I can’t keep.’ He made a sad face. And then said ‘call me friend james over here and tell him you want to make love to him’ . ha! I knew it kid. No way. So I tell him no, and after much discussing and puppy dog face making, he still did not win. Too bad. Maybe if everyone on the tube wasn’t watching us like their favorite episode of Footballers Wives… but no.

His stop comes, he wished me luck with finding my friend and her place ( I explained the no address no phone situation to which he replied ‘ ooh that is scary’ nice. Thanks.) and said nice meeting me and then walked off.  I had not even truly arrived in London and I already let a possible british husband slip away. Sigh. He’s probably an alcoholic. But he was a charming alcoholic. If only I had propositioned his friend…

Well anyway, Chalk Farm comes up, I get off the train and go to the stairs where a concerned woman asks if I need help carrying my suitcase up. No thanks I say, and I continue to insist that I am fine (of course I was not really fine, but for some reason I cant accept help in these situations). She looks skeptical but in order to prove myself I just happily trudge up the stairs trying to look like I do this every day. I reach the top of these stairs only to see a sign leading to ‘emergency stairs’ , where everyone seems to walking. I look around quickly. Surely there is another way. And there it is. An elevator! But what’s this. Two really sketchy guys are loitering right outside it..and I just saw one girl almost do an about face in order to avoid these guys and take the stairs. Now normally I am ok with sketchy, but I had so much luggage that I really wouldn’t be able to fight anyone off. Ugh. Stairs it is. So I haul up I don’t even know how many spiral stairs, and pause at the landing thinking my heart is going to explode and wondering if I will ever make it to jenna’s alive, when I look up and see a very nervous looking jenna butler Esposito who looks down and then gets very excited.’ I THOUGHT YOU DIED ‘, she yells. Yeah. I am the worst friend ever. I am an hour late and had no way to contact her. But there she was. What a friend. Despite the fact that the immigration man yelled at me for not having the full address of where I was staying and asked what I was going to do if she didn’t meet me at the station, she was there. That shows you, mean immigration man. maybe he needs better friends. Maybe I should have offered to be his friend.

We get to her apartment down the street at about 1215 am. We check online to see if we have a new president (nope), as we proceed to drink a considerable amount of strongbow. I understand Jenna’s complaints about that drink now. It is too sugary. It will be a while before I choose strongbow again. But anyway. We go to bed in a good state of mind, good enough for me to ignore the fact that there was ivy growing from her skylight (think of the bug possibilities) and that she told me there were loads of spiders in her room.

 But hey. I am in London. and nothing can ever beat the happiness that comes with that. Not even spiders and hang overs and gas leaks.

What?