After a stressful and dramatic race to Termini, I arrived, sweaty and panting, just in time to see my bus drive away. Thankfully, another one arrived in thirty minutes, and I made it to my flight just in time.
From the moment I boarded that EasyJet.com plane to London, the culture shock set in. “We proudly brew Starbucks Coffee.” “Fuckers,” I thought, reading the English magazine at my seat. I was all of a sudden offended by things that impersonated my new culture, despite their prominence in the culture I come from originally. We passed a Pizza Hut on the bus from Gatwick Airport, and I subconsciously rolled my eyes. I had expected to be so thrilled to be amongst a familiar language, but all I felt was bitterness. This of course, all faded away with the brown-bagged Rose Alex brought with her to pick me up. Stay classy, Sienna.
But before the liquor found its way into my hands, I found something else to drink to. The bus dropped me off in potentially the darkest area of London. It was empty, safe for the woozy homeless man on the corner and the two drunken girls sitting on the sidewalk. Alex wasn’t there when I arrived, so I went into the hotel across the street to wait. We had agreed that this is where we’d meet if all else failed. I walked in, wearing leggings and a sweatshirt and balancing my backpacking backpack with an overstuffed Jansport. Upon asking if I could wait there for my friend I was told, “No, we don’t let people in off the streets.” “Oh…” “I’m ‘of the streets’ now?” I thought. “Crap.” I convinced him to let me stay, but only for five minutes. Five turned into 40 as he welcomed me to the city with stories of sickness and murder in the streets of London, upon which I collected my things and perched on the corner to wait. Soon after, I saw Alex in the distance. She’d be waiting at another hotel for an hour! Seven pounds, three buses, and two hours later, we were back at her flat in Mile End. We munched on Hobnobs and sipped cheap wine until the bottle was empty and my energy was drained.
The next day was kicked off around 1PM with Fish & Chips and Abbot Ale. I opted out of the “mushy peas,” deciding to leave this traditional dish to my imagination.
From there, we visited the Tate Modern, which blew me away. Having been in Rome, a city where rubble = ruins, for the past three months, this was a much needed reminder of my love for modern art and architecture. Things started to get a little esoteric for my taste, starting with “The Family Jewels: NNN (No Naked Niggas),” which depicted a naked, emaciated black man lying in odalisque form on a sleazy velvet couch. Art?
After the Tate, I saw the Globe Theatre and crossed the Millennium Bridge, which has since been restored after the Dementors’ attack.
After a dinner of goat cheese pizza (don’t ask me why) at Alex’s, we headed to The Roxy, a little club in Tottenham Court. The bouncer was happy to let us in, as we were the first Americans of the night. Since when is being American a good thing? London: 1. Rome: 0. We danced and made friends and eventually left, at which point I fell asleep on the bus, naturally.
The next morning was spent with a headache and an English Muffin…or is it just a muffin? We headed to Abbey Road, which, for the record, is a real road with real cars and real traffic laws, which, for the record, made taking this picture very difficult:
Next up was Oxford Street for some quality money wasting. I spent a pretty penny pence on shoes and other tchotckies my suitcase didn’t have room for. At Primark, a clothing store that always has a Black Friday atmosphere, I was able to get my hands on some cheap thrills, but not before being screamed at by a rotten old lady. Five minutes into the madness, my arm was grabbed, followed by, “Excuse me!” “Yes?” I said to the miserable looking woman below my line of vision. “You bumped into me!” “I did? Oh I’m very sorry!” I began to walk away, but she wanted to stay and chat. She grabbed my arm and proceeded to lecture me on manners and respect. “Listen to me!” she screeched over the massive crowd surrounding us. “Look, I said I’m sorry and now we’re done.” This back and forth continued for some time before finally she understood that I wasn’t interested in her reprimands, or maybe I’m just a faster walker. She disappeared behind us, and I was dumbfounded. Not only am I positive I never touched her, but of all the places to be upset by it, Primark is hardly appropriate. I took out my anger on my wallet. Whoops!
That night, I graced Brick Lane with my presence, though I’m sure they weren’t so happy to see me. Brick Lane is a street in Shoreditch lined with Indian restaurants. The most savvy waiters stand outside, offering deals to hungry walkers. The goal is to haggle with all of them until the best offer is made. This was my paradise. For ten pounds, we ate like queens at Monsoon (terrible name). Popodoms, samosas, naan, rice, tikka masala, lamb korma, tandori chicken, two beers and a mango lassi.
This was both the best decision and the worst decision. I’ve never been so full, and I wished I’d thought the timing out better, because right after dinner, we headed to 93 Feet East for some St. Patty’s celebrations! Needless to say, we weren’t the most enthusiastic dancers.
Looking back, my last full day in London seems like it should have taken a week. We started at the London Eye, where I looked over the brilliant city and glistening water. The clouds beside us were outstanding, and looked like traditional Roman cotton candy (which is white).
Next were the House of Parliament, Big Ben, and Westminster Abbey. Big Ben wasn’t as big as I expected and Westminster was sub par compared to what I see on the daily in Italy, but the House of Parliament was unreal. I can’t imagine why Parliament needs that much space, but more power to them! Just kidding, there should be a fair balance of power. Bad joke?
After some photos, we headed to Buckingham Palace, passing hundreds of daffodils on our way through Regent’s Park.
We arrived just in time for the changing of the guards, which was funny. We hopped on the Tube and headed to Kings Cross, where I tried really hard to go to Hogwarts, but was unsuccessful.
I ate sushi in the train station, which in retrospect sounds disgusting. I promise it was only mildly gross, but totally worth it.
You’d think the day would end there. Didn’t. We went to Trafalgar’s Square, where the Saint Patrick’s Day festival was taking place. Hoards of drunk people filled the square, stuffing their faces with corn beef hash and soda bread.
As two young boys performed Gallic originals on stage, security guards waded through the fountains.
It was quite the scene, but considering my sobriety in comparison with my peers, I decided to go to the National Gallery for a quick look. This place was huge. I could have spent a whole day inside, but had to rush through, just barely catching Van Gough’s sunflowers on the way out. The Portrait Gallery’s restaurant was awaiting our arrival. With a view of London’s skyline, we sipped English Breakfast Tea (is that joke getting old?) and munched on finger sandwiches, scones with clotted cream, and way too much dessert.
After the luxurious afternoon, we wandered through the gallery until they kicked us out, after which we made our way to Piccadilly Circus, the Times Square of London. It was beautiful and ironic. The bright lights and neon signs were plastered over original Victorian architecture. The mixture of new and old created a funky environment.
That night, we met up with some of Alex’s British friends, who took us to Chinatown for Udon noodles at a nameless restaurant. Here, I realized my obsession with Udon. Perfect timing, Sienna…you live in Rome. Afterwards, we met up with Liz and ate Haagen Daz, which I am usually enthusiastic about, but after three months of gelato, I was left unimpressed. Somehow I convinced myself to get some sleep, so we headed back to Mile End.
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