Ah yes, my butt is wet and sticky. This gives literal meaning to the phrase: “Dave has a sweet ass!”
First things first! #10 on the UEA Bluesox was taken, so I am officially #33!
This past weekend I went into London again - this time with my Arizona-friend Teri. It was a different experience than going and staying with someone who already lived there. Going with another tourist as a tourist certainly leads to seeing and doing more. So now in my two trips I’ve seen what London is like for a local college student, and seen it as a tourist.
This weekend we saw Portobello Road, which, according to Wikipedia the worlds largest antiques marketplace. According to Dave, it was an outdoor Walmart selling everything from “1800’s leather boxing equipment” for $10 and WWII Rolex watches stolen off the wrist of Adolph Hitler himself for only $5! Nothing like authentic jewelry. They also had a nice selection of “I Heart London” shirts, soccer jerseys, and boom boxes playing American rap music. (Nothing says antiques marketplace like “I’m Slim Shady, the real Slim Shady…”!)
After Portobello Road we made our way over to Buckingham Palace and watched the changing of the guard. I got a metric ton of good pictures all courtesy of my background in journalism. (Rule of thumb: If you do something you absolutely know you’re not suppose to get a good picture, and stop the second a police officer tells you to, and plead ignorance, MOST OF THE TIME you won’t get arrested.) Done and done!
People were pushing their way up to the big gate surrounding the palace during the ceremony. Pushing became over rated and people started pulling themselves up ONTO the gate and taking pictures through it. When I say “people” I mean, probably 25 people were already up on the gate prior to me deciding to do this. Cops and guards were everywhere. No one had been extracted or yelled at, yet so I figured I’d hop up.
Clearly, this happens every time and they have a set point in the ceremony where this is no longer allowed, because all at once (about 5 minutes before the end) the cops started telling everyone to get down… and we did. (Well, I did at least. A few didn’t, and they were not shot at which I was somewhat disappointed about…)
After that we headed to a restaurant called Wagamama’s. Teri had heard about it and seemed really excited about going, and despite the fact that it was a Japanese noodle restaurant, and I assumed there wouldn’t be anything I could eat there that I wouldn’t have an allergic reaction, I decided to be a good sport and go. Last time I made this decision, I ended up getting free dinner at “Tucson’s Authentic Japanese Cuisine” called something like Itchyballsaq who informed me not only that there was both MSG and Soy in EVERYTHING ON THE MENU, but that they also pre cooked all of their food a few days in advance and the kitchen closes when the restaurant opens. They re opened the kitchen and put some chicken in a frying pan and fed me for free, because no one likes a kid with food allergies and hunger related angst!
Anyway, unless there are some extraordinary circumstances before I leave, Wagamama’s will win The Weekly Brit’s Travel Award for Most Allergy Friendly Restaurant Ever! I meekly said “I have an allergy to soy and MSG… is there anything you can prepare without those?” Our waitress pats my shoulder and says “Hold on, I’ll be right back.” (This is usually the precursor to “No.”) Instead, she went and fetched me a menu specifically for my people! A whole menu just for people allergic to Soy and MSG!!! I was very excited. That must have been how Moses felt after wandering through the desert for 40 years and then matzo fell from the sky. (Or something like that.)
21 years in a world of MSG and Soy in everything from Ice Cream to Turkey and finally, my day has come! My people are recognized!
After wonderful food with wonderful service and no allergic reaction, we headed off to The National Gallery. I’m not much of an art nut, and though I enjoyed it I fear I’ll sound less and less intelligent the more I say about it… but there was a bunch of stuff by Da Vinci , and Monet.
After this we took pictures of ourselves on the big lion statues in Trafalgar square. 900 small children had no problem pulling themselves up onto the lions back, but a full grown adult (yeah… me…) could barley hump my way past it’s tail. Instead I pulled myself up into its paws and got pictures there. (They’re below. Lottsa pictures in this post.)
Finishing Trafalgar Square, we headed back to Teri’s aunts house where we both immediately dozed off on the two couches in the living room. After nap time, we played a rousing game of “Life,” and then had dinner.
Sunday we got up early again and headed out to The Tate Modern (museum of art). I was bumbed that the National Gallery had nothing by Renee Magritte, and Teri was determined to find me some. (Unfortunately, they didn’t either, those bastards!) but it was still a cool museum. Her guidebook said for BOTH The Tate and the National Gallery to allow yourself TWO FULL DAYS DEDICATED TO THE MUSEUMS. We did both in record time. The National Gallery in under 2 hours and the Tate in under 1.
After The Tate we saw The Globe Theater. By “saw” I mean we walked past and acknowledged it was there. Here’s why. It’s not the real Globe. It’s not in the same location as the real Globe. It’s not even CLOSE to it. And, even without seeing a show, it cost $25 to go inside. Done and done!
And then it was time to go to Hogwarts… or at least try our hardest! To Kings Cross Station! Platform 9 ¾!!!
So, I’ve been to platform 9 ¾. Don’t make a trip to England just for that, for God’s sake. Apparently a bunch of stupid kids kept slamming carts into the wall between the real platform’s 9 and 10 and did something like $140,000 in damage, so Kings Cross station now has a separate little area (with a cart cemented into the wall) for you to take your picture.
Some Harry Potter facts: Harry Potter 1 was actually titled “Harry Potter and the Philosophers Stone” over here in England. They changed the name before taking it to America. Also, according to the family we were staying with, the scenes in the Harry Potter movies were actually filmed in London Paddington Station, rather than at Kings Cross.
After Kings Cross, it was off to Hamleys: the greatest toy store in the world. I’ve never been in the FAO Schwarz in New York, but I get the feeling these two stores would get into a fist fight if they were any closer. (And seeing as FAO has gone bankrupt twice in the last 6 years, I’m assuming Hamleys would win.)
Anyway, it was wicked cool. I don’t care how old I get: an entire room dedicated to Thomas the Tank Engine will always get the same reaction out of me - pure, unadulterated joy. I didn’t buy a Thomas tank engine, but I did come damn close.
In this day and age where the Power Rangers are in outer space and Garfield and Friends is no longer aired, I was glad to see that Thomas has remained relatively unchanged. They’ve ditched the name “Shining Time Station” and are just calling it “Thomas the Tank Engine.” It also appears in the last 14 years while I have not been paying attention, Thomas has made friends with both an airplane and a helicopter. It also appears that Sir Topham Hatt has disappeared, but come on… does that really surprise anyone? Who wore a top hat 24/7 in 1989?
After Hamleys it was time for lunch, and then time for going home.
I took the train from London Liverpool Street to Ipswich, and then boarded a bus from Ipswich to Norwich.
I was sitting reading when a man sat down next to me. It only took a few minutes before he started talking to me. He seemed nice enough. He gave me a piece of chewing gum and told me about his family. I was bored too and probably would have been the one to start a conversation had I not had a book with me. I thought nothing of it… yet…
I tell him about my weekend in London. I don’t mention Teri specifically but refer frequently to “we.” He says “are you with the other Americans on this bus?” he asks.
“No, I was with a friend. She doesn’t have class till Thursday but I’ve got to be back tomorrow.”
“So you’re alone?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“How are you getting back to the University?”
“I have a bus pass.”
“Oh, don’t take the bus. I can give you a ride home if you’d like.”
This offer surprised me, however, I’ve made the same offers before. I’ve seen drunk girls wandering around my apartment complex, walking in circles and bumping into cars at 3 in the morning when I’ve been driving in. My logic is that if they’re drunk enough to not realize getting into a strangers car is a terrible idea, then I’m saving them a lot of agony by taking advantage of their judgment only to make sure they get where they’re going safely. (Only once have I given one a ride back. Every other time they’ve been sober enough to tell me no.) Back to the action!
“That’s very nice of you, but I really don’t mind taking the bus,” I tell him.
“I’m not trying to rob you or nothing,” he says, and I’m officially creeped out.
“It’s really alright, I already paid the 130 pounds for it, I might as well get my moneys worth, right?” I say, trying to match his jovial tone of “I’m not trying to rob you!”
My hope that this is just a kind fellow like myself trying to help a stranger disappears completely. He doesn’t let it go. I keep my cool the entire time, deciding that if this guy really is dangerous that offending him will serve me no purpose. I continue kindly refusing.
But he keeps pushing. He keeps asking. He even starts asking me what my reason for not wanting him to give me a ride home is. I continue telling him I’ve already paid for my pass, I’d like to use it so I get my moneys worth.
We start to pull into the station and he tells me he needs to call “the ride” and see when they’ll be there to pick “us” up.
Very slowly, I reach into the bottom of my camera bag, feel for my knife, push it into my sleeve so he can’t see it, then drop it into my side pocket so it’s easier to get to if I need it. He watches my hand the entire time. I’m sure he’s seen the knife and fleetingly feel bad that I’ve offended this extra-friendly super-creepy man. However, being extra-friendly myself, I know that if I saw someone reach for a knife in response to my kindness, I’d back the hell off.
“Look how hard it’s raining, let me give you a ride.”
“No thank you sir,” I say as I start to get off the bus. I’m walking quickly, he’s following faster.
“I can get your luggage for you, which bag is yours?” he asks as we get to the luggage thing below the bus. I grab my backpack, throw it over my shoulder and mutter “this one,” as I walk away. I go sit down at the #25 bus stop. (It’s well lighted, has benches, is covered from the rain, and there’s about 5 other people there.)
A few minutes go by and he leaves me alone. I assume he’s left. I’m sitting reading when he walks back up to me.
“David, the car is here. Let’s go,” he says forcefully.
“Sir, no thank you. I’d rather take the bus,” I say without looking up from my book.
“But it’s cold and raining. I’ll worry you’ll catch a cold. I’d feel better if you let me give you a ride home,” he says, though his kind sounding voice has gotten creepier and sounds meaner.
“No thank you. This jacket is very warm,” still gazing at the book.
“Look at the schedule! You’ll have to wait another 22 minutes before the bus even gets here. You’d be home in that time if you let me give you a ride.”
“No thank you,” now watching his feet.
He pauses.
“Alright. David? The car is leaving. Now, let’s go.”
“NO!” I respond much more forcefully as I’m now looking at his face.
We glare at each other for a second. He takes a step towards me. I stand up quickly. Left hand out, right hand in pocket gripping the handle of the knife. He looks puzzled, and makes another motion towards me. Before I wait to figure out what this motion is I take a step towards him, grab and shake his left hand with mine and say “Thank you for your offer. Goodbye.”
He goes away at this point.
Finally I get on the bus and realize something. I didn’t actually see where he went. He could have just gone back into the parking lot and waited for me to get on the bus. There’s only 1 bus to the university every half hour at that time on Sunday. There are only 3 stops I could be getting off at. Shit.
I call three of my friends, none of whom could meet me at the stop for various reasons. I don’t have campus security’s number in my phone, and don’t want to call 999 (their equivalent of 911) so I just quickly, in the best, scariest posture I can muster walk back to my dorm, still holding the knife handle in my pocket.
Thankfully, this is the kind of story that is exciting to read because of the story, not the surprise ending. Nothing happened on my way home, and nothing has happened since… though much to my surprise, my flat mates who I thought would tease me about getting so freaked out all had the same reaction of “Don’t talk to ANYONE in Ipswich. Ever.” Apparently it’s notorious for bad things of that sort happening.
I also realized that when you have to take a train to Ipswich and a bus home because the rails are being worked on, they don’t check your ticket to get onto the bus, just to be polite. So, creeper in Ipswich could have just hopped on looking for someone to… well… in his own words… rob.
After my post from Day 1 of being here, thinking I almost got robbed blind in Heathrow Airport, I commented that I’d learned my lesson and wouldn’t let my guard down like that again. I can safely say I proved that right, but I hope I don’t have to again.
Teri, my loyal travel buddy, also in the paws of the lion!
Beginning my education at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Intently playing with a race car at Hamleys Toy Store.
Pure, unadulterated joy! Thomas The Tank Engine!!!
Teri is praying by this rocking horse because IT COSTS $3,000!!!! HOLY CRAP!!!
Look guys! This is almost as big as my bedroom in ManziMo was!
WANT TO SEE MORE PICTURES FROM LONDON? CLICK HERE!
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1 comment:
Woah! that was Creeeepy. awesome story
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