Gabi Goes! Adventures of a JMU Student Abroad, Vol. 11

Day Seventeen: Traitor’s Gate and Hampstead Heath

I gazed blearily at my alarm clock as it bleeped pitifully away into the darkness. Was that what was making that dreadful noise? The letters greenly showed: 6:15.

Forget this. 6:15. I rolled over and went back asleep.

It was only when the shrill shriek of my room-mate’s alarm began blaring at 8:00 that I inevitably panicked and got out of bed. I have slept through breakfast in the past two and a little more than half weeks on so many occasions that half my food quota for the day has temporarily been taken up with mid-day croissants and coffee. An inordinate amount of coffee. It was drinking this instant coffee—-odious stuff found in the lobby that comes from a powder—-when I finally remembered what on earth possessed me to get up so early. Today, we were going to the Tower, and completing my personal London checklist. After a wild ride on the Tube (trying to coordinate twenty-two individuals onto a single train is like attempting to ride a zebra through a lion cage) we finally arrived to the monolithic and suitably impressive Tower of London. We ran about the cobblestoned path for a while, pointed happily at all the ravens milling about (especially the one that stole a man’s sandwich), learned which weapon is best in close combat for a knight, and took countless pictures of a steampunk medieval dragon. I got to hold a Hastings crossbow and wear a helmet, so all in all it was a pretty eventful morning. The guys and I were a little late getting out of the Tower—-we were still in the horse exhibit when everyone else had cleared off, but we left sufficient time to make it to Hampstead Heath to meet a couple of writers from the Nation and grab a picnic lunch.

This would have worked had we not taken a little detour.

The guys and I happily followed the directions of a stranger, and went about twenty minutes in the wrong direction, ending up at a Spanish Inn circa 1549. Figuring that that was wrong, we got onto one of those iconic double decker buses, only to have it loop about and lead us in the exact wrong direction. A few phone calls later, and holding sandwiches like lifelines, we climbed an epic hill to sit with the two writers and their dog Milo (apparently the ‘only gay dog on Hampstead Heath”). I had been hoping for a few tips on writing, some journalism tricks. I rather suspect that I missed that bit, because when we got there, they were already on Britain’s medical system and economy, and not too gently explaining why America needs to get its act together. It was a lot of ado, about nothing, I suspect, but when we got back to Bloomsbury, I rewarded myself with another trip to the British Museum to see the Rosetta Stone (another thing off my list) and wandered about the neighbourhood again before settling down to tackle Les Miserables again, without simply skipping through all the bits without Inspector Javert.

Oh, and I officially finished my book today.
The London Eye, and an RADA production tomorrow. Two days more.