I Wish I Sounded Like I Was From Landan

So this one time, on the last weekend in January, I went to London because I’m obsessed and I guess I figure that if I spend enough time there, I’ll just be offered citizenship or, like, at least a husband or something.  So I took the bus to the train and got to London no problem.  (After I listened to some French/Swiss guys get swindled into buying the Gatwick Express tickets, which are ridiculously overpriced.  If I ever hear about any of you taking that, consider yourself disowned.  But I didn’t step in to save them, so I guess I’m partly to blame.)

            I got off the plane and hustled my bustle to get to the Gatwick train station ASAP.  Naturally, the ticket machine was like, Ionwant that card.  And Ionwant the other one either.  Gimmeh some o’ dat cash.  So I shoved in my pounds and yanked my ticket so’s I could sprint down the stairs to the train that was arriving in 1 minute.  Because, oh yeah, when I got to the train station, I saw that there were 4 minutes before the next train.  Otherwise, I’d have been sitting pretty (which is the only way I know how to sit) for 30 minutes.  I’d have none of it.

            So I made it.  And I made it to London Bridge Station and was happy to be “home.”  There’s something really lovely about taking the train to the same train station that I used for 3 months when I lived in London.  I honestly wouldn’t have it any other way. 

            Because I have such a tight sense of direction, I walked over to Adam and Laura’s without having to phone or anything!  Mind you, I hadn’t been to London since October so this was pretty much swag swag swag swag.  Adam met me at the door and we hugged and Laura and I hugged and we put down my mess of stuff (after I gave Adam the 13€ box of Lucky Charms) and went across the road to Tesco to get some food stuff.  Shopping for nachos here was kind of wack.  I really wanted to get some pepperjack, but England's not known for its cheese varieties.  Just, like, pathetic.  That's certainly not to say that shopping for it in France would have been better.  Dare I say that American's love of cheese and it's melting pot culture (fondue reference?) makes it ideal to cheese shopping?  I dare.  

            We decided to have nachos for dinner.  And fajitas, which were really more like burritos once you got down to it, but I digress.  So we went back to theirs and prepared the food and watched a movie.  We started watching a bootlegged Black Swan, but quickly decided against it.  I want to say that we watched Fight Club, which someone (or maybe my film text book) had awesomely ruined for me when I was in college.  Oh yeah, this was my first time watching it, but I already knew the twist.  So I watched it the first time the way most people watch it the second time.  Triste!  But whatevs.  (Now that I’m talking about it, I’m 100% sure that that’s what we watched.)  Then we went to beddy by.

            Next day, I woke up first and kind of quietly moved about waiting for Adam and Laura to awaken, but I was getting super antsy because I was supposed to be meeting Jen and Laura Cross for lunch during Laura’s lunch break.  (I hope people don’t forget that any Laura mentioned with Adam is Laura Moreira da Cruz and any Laura mentioned with Jen is Laura Cross.  While their names look the same, when you say them, say Laura MDC’s name with a Portuguese accent because that’s what she is.  Laura Cross can be British.)  Shmanyshway, Laura and Adam eventually got up and I think we had a small breakfast before I dipped for the tube to get to Laura’s stop.

            As I swiped my Oyster to get off the tube (basically a native Londoner.  Would you please stop fighting it?), I was horribly frightened as I heard shrieks begin to bounce off the walls of the station.  I looked up to see two balls of joy bounding towards me: Laura and Jen.  We had a beautiful reunion complete with a 3-way hug and jumping around together.  It was pleasant and decidedly un-French.  I don’t hate it.

            We went to get lunch at this place by Laura’s office that’s a sushi/wrap place.  I mean that in the sense that you can get sushi or wraps, but also in the sense that you can get a wrap-sized sushi.  Got it?  I think it’s called Abocado or something.  It was nahce.  But the miso soup I got was a bit salty.  We caught up until Laura had to go back to work, so we walked her over.  I stole her facilities access, and then Jen and I set on our merry way.

            Where to?  Where else, y’all?  It was Friday.  Borough Market.  We wandered and didn’t get anything really.  Just got dem samplez and I drooled over as much as I usually do.  We did get some fudge from Burnt Sugar.  We had a lovely chat with the guy running the stand.  They both made me feel well ignorant for thinking that fudge is generally chocolate.  Supposedly, it’s vanilla fudge unless it says specifically chocolate fudge.  Whatevs.  They don’t know.  We also got some squidgy toffee.  On the way out, we stopped for some hot drinks to help warm us up as it was not arctic, but certainly chilly.

            Before we managed to escape the deliciously sticky grasp of Borough, we stopped into the chocolate shop.  We poked about for ages mooching samples and whatnot until I gave in and bought some chocolate from the clearance booth.  I mean, it was gonna go bad in like 2 weeks.  What was I supposed to do?  Just not eat it?  Niño, por favor.  So I paid homage to my current situation and got chocolate with the following description:

50% “Dash of Milk” Crêpes Dentelles

Island Growers, Saint Lucia

Crisp, wafer-like textures of baked crêpes stirred into the natural cream and caramel flavours of this chocolate.

Then on the back, it continued:

“Dash of Milk”—a new style of chocolate midway between a classic milk and a classic dark.  All the deep cacao flavours of a great dark but with a dash of milk for a little mellowness.  There’s as little  sugar in here as a 70% dark.

To say anything but “yes” would have been an insult.

Seeing this ad makes me
sad I missed this movie.

            Jen and I stragetized for a moment before deciding to take the bus to see Black Swan at a theater near theirs after stopping off for banana bread ingredients.  And that’s exactly what we did.  We saw it at this supes adorbs theater in Brixton that was quirky and independent.  Just my speed.  They sold clothes, had free postcards of the movies, and held events there on a regular basis.  Why am I not living there?  Prolly 'cause of the Disney Channel movie called Phantom of the Megaplex, which I never actually saw.  (Actually, more like because of this Are You Afraid of the Dark? episode that still creeps me out to think about..)  Here’s a nice, blurry photo of the inside of the screen room:

"They'll never shut down the Rialto.  It's a landmark."--AYAotD

            Black Swan happened.  Then back to Jen and Laura’s to wait for Laura to get home so we could order dinner: Chinese take out.  We got some staples, including chop suey.  Which was a HUGE disappointment after having grown up on Flower Drum Song (side note: the main singer in that, Juanita Hall, is black), which made it sound like a magically mixed concoction.  Alas.  We watched Finding Nemo, and I tried to forget.

            Bedtime.

            The next day, we bummed about in the morning while I made banana bread.  Jen left first to play with her lady, and Laura and I followed a bit later.  As we walked to the tube station together, we stumbled upon this sign:

British mess

Firstly, how much more British can you get than calling poop “mess”?  Secondly, how does it cause blindness?  Laura was quick to inform me that if you touch poo and then rub it in your eyes, you’ll go blind.  What a ridiculous way to warn people about “mess.”  I mean, it certainly has the fear element.  But when I see “mess,” I’m way more scared of it getting on my shoes than my eyes.  Cultural differences, I spooooose.

            Anyway, I was going to the tube so as to get onto a train going to Oxford to visit some favorite residents from last year.  Jen had told me that there were delays on the Bakerloo Line (the main line I would be taking), but I was all “Well, good thing I’m leaving 45 minutes for a 25 minute ride.”  Well, I was wrong.  I should have left 1:15 for that 25 minute ride.  Needless to say, I missed my train.  But would you have expected anything else from this blog?  Nah. 

            So I waited in Paddington Station (yes, the Paddington Station) until the next train left at the following hour.  When I arrived in Oxford, residents Parker Brogdon and Ellie Cooper met me at the station!  We went to Ellie’s room so I could leave my backpack (aka Adam’s backpack full of my junk) so that we could wander uninhibited.  And that’s exactly what we did.

            So I give you photos of Oxford:

Inside a college. 

Fancy fence.

Park where we had a walk.

            We walked around parks and colleges and all kinds of things.  How different it is to study at Oxford than to study in London.  Or at least in London at King’s.  Not that I would have changed it for anything.  Also, I mean, Oxford is a bustling metropolis compared to Belley even though it’s practically sleepy next to London.  Oh, relativity!  You never cease to play tricks.

            We decided we’d stop for a snakebite and a bite to eat at this awesome pub/café that Ellie had seen on her runs along the Thames, so we started walking in that direction.  Walk walk walk.  Walk walk walk.  Search search search. Walk walk walk.  No dice no dice no dice.  Ellie had no idea what happened to the restaurant, but we never passed it.  So we turned around and walked back, watching the incredibly intense crew teams practicing all the while.  But it was also sometimes calm and perdy.

Perdy like Perdita.  Pongo was elsewhere.

            We went back to Ellie’s through a market.  And since we had empty bellies, I got us some cupcakes.  Ellie didn’t have one, though.  Mistake.  They were surprisingly good, which is saying something given England’s spotty history with cakes.  In my personal opinion, anyway.  The great cupcake search of 2008 is evidence of this dearth of moist delicious cake.  But I digress.

            After getting back to Ellie’s, I got my bag.  Ellie was feeling a bit under the weather due to some major raging the night before, so we said our farewells, and Parker and I headed out in search of a bite.  We ended up stopping for Thai food at a place he knew.  Naturally, because he’s the most popular boy at the sockhop, we ran into some people he knew and that was cozy.  We didn’t eat with them, but it was cozy. 

            Afterwards, we dipped and scurried to the train station so I could make my train on time.  Since I had arrived in Oxford an hour late, I was obvio an hour late going back.  Adam was texting me asking where I was, which was surprising to me because he and Laura had gone to a football/soccer match that was meant to be several hours in the afternoon.  But whatevs.  So then I got back and got off at London Bridge and waited for the bus that was meant to save me heaps of time and oodles of cold appendages.  False.  I waited at that stop for ages.  Every other bus came by twice while I was just waiting for that 68.  It got to be that I had waited so long I knew that I would have been at Adam’s if I had just walked but then I knew I had to wait it out so that I could feel like there was meaning in my life and that things still made sense and that London was still dependable.  And just as I was on the phone with my folks, up rolled the 68.  Without explanation for its whereabouts.

            Got off at the Tesco and got some wine and cereal (because I was out in Belley and a girl’s gotta have breakfast on a Monday, which can be complicated when stores are closed on Sundays).  I got wine because Adam had arranged a party that was shortly downgraded to a small get-together after Adam created a Facebook event for the party and invited his roommates whom he had forgotten to ask about having the party in the first place.  So anyway, Adam was having this party because, I don’t know, I’m basically super popular and likeable and people just want to see me when I’m in London.  Well, maybe.

            Got to Adam’s and greeted everyone.  That’s actually not true.  I’m not really friends with any of Adam’s roommates, except Laura, so I don’t really talk to them except in passing.  Not in a rude way, just in a “I have no idea what to say to you besides pleasantries” way.  You understand. 

            Anywaaaaaay, people I DID talk to at the gathering were Jupe, Adam, Laura, JJ, Ruthie, and Jupe’s friend Sanaa.  People I didn’t talk to at the gathering were Adam’s roommates, the boyfriend in attendance, and 2 people who arrived late.  We sat around playing this Friends game that was like Chicks vs. Dudes (I’d imagine since I’ve never played.).  The people I didn’t talk to were playing it.  And we were playing it.  Two separate games of the same game in the same room.  We also drank while we played, but that’s a given, right?

            Waaaaay later, everyone peaced out and we made sleeping arrangements.  I chose the wrong hand when Adam asked JJ and me which hand was holding something, so I slept on the couch downstairs while JJ went upstairs to Adam’s bed.  Ruthie slept in an absent roommate’s bed. 

            The next morning (more like later that same morning), I got up to make cookies for the house.  People slowly awoke and partook.  Laura and Adam got up and quickly thereafter set off to their match.  Because, oh yeah, the reason they had been eager for me to get back was because their game that was to be keeping them away from me was actually on Sunday and not Saturday.  Mess. 

            People slowly left to do their Sunday things.  Then, all of the sudden, I looked at the time and realized that I needed to be leaving.  Like, I don’t know what I was doing, but Ruthie and I noticed at exactly the same moment that I was supposed to be gone.

            So I shoved everything into my bag and got going.  I walked as fast as my legs would carry me, even jogging every once in a while.  That is, until that strange foot injury (the same one from Paris) returned.  When I was about 4 minutes away, I checked my phone for the time and saw that my arriving on time for the train to Gatwick was impossible so I just figured I’d take the next one.  Except when I got to the train station, somehow, I was only like 2 minutes late for it.  Which meant that I should have just kept up my running pace because surprise! My phone is 4 minutes fast.  So whatever.  Missed the train and got a pasty for grub and waited for the next train.

            When I got to Gatwick, they were doing the final call for check-in to Geneva.  That’s my number, as you know, so I made my way to the front.  Through security to the waiting area.  Bought a nail file and some water (and, naturally, stopped for a break in my favorite public bathroom of all time), and went to my gate.

            Oh yeah.  This whole weekend I had been like suuuuper stressed because I had NO clue how I was going to get back to Belley from the train station.  Marc was in Bourdeaux with his lady.  Nicole was going to dinner at a friends.  And I was not feeling paying double for a taxi.  So I had left a written note in Sabine’s locker at school hoping for a response.  I also called Maud and Muriel while I was in London and left messages, both oral and textual.  NO dice.  Ruthie had assured me that someone would definitely call me just as I was boarding the plane.  She was nearly right!

            As I was in line for passport control in Geneva, I heard my phone ring, which was amazing because 1) someone was calling me on that phone and 2) I could hear the phone ringing.  It was Sabine!  And she said that she could fetch me from the train station!  Unfortunately, the timing of her phone call was incredibly poor as it was just after I had confirmed with Flo that I could stay at hers overnight and then take the train back in the morning.  It was also poor timing because I was at the front of the passport line.  I moved forward and gave the guy my passport even though Sabine was still talking to me.  He started off being smiley and then rapidly his face took a turn.  He told me to step to the side, but then Sabine hung up.  “Nous ne sommes pas la poste,” he said to me.  (We are not the post office.)  What that has to do with people being on cell phones is beyond me, but whatevs.

            And so, Sabine got me from the train station in Virieu and brought me to Belley.

            It’s over!

                        JWill