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Published: December 5th 2011
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Occupy Library
So, this was a communal library run by a guy named Nathan. From Texas. In London. needless to say it made my day. Ugh. What? It's Sunday? Bugger. So, I was initially planning on writing a brief little update about the shocking number of dick jokes in The
Barber of Seville, and generally what a classy night at the opera can be, but finals, and more intriguingly London came up. So that's postponed til post finals.
Right, so, London. I'm going to pop off, get a nice mug of Glühwein (take redwine, fairy dust and cinnamon, and a few minutes in a pot), possibly a pillow to scream in, and then I'll take advantage of this blog to bury the most costly five second mistake I have ever made.
Ok, we're back, and I'm slightly more relaxed, let's gather round and hear the story of Thanksgiving. So way back in the day a group of buckle-shoed traffic cone wearing killjoys crashed at Plymouth Rock and some of them managed to survive the-what? Oh, right. My Thanksgiving.
Anyways, a while back a homesick moment popped in. Thanksgiving's not something anyone outside of the U.S embassies celebrates in Europe, Christmas just sort of...starts (I'll cover that next time), so I figured it would be best to spend it with
Tower of London
Beware, here there be price hikes. friends.
In this case that meant Chelsea and Aly, both happily studying in London, which also happens to be a pretty nifty place. All of this makes a good deal of sense right? With that in mind I caught the equivalent of a shoebox with wings (Ryanair) and actually planned out my flight, hostel, and just about everything else a concerned traveler should do. You can see where this is going...
On a side note, everyone should fly Ryanair at least once, it's incredibly cheap, and you get exactly what you pay for. It seemed like a miracle that the plane didn't catch fire, and the pilot seemingly agreed, since he let out what I can only call a maniacal giggle when we actually landed in Stanstead. Regardless, I got off, wandered through customs with no issues, and started lurching towards the next bus. On the list of things you should never do when you're exhausted, and at the top of mine now, is forget to put away your passport. Which is exactly what I did, and after falling asleep on the coach, I kind of had to scramble to get off the bus in time.
Dragon
I'd complain about how this adds nothing of historical value, but it's a dragon made of guns. What can I really say? Gun Dragon. So naturally, scrambles being what they are something slipped out of my pocket. Yup, that dandy little blue book that confirms my U.S citizenship and lets me actually, you know, fly around ended up staying on the coach.
It took about five seconds off of the bus to realize I'd forgotten the bloody thing, and after twenty minutes of frantic searching I took off for the Embassy, which happened to be a block away. Surely they'd help me clear this whole mess up, that's what they do right? Always there to-
What the hell do you mean you're closed?
Yup. Thanksgiving's a holiday for Americans everywhere, and that meant no one was around to hear my vain and somewhat inarticulate squealing. Regardless, after burning out the minutes on my phone trying to call anyone who might've had the passport (fifty cents a minute with combined fees), I'm ready to sum up my trip the good old way, through a new set of rules:
Keep it Secret, Keep it Safe Lord of the Rings aside, this applies to passports perfectly. Given that I'm still trying to secure a new one, and
The Globe
I suppose this counts as a pilgrimage... with the deadline for my Belgian visa rapidly approaching, the money spent getting a new one has really been the least of my worries. In other words, hide the damned thing, and never have a moment where you're not 100%!s(MISSING)ure where it is.
Don't lose your head In a similar vein, when something goes wrong panicking won't help. Thinking rationally, I probably could've caught a cab and beaten the coach to the next station, hopped on, grabbed it, and saved my hapless butt; or failing that, I could've figured out that using a friend's phone who actually lives there is better than using one that thinks England is the far side of Siberia and charges accordingly.
Bureaucrats love order, give it to them This one's also critical. The Embassy was only open for one day the whole trip, and no fewer than four trips to the building were required before they finally saw me. Twenty minutes before they closed. Emailing them on Thursday would've meant an appointment for Friday, and one trip. As it was, a meeting, lunch, and lunch again (possibly a second) were all considered more important than ensuring
Theater Times
Oh for a stage like this... I wasn't going to be deported. Returning for the final time at a little after three I was told they were done for the day. But I was welcome to try again on Monda-oh wait. After much raging, and finally pleading with the guard and producing proof that I was flying out Sunday did the mighty workers of State deign to see me. And only then after running two blocks to the nearest internet cafe for passport photos (I look like I've got murder on the brain. Guess why.) and paperwork. Play by their rules. Seriously, it makes things faster.
Thank God for friends Through all of this, a special word needs to be added for Chelsea. I really can't thank her enough for the help, and for just generally being there to make all misfortune slightly more manageable. I know a lot of my time is going to be spent alone the next month, but friends really do make things more bearable.
When life gives you lemons, ferment them This one's probably the most important of the bunch. No, I'm not an alcoholic, but the metaphor applies. Even when something horrid
The New One
"It is a strange fate that we should suffer so much fear and doubt, over such a small thing, such a little thing." (Nerd bonus) (passport) happens, it's still a vacation, do all you can do, but don't forget that you came there to enjoy the city. I had Thanksgiving dinner in a dorm room that first night, with sliced turkey in a communal kitchen, and nothing has tasted quite so good. Maybe it was the vodka ('tis always the season), but frankly I still had fun on the trip. I went to Chipotle (crying tears of spicy joy), and saw just about everything in downtown London the day the passport went missing, if only because we had to wander hither and yonder in our efforts to find the damned thing. That night meant going to an actual Pub, which turned into a trip to crazy town, but in a great way.
Still, the city was gorgeous, I paid my respects to the Globe theater, and discovered how outrageous American prices with British Pounds can be. I'm still swearing about that last one, because seriously, this trip cleaned me out regardless of the passport fees. But again, that's less critical here. I managed to see and spend time in my first Occupy Protest, in the shadow of St. Paul's cathedral no less. I saw the Tower of London, and paid an exorbitant fee to discover my arch nemesis the "history" channel had been paid to do the exhibits, walked all over kingdom come, ate Fish and Chips. And in a moment that would make my old Irish Lit teacher green with envy I saw
the Playboy of the Western World on stage, with the lead actor apparently returning from his recent Hollywood exploit,
Season of the Witch (with who else but Nick Cage). It was wonderful, and at the end I can only laugh at myself for the mistake and say I'll know better next time. Or rather, that's what I'll say after I get my new passport.
Now if I can just find my damned camera....
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