Passing the time

Sometimes I feel completely useless.
So I decided rather than sit under my covers all day eating olives and Facebook stalking, I can try to make an effort to record what has happened in the month since I last wrote.
Adam came to London.
We celebrated Christmas with friends from all over the world and drunk-baked Christmas cookies.
We went to Bath and saw where Nicolas Cage lives and where Jane Austen based her books. We took a dip in the natural spring water the Romans built their city on.

Then we waited in the freezing cold for four hours on New Year's to get a good view of the Eye firworks (it was worth it). What should have been a 30 minute walk home took us 2 hours because of the crowds.

Onward to Edinburgh and we spit on the heart, then off to the Highlands.
(The most beautiful landscapes I've ever seen)
We made grilled cheese with an Aussie couple, only to discover their version was completely different and didn't involve two pieces of bread or even a pan.

We saw an anti-Israel rally in Kensington.

I got scared and made us go to Harrod's instead.

Ate at a French restaurant that was far too fancy - I raced the waiter to the door when I had to go to the bathroom. I didn't realize they open it for you.

Now it's back to boredom. Yes, leave it to me to be bored and restless in London, England. Can't help it.

Sickie.

"Poetry is emotion put into measure. The emotion must come by nature, but the measure can be acquired by art. " Thomas Hardy

Yesterday we went to Brick Lane to wander the Sunday Up Market and Spitalfields Market. I go there often, but this is the first time I noticed on our 205 bus route there an old graveyard with crooked headstones peeping out of a rot-iron fence right off the city street near Finsbury Square. When the red double decker bus stopped at a light, I read the notable people buried there, etched on the outside cement wall. Thomas Hardy was one of them. Thomas Hardy! The man whose words I had to nearly memorize in 10th grade English, hidden away in a graveyard no one cares to notice. It was a rather depressing realization to see a man of such passion and inspiration to rest in a graveyard so forgotten.

I wasn't in the best mood yesterday.
I just discovered that Thomas Hardy's heart is buried in Dorset, and his body in Westminster Abbey. So maybe not the same Thomas Hardy. Oh well, still allowed for some poet research. The man had some good quotes.

Today. I'm sick, and I never get sick.
"And yet to a bad there is worse" ~Thomas Hardy
My head was pounding all day, my tired eyes hardly met anyone else's. The language barrier I often smile and work through with residents was higher than ever, and a mob of Italians thought it wise to bring their screaming children to the hostel. When sickness hits, homesickness is at its worst. I woke up from a 4-hour afternoon nap craving Egg Drop Soup, the chinese food my mom always gave us when we were ill. Alas, I found no Egg Drop Soup in the area...it must be an American Chinese thing. So I walked down the street and bought some soup and Ben & Jerry's Cherry Garcia. It called out to me with its "U.S. Recipe" promotion on the front...I want anything that tastes like home right now.

Keane tomorrow night at ISH, and Edward Scissorhands on Wednesday if the ticket price drops to 10 pounds. Then a night out with some ISHers on Thursday, staff party Friday, fellow BUNACer's bday Saturday, then before I know it, Tuesday will be here with Adam. I can hardly wait for it...

"A lover without indiscretion is no lover at all." -Thomas Hardy

December already?

Note to self:
Etiquette requires the greeting "Hey y'alright?" to be answered with "I am and you?"
It's taken me three months of stumbling through awkward greetings and responses to learn the proper wording. It seems simple enough, doesn't it? But I was caught off guard the first month. Why wouldn't I be okay? Do I look sick? Angry? Paranoid, maybe?
And you, is it rude if I ask if you're alright?


Another long gap since I've written, so another long entry.
Today I directed Sam Neil, the actor who plays Dr. Grant in Jurassic Park, to the accommodation office. I didn't know it at the moment because I talk to at least 200 people every day who want to know where the accommodation office is, where their business conference is, how to get back into their locked rooms, etc., and I hate to say it, but I've stopped paying attention to people beyond "Down the hallway, to the right" or "I'll call the duty manager". So to be honest, I wouldn't have recognized the guy anyway if one of my coworkers wouldn't have yelled in a whisper "That's the dude from Jurassic Park!" I looked at his IMDB then back to him several times and began to see the resemblance eventually. Noticing actors age always makes me realize how much time is going by.

Edinburgh was beautiful, frigid and creepy. Who knew it had one of the most haunted graveyards, finger-pointing witch hunts and a portal entrance to the Fairy World? Two castles and an ancient volcano, the real life Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, the adulturous queen for whom the term Bloody Mary came about? What an amazing city to be in. I'm going back with Adam in a month (!) and I can't wait. I've learned that it's best to visit the cities you love at least twice because I think the first time is the honeymoon tourist phase, and the second is really getting to know the city itself. I learned that with London.

On Sunday Olesia asked me to go to a free photo shoot at a Urban Slink, a fashion photography studio. It was on the 3rd floor of a warehouse type of building and we were quickly ushered into a bright room with funky urban decor across the walls. Music was playing loudly. We had our hair and makeup done, and after I looked nothing like myself, we went into the studio. There were about six different cubicles with different setups..one was a circular bed with satin sheets, another was a staircase with bricks in the background, one all-white scene, a leather burgandy sofa, and so on. My favorite part was when he said "Okay, into the box with you." He pointed at a white cubed tunnel on the ground that I'd thought was a bench and had me squeeze my body into it. I have to say, some of those shots were smokin'! At the very end of it they brought us into a room with just a woman and her computer and you go through every single shot and say "Yes" "No" "Maybe" to narrow them down, until finally we got so narrowed down that we asked how many we were supposed to choose. One individual shot was £75!!! And it wasn't even a print, it was on a CD. We got her talked down to £50/shot and I had 4 that I absolutely adored but I had to walk away. I couldn't do it. I'd rather buy my own SLR with that and do the shots myself! Olesia ended up buying four, and they are incredible.

I'm losing touch with myself in this job. My creativity needs an outlet but I'm stalled at the front desk with this invisible barrier between me and what I want to do.
That's just a lame excuse, I know that. I'm just too much of a coward to take a step in a definitive direction.

My supervisor at KUTC said something last summer that still hovers in my mind and sooths my anxiety about career choices. No matter where you choose to live, you wake up the same, go to work, go home, sleep, and do it all over again. And on the weekends you do what you like: take trips, whatever you choose. But work is the same anywhere. I don't know that I completely agree with that, but I'm realizing that the redundancy part is true, even across the ocean. And that no matter how far I am from home and how different the culture is, I'm still myself.
I choose coffee shops over night clubs and I still need to make time to clean my room. And some nights, even though I have london at my doorstep with infinite possibilities whispering in my ear, I decide to stay at home and watch Runaway Bride with a few other girls.

Tiring of London

So many of the non-British people I talk to in London wish they were somewhere else, yet they've been here for years. My Bangledishi duty manager at work hasn't been home in six years and has no plans to return, but doesn't particularly like London. The Turk who serves my white coffee every morning at Cafe Mezze tells me stories of how beautiful Turkey is, with its 26 degrees Celsius weather and beaches, yet hasn't been home for several years. He shakes his head when I ask him if he likes living here and says "12 years is too long here. Same thing every day."

There are so many stories like these. And it makes me wonder...why are people drawn to this city only to be miserable in it? Isn't there anyone here who loves waking up to the busy streets and honking taxi cabs, the fresh bakeries and endless wanderings down roads that make no sense, the anonymity that comes with the feeling of you and the city?

Then again, these people have been here for years, and I only three months. I can see how city life could wear on a person after awhile. The morning traffic that once energized you ends up smothering you with smog, the fresh bakeries don't cease their deliciousness but begin fattening you, it takes you hours to find anything on the confusing streets you once loved getting lost on, and your relationship with London turns into a love/hate one. Or maybe just hate.

I can see it happening. But not yet for me.


Andrea, Claudia, Amir and I are going to Edinburgh tomorrow! Amir called the front desk a few minutes ago as he often does in the mornings when I work, and I heard music blaring in the background, then a shout: "18 hours baby!" Every time he calls me in the morning, there is a different music playing loudly in his room. One day it's techno, the next it's Iranian. I sometimes think he puts the phone right next to the speaker when I pick up so I know that it's him. He's going to Dubai to start his career in his father's business next month, and I'm truly going to miss him and his morning calls.

On to Scotland! Hopefully I'll have stories of kilts and haggis and accents I can't understand in my next entry. Then back to London, happily. I'm not sick of the city yet.

Before London wakes

I need to seize the opportunity to write in the wee hours of the morning before my day breezes by with current residents collecting parcels, future residents calling to ask about accommodation and friends hanging around the front desk. One of the funniest parts of living in ISH is everything that could go wrong in a building this old does. There are currently leaks above the chandelier in the lobby that someone could shower in. It looks and sounds like rain. Quite pretty, if you think of it that way. Maintenance people are frantic and shouting at each other in Portuguese trying to figure out what to do. There is a recycling bucket on top of the reception desk and heavy blankets covering every other surface. When the CEO of ISH came in he said "Oh shit." and the maintenance guy said, "Well at the moment, it's just water"

British humor. Gotta love it.
There is so much to write about, I think I will just start from the most recent and work my way back.

Yesterday we went to Bodean's BBQ in Soho. It's a KC BBQ joint in the middle of London, and the owner of it is a KU grad! That's not the best part. The best is that when we were deciding to get take away or eat in, Andrea says to me, "Kelly, don't freak out, but Josh Hartnett just walked in the door." I thought she was just joking, but I turn around and sure enough, there was my teenage heartthrob AGAIN. So, it goes without saying that we stayed, and we happened to get a table right across from him and his friends. Best dinner I've ever had in London, I must say.

We had spent the day at Brick Lane market. I have an addiction to markets, though I don't think I spend that much at them. My favorite part is the bakeries that mark all of their delectable pastries down to £1 in the last hour. Yesterday I got a chocolate/almond flaky pretzel of deliciousness.

London is ready for Christmas. They were almost ready on the 1st of November. Now they're serious. Markets are getting ready, and there are lighting ceremonies all over the city for different neighborhoods. We're going to make a night of the Marylebone High Street lighting. That's the one right next to my hostel. There will even be fireworks! Maybe that will be the special occasion I've been waiting for to try mulled wine. It's a red wine simmered with spices. Apparently a holiday favorite around here, because it's everywhere. I had a mulled latte yesterday, and plan to have several a week for the next month or so because it was heaven!

We went horseback riding in Wales last weekend and stopped off at Chepstow Castle, the oldest stone castle in Europe, and Tintern Abbey, the remains of an abbey where Woodsworth wrote Lines Composed a Few Miles Above Tintern Abbey. Not the most original title, but now I see that maybe the beauty was too much to describe with anything more. Here are a few lines, followed by a shot of his inspiration:

Once again I hear
These waters, rolling from their mountain-springs
With a soft inland murmur. Once again
Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs,
That on a wild secluded scene impress
Thoughts of more deep seclusion; and connect
The landscape with the quiet of the sky.



I think it's worth a few lines, yeah?

That night we went to a little village called Hay-on-Wye, which is also known as the Town of Books or the "Woodstock of the Mind" (Bill Clinton). It's packed with used bookstore, and even boasts the largest second-hand book shop in the world! There was one that was at the bottom of the castle and there were bookshelves lining the border of the square. It was called the "honesty bookstore" and you put 50p in a little box on the wall for a hardback, 30p in for paperback. I bought an amazing Welsh wool blanket at a store, too. They have sheep like we have cows...they graze all over everywhere.

That night we stayed at the hotel that inspired the Sherlock Holmes novel, The Hound of Baskervilles. It was such an old creepy hotel, but such a perfect place for us to stay. And the following morning, we rode horses for THREE HOURS in the freezing rain. That was about 2 1/2 hours too long. My horse's name was Eclipse, and I don't think he was fond of me because every time I tugged his reins a little he gave me a look. But he didn't buck me off, that's all I really cared about. In my mind, we parted as friends.

Oh, and last but not least, we saw the "sexiest toilet" in London...It was alright. Maybe not the sexiest, though.

Election buzz

"The true strength of our nation comes not from the might of our arms or the scale of our wealth but the enduring power of our ideals: democracy, liberty, opportunity and unyielding hope" (Future) President Barack Obama

I was sleeping when history was made in America. News didn't break of Obama's win until about 4 am my time, but I was woken up with a phone call from Adam saying he won it. I couldn't sleep for awhile afterwards, even though I had to work at 7:45 this morning. I surfed CNN for awhile reading about the results. It's still unbelievable, and I wish I was in America to feel that energy. All eyes in London were on the election, whether people were genuinly interested in it or not. You couldn't avoid the topic. A Wisconsin student staying at ISH passed out "I voted" stickers to Americans, blue and red stars and stripe lights danced on the front of the church venue across the street for a watch party, and people filtered in and out of the ISH bar for our own party. When I walked in the bar for dinner, I felt a pang of homesickness. The room was plastered with American flags and they passed out plastic red/white/blue Uncle Sam hats. All night people asked me who I voted for. It's not considered as upfront here, because people were blunt in their asking. Many of the non-Americans had the mindset of it doesn't matter who's elected, America's and the world's problems won't be fixed by one man. It's so sad to me to see such a cynical view of America's future and potential as a world leader, but then I tell myself to look at how America's been run for the past eight years. All of the Americans were hopeful, though. As one student said to me this morning as he walked out, he's proud to be an American for the first time in his adult life, and he finally understands the concept behind the cheesy "I love America" country songs.

I'm out in Leicster Square to celebrate Obama's victory and Bonfire Night (as in V for Vendetta, I've been told.) There will be fireworks all night all across London. How fitting for the emotions at the moment!

All in a week!

Whenever I asked people what they were doing for Halloween, they usually responded with a half grimace and a shrug of the shoulders, then "That's more of something you Americans do..."
I dragged Amir, my Iranian friend and Claudia, my German friend to a Halloween party in Soho on Friday night. To prepare them, I had to brianstorm what their costumes would be. Their first Halloween costume! Can you imagine? Think of all the Halloweens you have had in your life and how your parents or siblings put on your makeup and held your hand to trick or treat, and welcomed you back from your treacherous night gathering candy with a warm mug of apple cider. Imagine not having those memories!
Amir is more conservative and didn't want to do anything too extreme, so I made him a Jack-o-Lantern. He had worn a bright orange sweater earlier in the week and it's the first thing I thought of. You can't get much more traditional than a Jack-o-Lantern on Halloween. So we shopped London all day on Friday for a green hat and found a beanie at H&M he's worn a few times since, so it wasn't even a waste of money! Then at work I colored and cut out a face and stuck it onto his sweater using rolled up "return to sender" stickers at the front desk. I must say, I was very proud of my creation. And when I told Nacho and Eva, two Spaniards, that he was a Jack-o-Lantern, they said, "A what?"
I couldn't believe it. No one's heard of a Jack-o-Lantern. When I showed them a picture they said, "Oooooh...a pumpkin!"
Claudia decided to be festive a little early, and dressed as a reindeer.

The club in Soho was alright. It was what I would expect for a big city...three levels under the domed ceiling of an old church with hundreds of people dancing. It wasn't that I disliked it, it was just nothing special to me. And my feet hurt like hell from walking over a mile in stilettos. My favorite part of the night was walking home on the famous Oxford Street, usually packed with tourists and the fabulously wealthy in London, instead crawling with intoxicated zombies and witches. As we walked up Great Portland Street, the crowd thinned and the streets were abandoned except for two drunk girls barely clothed in their superhero costumes, clinging onto each other as they stumbled and laughed their way home. They stopped on a corner to watch a guy jamming out by himself in his 2nd floor apartment, and two silent blocks later they came whizzing around the corner on the back of a bike taxi, whining about which direction to go to get home, then made the guy pull a U-turn right next to us to go the other direction.




Earlier in the week I regressed to my pre-teen years of loving Josh Hartnett, because I actually got to meet him! We went to his show, Rain Main at the Apollo Theatre and I might have actually gasped when he came onstage. After the show I planned to stalk him (yes, it is disturbing that these thoughts actually go through my mind so bluntly) and we go to the back stage door and there were about 50 other girls! Ruth turned to me and said, "What, did you think you'd be the only one?" There were strict rules to follow, as the security guard said "You can take pictures of Josh but you cannot take pictures WITH Josh." But I pushed my way to the front when he came out and was speechless. I just stared. I don't know what short wired in my brain, but I just stared and held out my ticket for him to autograph. Every night he does this, a mile away from where I live! So... Saturday night Amir, Claudia and I went to see Burn After Reading (hilarious movie) in Covent Garden, which happened to let out RIGHT when Rain Man ended, and Apollo Theatre is merely a five-minute stroll down the road, so yes. Yes, I am obsessed. Addicted, maybe, to Josh Hartnett. We went again and stood outside the back stage door to watch him like a zoo animal. Claudia said she thinks he recognized me from the previous night because I was a lunatic again just snapping pictures of him. I would hate being famous and beautiful because of crazy people like me.