Day of Arrival

  London, England, United Kingdom
Saturday, June 28, 2008

I took a United flight from LAX yesterday (damn time changes only serve to confuse me) and arrived today. The flight itself was pretty good. I even slept, under the lovely influence of Lorazepam prescribed by my doctor for my illogical fear of flying. That took up about 5 of the 10 hours it takes to cross North America and the Atlantic. Besides that, I listened to my trusty friend, 6th Generation 180 Gigabyte iPod Classic. I think that's its full name; they change it so often. Aaaaaanyway, the plane landed around 8 o'clock in the morning and I set foot on European soil for the first time in over a decade. Seeing as we had business class tickets, I was not forced to wait in the freakishly long customs line with the plebian coachies. Though, on the way back I will be forced to because there wasn't enough points for us to upgrade twice. For now, though, I'll continue to pretend to be rich.

I actually got to check baggage this time, which for my mom (Julie) and her boyfriend (Jeff) is quite a rarity. Supposedly, our bags were supposed to be waiting beside the claim as a result of our non-plebe status. They weren't. So, we wait and wait and finally there is an announcement: UNITED FLIGHT FROM LOS ANGELES BAGS MOVED TO NUMBER EIGHT! Nice. So, we finally got them and then proceeded down to the train platforms.

Now, my goal was to get to Paddington Station on the Heathrow Express train. We ended up in Terminal 5 and this caused serious problems. -_- I always harass my travelling companions, my mother and Jeff, to listen to me about directions, because I am better at that stuff than they are. Normally, I am always right. Seriously! I figured out the Tokyo Subway, and that was no easy feat.  I can totally see it now; they are going to bring this up whenever I tell them to follow me. It's like a giant steal wrench in the proverbial machine I see as my plan.
Finally, we got to Paddington Station with no more mishaps and begin our quest to transfer to the subway. All during this time, I had to pee. I saw a sign showing the bathroom and decided to follow it. The conniving set of signs led me to the other side of the station where I then learned that you have to have money to use the restroom. Crap. So I walked back and attempted to get 20 pence; that's nearly half a US dollar since the dollar sucks so fricking badly. No one had denominations that small, so I ended up with a 50 pence coin. Upon my arrival at the toilet (the British apparently like to be blunt and not call it a restroom) I was let by without paying because the 50 pence coin did not fit in the machine. That was a huge waste of my time. After having used the restroom I made my way back and we continued to the Underground. With a little help from a man working there we purchased 3 1 day passes. I later discovered this to be a rip off sense we only needed it for this trip. He knew that, too. 

Me Walking Through Paddington Station

Once we had been comfortably sitting on the subway for five minutes, the train stopped and over half the people got off and get on another train that leaves. Confused, I asked someone about it. They had no idea what the hell was going on either. It took walking up a set of stairs and seeking out an Underground employee to tell us to get on the next train. We do. We then see our previous train continue on its way. By the time we got to Old Street station I was feeling like a dumbass. Luckily, the flat we rented was just a short way away and we got there quite fast. 

My Mother Trying to Figure Out the Ticket Machine

Now, before we left home, the owner told us we could stick our stuff in the flat after 10, but couldn't check in until 3. Fine, whatever, we could deal; but is that what happens? Of course not. What happens is this: The concierge tells us the flat is being cleaned and that we can leave our stuff in the lobby. We don't want to. We argue with said concierge. Phone calls are made. Words said. We end up leaving our stuff in the lobby. 

Once again feeling like idiots, we walked to Hoxton square because someone- I don't remember who- told us to. We found it and rushed to find my mother food. Ah, I forgot to say this. My mother is hypoglycemic, so when she gets hungry (which is like every 2 hours) she turns into a monster and her eyes glaze over and she starts frothing at the mouth and growling. It is at these time that I feel truly and genuinely respectful of the brave waiters and waitresses that serve the world's fine eating establishments. Well, she doesn't actually froth, but she gets super bitchy and her eyes do start to look a little glassy. Luckily, a restaurant was quickly found and food eaten. I got some suspicious bacon thing that actually turned out to be pretty tasty.

Sometime during our wanderings to find sustenance for my ravenous mother, we decided to kill some time by going to St. Paul's Cathedral. The attempt we made to hail a cab was unsuccessful, so we asked some guy who owned a store what to do. He told us that we should use the mini cab place across the street because it was cheaper than the traditional black cabs. Being the naïve tourists that we were, we did just that; and after riding in a narsty, yes naRsty, little car that did not resemble a taxi cab we arrived at our destination. 

The Interpretive Dancing

 

St. Paul's

From the outside, St. Paul's is awfully pretty. Even with the people doing some weird interpretive dance on the stairs, it was more than satisfactory food for my camera. This was not true for my wallet, considering the fact that it cost like 30 US dollars for admission. Fortunately, the interior was quite beautiful. The arching white stone walls and ceilings would have made for a cool picture if cameras weren't forbidden inside. Even the gold drowned altar end would have made a sweet pic; though I thought it looked kind of ugly. I dislike really ostentatious décor like that, even if I do think it looks magnificent. I guess that I just wouldn't decorate my living room like that. It was as I was observing the ostentatious but magnificent hall that I saw the stairs to the crypt. I thought, "Sweet. Dead people." The stairway conquered, I admired some of the coffins and whatnot, only to observe another hall. BEHOLD! The CRYPT CAFÉ! Way to capitalize on the dead people in the church's basement! There was also a gift shop where I purchased a few post cards to serve as pictures of the Cathedral in the photo album it will take me a year to actually make. It really will take me that long. I haven't even finished the one from Japan and that trip was over a year ago. 

St. Paul's Interior

Once I learned you could go up into the dome of the Cathedral I decided that I must do this. Being the strong willed person that I am, I was able to resist dropping things on the people below. As un-fun as that was, the view was cool. BUT THEN I learned something new. You could go up even higher. The stairs to get up to this area had been easy except for a short area where the ceilings were kind of low. The stairs to this next area were not. First I had to climb a long stony spiral staircase. Then I had to go through a skinny and short staircase before I emerged onto a roomy balcony with decent views. I took some pictures with the camera on my phone. THEN I learned you could go even higher. Thinking it would be a short walk I decided to make this adventure to the top. A semi-dangerous looking modern black iron staircase greeted me. It spiraled then straightened then spiraled some more. My legs hurt really badly at this point. Then there was more of those short-ceilinged close-together-walled stairs of stone. Eventually I got to a small room where there was a cool glass hole where you could look down into the cathedral via the top of the dome. Forced away from this, I moved up the last set of stairs onto the roof where I was trapped by a bunch of stupid tourists that couldn't get the idea into their heads that they needed to keep moving in one direction around the rim. The view was completely worth it, though; I could see the whole of London from there. Eventually I was able to get to the exit and walk down stairs of stone and steal like the ones I came up. I emerged at the first set of stairs I had walked up and went back into the dome. I couldn't find my mom or Jeff so I went down and waited by the exit of the stairs. They came down eventually and we left.

The Iron Spiral Staircase

             

View From the Top of St. Paul's Cathedral

               
Conveniently, there was a Marks and Spencer across the street. Marks and Spencer is a British mini grocery store where I've learned most of the food tastes weird. We bought some sustenance for the evening and breakfast tomorrow. Pissed that we had to pay for the grocery bags, I found us a cab. This cab ride was cheaper than the other one, which disproved that guy's theory that the mini cab was cheaper. Funny thing is, at the time Jeff had made a joke saying they were probably cousins of something and helping the other get business. They were actually both Middle Eastern. 

It was after 3 when we got back and the flat was supposed to be ready. It wasn't; and what the hell could they be cleaning for OVER FIVE HOURS!? The concierge eventually let us up and we kind of realized that he had been hinting that if we gave him money he would have let us up earlier. What an ass. Since then, I have determined that I will never let my mom pick the apartment again. Why, you ask? Well, here's why: The walls in are purple. The coach is black suede. There is zebra print carpet in two rooms. All the paintings are freaky. The lampshades look like someone wiped a dead pigeon on them. The washing machine is evil and won't let me get my clothes out half the time. There are "sexy pictures" of shirtless men in the bathroom (We've determined the owner is gay). And the cable doesn't work properly. All in all, it's a wonderful place! The area around the apartment is kind of, er shall we say, not the nicest part of London; it isn't at all what I imagined London would be like and I'm really disappointed. My mom assures me that once I see the normal part of London I will like it more. I sure hope so, because I've been looking forward to coming here for a long time. 

Dead Pigeon Lamps

I was very tired from the flight and day so I took a nap for a few hours and got back up around 7 or 8. Jeff and I stayed up until 1 or 2 and retired for the night after a late dinner. My mom, being her normal self, crashed early.

Something I learned today: British people don't understand the concept of crosswalks.