Post London Denial

Over the past six weeks, my mantra has been "I'll sleep when I'm dead." While it sounds morbid, it encapsulated my reluctance to miss out on any minute of my time abroad. I wanted to make the most of it. One will notice, after having read this blog, that almost no space was dedicated to talking about classes or class outings. This isn't to say that I hated the "study" part of study abroad, or that nothing we did was worth my time. Far from it, in fact. But after spending a month and a half in London, there was just no feasible way to include every single thing that I did in one blog. That could fill a novel.
What did I take from London?

I took an invigorated sense of independence. 

I took a heightened appreciation of beauty, and an understanding of my own personal aesthetic. 

I took nine new books to add to my already overwhelming "to read" list. 

I took an awakened childlike wonder for things, as well as an appreciation of the things in my childhood that molded me to the person I am today. 

I took a renewed interest in history, and classic literature. 

I took several new friendships with people whom I've seen the world with, people whom I'll have this bond with for the rest of my life. 

Perhaps most of all, I took an overwhelming gratitude for my parents. I'm so fortunate that they were supportive of this ineffable opportunity, and were able to help me finance it. I'm especially grateful for technology, because I was able to keep in contact with my parents even though I was half a world away. I just hope that my pictures gave them some sort of idea how awesome my experience was, to repay them somewhat. 

Week 6: The Right Place at the Right Time

I almost feel like there was a stigma against Megan and me, since we arrived so late; it was almost as if we were deemed to be already too far behind to catch up. Therefore, we went kind of out of order with our sight-seeing, and visited Buckingham Palace last. I don't know how it happens, though, but I always seem to be in the right place at the right time. The day that we chose to go visit the Palace also happened to be the day that the Prudential Ride London finished, crossing the finish line in front of the Palace! Prudential Ride London apparently used the same route of cyclists of the London 2012 Olympic Road Cycling Races, and it was about 100 miles long. I don't know what it is about events like this, but I love watching road races and supporting the athletes. Maybe it stems from running in road races myself, and that running bond, but it just makes me really happy to see other people out and enjoying themselves competitively. For instance, I was lucky enough to be present in Chicago last fall for the Chicago Marathon, and even though I went for a totally different reason, that remains my favorite thing about that trip. I just love the energy of the crowd and of the athletes. It also made me really wish that I could have participated, but that's a dream for another time. Coincidentally, that was the whole reason that I signed up to do that City Jogging Tour that I did, because I wanted to run a race or something while in London. I found out afterwards that the Color Run was also during my stay in London, but those events are so popular that it was guaranteed to have sold out before I had even heard of it. I remember being on the tube and seeing people wearing the color run shirts while they headed to the starting point, and I remember being so envious. I would have loved to participate in a British Color Run, if only for the fact that their shirts probably would have read "colour." However, upon closer inspection, I discovered that it was actually spelled the American English way on their shirts! I can't be sure, but I feel like that would have really irked the Brits, according to the stereotype that we've ruined their language.

How exciting!

Bikers!

Anyway, once we figured out how to navigate around the event, we were able to access Buckingham Palace. Unfortunately, they didn't allow photographs inside of the Palace, otherwise I probably would have had another whole album on Facebook ( to give some perspective, they limit 1,000 photos per album . . . I have three ). Although again, I was fortunate to be in the UK at the right time. The Queen was coronated in 1953, so the Palace was all decorated to celebrate the sixtieth anniversary. That alone just boggles my mind. For two generations in my family, there has only been one Queen in our lifetimes. I can't imagine how the world will react when someone else assumes the throne. I can faintly remember the reaction to Princess Diana's death ( though obviously those were very different circumstances ), but it's crazy to think about. They had a myriad of things on display, like the iconic photograph of the Queen on coronation day, as well as various outfits, like the Queen's stunning dress, as well as those of her "bridesmaids" ( literally, she was married to the state. Wow. ), and other members of the royal court, like a Duke. They also had some of her jewelry worn that day, and after visiting the Tower of London, I can say with certainty that they rivaled the Crown Jewels. Obviously not in historical value, but monetary and aesthetic value. I can't imagine being 27 and wearing all of those weighty pieces of jewelry.
Perhaps the best part of my day ( this is an exaggeration ) was visiting the Queen's Gallery, the gift shop connected to Buckingham Palace. It's where I picked up one of my favorite souvenirs!

CORGISSSSSS

I was glad that I had found something that I could take back with me, and look on fondly as a memento of my trip.

Week 5: Museum Frenzy

By the fifth week in London, it was finally hitting me that I only had a little over a week left in this incredible country. With that said, Megan and I were scrambling to go see all of the things that we hadn't had a chance to earlier. We focused mostly on museums. London is overflowing with history, and one of the best things about the city is the multitude of museums, on an astounding range of subjects. We went to the Charles Dickens' Museum, the British Museum, the Museum of London, the British Library, the Wellcome Trust, the Museum of Natural History, and the Science Museum, just to name a few. The best thing about most of these museums was that they were absolutely free.

Awesome Dickens' Museum merchandise.

The British Library had a Propaganda Exhibition when we went, so they had the Orwell merchandise front and center! I absolutely adored the censored 1984 book cover in the bottom right.

The British Library had a six foot story bookcase. Nowhere else in London is this beautiful.

The cafe tables were right beside the bookcase. Perfect placement!

The Museum of Natural History featured an elevator literally through the earth to reach the rest of the museum. Ingenious. 

Even Twinings had their own museum in the back of the shop! They're really proud of their history in London, and understandably so.

The Victoria and Albert Museum was an incredible building, in addition to having a diverse and astounding collection.

Oh you know, just the ceiling for a museum. The usual.

There was a more "modern" section of the Victoria and Albert museum, and this was on display there.

Same as above; they also had clunky electronics from the eighties and nineties as part of this exhibit.

It's baffling to me how much stuff there was to do in London. Like Dr. Johnson said, "When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life." We spent a fair amount of time at each of these locations, yet we barely even scratched the surface of some of them. 

My favorite place turned out to be the British Library, even though it doesn't seem like it would fit in this category. It was radically different than my conception of a library in the United States. Sure, there were books in it, but they also had a bookshop, a gift shop, and regularly hosted events. They had a Propaganda Exhibition when we went, and for five pounds, it was definitely worth it to gain admission. They had an enormous room devoted to the history of propaganda, and the role that it's played over the years. It was so neat to see actual pamphlets from the WWII era. Also, they had a plane hanging from the ceiling, with an intricate assortment of papers fluttering underneath it because apparently planes actually used to drop propaganda to people below. That is one of the weirdest things that I had ever heard. Even more interesting was the fact that so many of the museums were remarkably kept up. Both in this propaganda exhibition as well as the Museum of London, they had information from 2012 in it! I must just not be that familiar with museums, but this was particularly striking to me. In the propaganda exhibition, they had a section on how propaganda is distributed online, and had multiple computers set up so that you could scroll through several twitter feeds, looking at particular preset topics: they had one for Obama's reelection, as well as the shooting at Sandy Hook Elementary. It was astonishing to see history juxtaposed with the advanced technology of today.

Week 4: Time Travel

On my fourth weekend in England, Megan and I visited Edinburgh, and it quickly took its place as my favorite UK city. Initially, we went to see our friend on the other study abroad, because his group was there for the latter half of their time abroad, but we ended up doing most things on our own. We had the option to take either a plane or a train, and I cast my vote firmly for the train. I had had quite enough of planes for the time being; I didn't want to deal with another one until I absolutely had to. Of course, deciding to take a train instead had some consequences. For one, it would take a lot longer by train than plane, but I had come prepared with a lengthy novel for situations exactly like these, so I didn't mind at all. My chosen reading material happened to be Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand, which I had been looking forward to reading all summer ( of course, I could have also read books for my actual study abroad, but . . . where's the fun in that?  ). Ironically, the main female character in Atlas Shrugged is an Operating Vice President of a railroad. I enjoyed that little relevance to my real life transportation.
Once we reached Edinburgh, leaving the train station rendered me speechless. This felt more like the England I had expected. London, for almost the whole month, had been hot, dry, and unapologetically sunny. Edinburgh was perfect. The sky was a brilliant blue, interspersed with fluffy clouds, and every now and then a rain cloud would sprinkle down on us, but never annoyingly. I loved it. Most of my music is rainy day music, if that gives some indication of my character. If London were closer to the coastline, maybe that would make the difference. But from the North bridge in Edinburgh, you can see spectacular cliffs and frothy sea, and I was in awe of the place. This is somewhere that I could definitely spend the rest of my days.

Edinburgh is all hills though. I died.

Most of our time on that first day was spent roaming Edinburgh, and marveling at its incredible architecture. It put London to shame. That might have been because we were situated in "Old Town," but I enjoyed it regardless. Also, not even five minutes after we left the train station, we heard someone playing the bagpipes. How quintessential. 

The next day featured the first downpour that I experienced in the UK. Our room in the hostel was on the fifth floor, which meant that we were right under the slanting roof, and it was extremely relaxing to just lounge in our room, drinking hot mugs of coffee and just reading. After a stressful week of class and excursions, this was exactly the vacation I needed. 

Rain, coffee, and a good book. Perfection.

One of the best things about Edinburgh was that it was a city, without feeling like a city. In London, everyone walks everywhere with headphones in, and they won't talk to you at all. But in Edinburgh, I finally made contact with an actual British person ( this is because I don't go out to clubs and bars. That's not my scene )! I had been walking along a street close to our hostel, on an errand to get us more tea, when a random guy on the street said hello to me. We exchanged a few words, though I mostly gave him one word answers. He asked me if I was a student at university, which frankly astounded me. Everyone usually assumes that I'm twelve. Anyway, after I said yes, he asked if that was why I was in Edinburgh, and I said my first non-one word answer. Finally, he caught my accent, and exclaimed, "Oh! You're American!" Of course, the "which state" question followed, and when I told him Michigan, he got really excited to tell me about the people he knew in the states. He told me that he had a friend in Albuquerque, which isn't close at all, and I told him that. At this, one of his friends came up to him ( there were two others just hanging back ), and stage-whispered in his ear, "Detroit Red Wings!" I was ecstatic. Even though I'm from metro Detroit, I still have a lot of Michigan pride, and it meant a lot to me that these random Scottish guys thought of our ( awesome ) hockey team first, instead of the bankruptcy that had just graced the headlines maybe a day or two earlier. 

The other interaction I had in Edinburgh just proves what a small world this actually is. I was sitting in the Starbucks on the Royal Mile when the girl next to me asked what the time was. After I told her, she asked where I was from, because we both had midwestern accents. It turns out that she was a graduate student from Wisconsin doing research on dolphins in Croatia, and had taken a week off to backpack Europe! That's happened a lot on this trip, actually. I'm constantly amazed by how many non native Londoners I encounter, and how nice they are once they realize you're from the States, as well. Even though we're such a large country, we definitely exude a strong sense of kinship. 

After such an awesome weekend in gorgeous Edinburgh, I was really sad to board our train back to London. I would never have believed it, but the six weeks really was flying by. This time, I didn't crack open my book, instead preferring to watch the scenery outside. It looked so pristine and untouched by human corruption, and it took my breath away. I remember thinking to myself how gorgeous England was, and realizing that I wasn't exactly sure where Scotland ended and England began. And I realized that it really doesn't matter. Countries are just lines drawn in the sand with a stick.

Week 3: Greenwich Mean Time

I'm weirdly obsessed with time. I love all sorts of watches, recently became obsessed with finding a pocket watch, and military time makes me happy. I find it odd when people rely solely on their phones for the time. I also love anything industrial//nautical. This includes compasses, anchors, or really anything brass. When I realized that Greenwich was close to London, the nerd in me became super excited to go visit the Prime Meridian. 

One of my favorite things about this trip was the extraordinary sense of independence that I got. Don't get me wrong: I would have loved to visit England with my family. But since I was here basically by myself, I got to set my own timetable. I didn't have to worry about other people's sensibilities, nor their opinions. Though, of course, that meant that I didn't have anyone to rely on, nor to guide me. I was the master of my own ship, so to speak. It's a wonderful feeling to be presented the opportunity to be self sufficient, and prove it without a doubt. 

So on Saturday morning, I woke up with a plan set in my mind. I had purchased a ticket the night before for the Royal Observatory ( that included access to the Meridian courtyard ) at ten am, so I made sure that I had showered, dressed myself, and got on the tube to travel to Greenwich with more than adequate time. This was my first experience taking the DLR ( the Docklands Light Railway -- fancy name for aboveground tube, basically; it reminded me of the People Mover in Detroit ), so I made sure to give myself ample time to figure that out. I had to wander through the most elaborate Underground station that I'd ever seen ( I realized afterwards that that's because it was a DLR, tube, and train station combination. Go figure ), and I had to walk through a mall that was connected to the rail station, which I thought was really wild. Unfortunately, because of the hour that I was there, nothing was open yet, and it was really eerie walking down the hallway of closed shops, especially because I was the only one there. It definitely had a post zombie apocalypse feel, and I was glad to get to the DLR station part of the building. I found a place to scan my Oyster Card, so I did, but it beeped angrily at me, so I'm not entirely sure that I should have. At any rate, there was no gate or anything to stop me from boarding the platform, soo . . .

Greenwich, like Wimbledon, was an adorable little town. I think that if I ever moved to England, I would want to live in a small town. London was great, but I don't think the city life is for me. Besides that, it's one of the most iconic cities in the world. If I couldn't deal with the tourists while I was a tourist myself, how could I ever deal with them as an actual inhabitant? Greenwich actually reminded me mostly of the quieter side of Boston that I saw before my trip, but that's probably only because it was on water. I managed to find my way to the Royal Observatory, which was actually really obvious, as it was located upon a hill, and boasted a spectacular view of the park below the Observatory, as well as the National Maritime Museum, and even London in the distance.
Another thing that I really loved about London and the surrounding area was the sheer amount of people exercising. No matter what street you were on, a runner was guaranteed to be nearby. And people bike in the street, instead of on the sidewalks there! It puts East Lansing's bike lanes to shame. Hell, I'd run everywhere if where I lived was so scenic, too! On my way to the Observatory, I had to walk through this gorgeous park, and the only people I saw were either obvious tourists ( trust me on that one ), or people biking or running. I felt like I gained so many friends, simply because of the runner bond.
Since I was so early, I was one of the first people in line to stand on the Meridian line. I had to have one of the assistants take my picture with my phone, but it was totally worth it. I can just imagine how congested it would get, later in the day! And actually, probably not that much later: on my way in, I had to squeeze past hordes of large groups, all waiting to gain entry together. I was glad for my comparatively small study abroad group after that.

If one has access to my Facebook gallery of photos from this trip, one will notice that I have a tendency to include my shoes in a multitude of shots. This isn't me taking accidental photos while my camera was pointed down, this is simply my way to establish that yes, these are my photos, and yes, I was there! I know that once I go back, it'll be hard to wrap my head around the fact that I did travel across the Atlantic Ocean, and I did spend six weeks in England. Even typing that seems surreal. 

Besides the Meridian Line, I wandered into the Royal Observatory, the National Maritime Museum, and just generally around Greenwich. Because I'm a lake effect kid, I was drawn back to the Thames, which Greenwich was situated on. I found this really strange looking dome building, and since it reminded me of the Royal Observatory, I went in on a whim. There was a lift, but because of my combination of mild claustrophobia and general disdain for anything that isn't my own two feet, I took the series of winding stairs. England is really, really into small, winding staircases. I don't know why. I was a little apprehensive descending deeper and deeper into the earth, but at least other people were around me this time. I eventually ended up in some sort of tunnel. Curious, I walked the length of it, and encountered another winding staircase at the end. Staircases are definitely more fun going down than going up, but I'd already started, so I may as well finish. To my surprise, when I left the building, I was on the other side of the Thames! I had literally walked under the Thames River! I guess the English just like going underground and popping back up in different places. Maybe they're related to the prairie dog. Regardless, I was proud of myself for seeing the whole venture through. That's what this whole trip was about, really: testing my limits and pushing myself to do new things.

Week 2: Day of Dreams

If Megan hadn't been on this trip, I don't know what I would have done. We had connected once I was formally accepted, since she realized that I was going to be living in her co-op next school year. We had mutual friends and mutual interests, and our friendship was cemented after our adventure in Boston together, as the two last group members to arrive in London. We had such a bond that we ended up spending most of our time together, exploring the city. For our first full weekend, we decided to tackle an ambitious itinerary and see certain iconic things, since we had missed out on our first free weekend due to our travel disaster. Her friend ( a boy with whom I had had a class with in the fall -- small world! ) had just arrived for his own study abroad, so we included him in our plans. Since it was July 7th, I knew that Wimbledon was on its final day, so I suggested that as our starting point. I had played tennis all throughout high school, and multiple friends ( who also played ) had commented to me about how jealous they were that I was in England while Wimbledon was going on. I had to go! 

The two things that my companions wanted to see both related to classic rock in London. Josh wanted to see the location of Pink Floyd's album cover of their tenth album, Animals, which was a power station on the Thames, and since Megan is such a Beatles fan, she wanted to walk across Abbey Road. We decided that the most efficient sequence would be to start at Wimbledon, then journey north to the Thames, and from there end at Abbey Road, which was conveniently by where Josh's study abroad group was staying. After our day was done, we got dinner at a restaurant down the street from Josh's flat, and I must say, I was really grateful that our group had been placed where we were. For one thing, it was a beautiful area, and really close to a shopping center, as well as the Charles Dickens' Museum. Kilburn Park, on the other hand, seemed to be really sketchy. Their program leaders had even told them, when they dropped them off at their new flats, to try to not advertise the fact that they were American whenever they were around that area. 

Though they did have this sweet poster thing! Yay, George Orwell!

The trip to Wimbledon was a long one, since we started off by Russel Square, which is in the north east of London. By contrast, Wimbledon is extreme south west. Our Oyster Cards ( how we paid for transportation on the London Underground, though it also worked for the buses and DLR ) had to be topped up with a couple pounds to get us there, since our program only covered travel through zones 1 and 2 ( which just means that I had free transportation in central London throughout my stay. It was pretty great to not have worry about paying for transportation! ), and Wimbledon was in Zone 3. Since there are six zones, it really wasn't that far, but it was certainly the furthest we had ever ventured out. The best part about it was meeting a father and his college age children, who were also on their way to Wimbledon, and just so happened to be from North Carolina! It's incredible how many different people you can meet in London. We swapped college years and majors, of course, and it felt just like being back home in the States. They had initially made contact with us to ask which stop would be best to get off at for Wimbledon, and after finding out that that's where we were heading as well, we made idle chitchat as the District line carried us south. Once we exited the tube station, it became very clear that it was the right stop: there were signs for Wimbledon everywhere, and information on walking to Wimbledon. It was about a half hour walk, but the town of Wimbledon is incredibly picturesque, so the time flew by. 

I have pictures of the Wimbledon arena, but honestly, I won't even bother putting them up. They don't even come close to doing it justice. 

An overhead map might, though! Yeah, it had a "heritage trail" that wrapped around it. It was so large that we didn't even make it around the whole thing. We found a place where a loudspeaker was broadcasting the commentary of the match, and I heard as the announcer said that Murray was two sets up. In the tennis world, Murray is kind of a running joke, because he always manages to get close, but never actually wins. How surprising, then, that he was up on Djokovic! Usually, tennis matches are best of three sets, but Men's Singles and Doubles at Wimbledon are best of five. That meant, if Murray won the current set, he would win the entire thing! ( I'm sorry for anyone reading this who doesn't follow tennis. Tennis scoring is stupidly complicated. Love-15-30-40? C'mon. Did they just pick those numbers at random? ) The most exciting consequence of this, of course, was that Murray is Scottish, and if he won, he would be the first British winner of Wimbledon since 1936! Nevermind the fact that I was in England this summer. All of my experiences dwarf in comparison ( this is exaggerated, of course, but to my inner tennis fanatic, it's true ) to the fact that I was in Wimbledon when a Brit won the title. How many Americans can say that ( besides my companions and those nice folks from North Carolina )?! It's an incredible feeling to know that you were present for what will be recorded as a historically significant event ( it's not an exaggeration to me that this experience trumped being in England when the royal baby was born, if that gives you any clue to my character//values ). Also, since we were in Wimbledon when it was announced that Murray won, we witnessed the uproar in the few establishments still open on a Sunday. 

This place was packed with people, all focused on that little television in the corner, watching Murray. And yes, I am that creepy that I took a picture through the open air window of this restaurant . . . It was a moment of history! Also, they had little tennis balls hanging everywhere. How could I not take a picture?

I'm sure, if either of my two friends were writing this blog right now, a lot less attention would be focused on Wimbledon. But it's me, and I love tennis. The whole trip, I pined for my racquet and a chance to play, and was tormented all six weeks with the fact that my window overlooked a tennis court. On nice days ( of which there were many ), I could hear people playing below. Tennis has been an enormous part of my life, as I played all four years of high school, and a lot of my most significant relationships have come from a mutual love of the sport. It may sound corny to say, but high school sports have definitely played a chief role in molding my character, both even mentally and physically. I hope that my pictures of Wimbledon allowed my tennis friends to live vicariously through me, and experience such an inspirational moment.

We left Wimbledon, giddy and elated to have witnessed something so incredible, and continued on to the Battersea Power Station with aching feet. Unfortunately, that area was crowded with construction, but we still managed to snap a lot of quality photographs of the structure. Abbey Road was last, and I knew Megan was antsy to get on our way, since daylight only lasted so long. Having never really been a Beatles fan, I wasn't too impacted by visiting the studio, but it made me happy to see how Megan reacted to it, and to help her try to get a picture walking across Abbey Road. Apparently, they have a live stream set up to watch people attempt to recreate the iconic album cover on such a busy road. I'd hate to have to use that road for any part of my commute! It took a couple tries, but I hope the shot that Megan got was satisfactory. Afterwards, we set off in search of food, feeling incredibly proud of ourselves. It was a monumental day for all of us, and we had managed to accomplish everything! Productivity is a great feeling.

Week 1: The Day of Tours

I spent six weeks in London this summer. I stood in Big Ben's shadow, experienced a Shakespeare play at the Globe Theatre, celebrated sixty years of reigning with the Queen at Buckingham Palace, and ran across the magnificent Tower Bridge. But those are just some superficial details. With such an inexhaustible wealth of experiences to pick from, how could I pick the most worthy events to represent my stay, and become the content of this blog? I decided to pick just one thing per week that I would extol as my favorite of that week. Of course, that was before I realized how difficult picking just one thing would be. With that said, my favorite thing very quickly expanded into "my favorite day." Without further ado, I present the first of my six favorite adventures in the United Kingdom.

Week 1: The Day of Tours

Before I even knew what my professors had planned for us to do as a group, I knew that I couldn't go to London without going to the Warner Brothers Studio Tour of the Making of Harry Potter. Harry Potter had been such a huge part of my life that I couldn't imagine being in London and not making an effort to go to the studios, or at the very least go to King's Cross to see Platform 9 and 3/4 ( as it happened, I found out that my living arrangements [ almost all MSU study abroad groups lived in Byron Court, a New York University London branch building ] were down the street from King's Cross Station, and I would visit the iconic location at least four times a week!). So when a group of girls mentioned on our study abroad facebook page that they were interested in setting up a group tour, I basically threw my money at them. We set the date for July 5th, a scant week after we would have arrived in the country.

Meanwhile, I had also been in contact since May with a company called City Jogging Tours. These particular tours were the most unique I had researched in London, as they boasted the most efficient way to see the city: on foot, on a daily run! As a runner, I was extremely excited to see London through the eyes of a local. The only problem was that the only date available online was June 30th, which had been fine in theory, before Delta airlines ruined my scheduled arrival in England. I was able to email the company from the Boston airport, and since I was able to give them such advance notice, they were able to give me other dates to choose from. Of course, Murphy's Law wasn't quite finished with me yet, and my options were either July 5th (the day of the Harry Potter tour), or July 6th (our first day trip as a group, which were mandatory). I still really wanted to go on this running tour, and since the Harry Potter tour wasn't until later in the evening, I decided to just do both on that day. 

This is me after I had just completed an awesome ( supposedly ) 7km City Running Tour of London! I say supposedly because it definitely did not feel like over four miles. The distance flew by! Anyway, it was called the Riverside Tour, and an adorable little Englishwoman, who was also named Andrea, guided me as we ran around Tower Hill and the Tower of London. The first bridge we crossed was the Tower Bridge, which everyone always confuses for the London Bridge, as well as: the actual London Bridge ( which was nowhere near as impressive ), the Millennium Bridge, and Blackfriars Bridge; through a couple small parks alongside the road next to the Thames river; past the London Eye ( which is also called the Millennium Wheel, though it actually wasn't completed by the millennium, and opened in March of 2000, coincidentally on my birthday:] ), across our last bridge of the day, Westminster Bridge, and then ended under the Elizabeth Tower. Fun fact: "Big Ben" doesn't refer to the clock tower: it's actually the big bell inside of the tower. It was a fantastic experience, and I loved getting to know a local runner, especially one who had such an incredible repertoire of marathons: she had done seven, and it was her goal to do one in all of the major cities. She had done London twice, and Chicago and Boston, both of which stood out to me particularly. London is beautiful, and it was an absolutely beautiful day, as well. I really enjoyed running alongside the Thames, especially after discovering that London built little parks along major roads specifically as a way to get back in touch with nature. I would come back to this particular park much later in my trip, called the Victoria Embankment Gardens, and spend an enjoyably relaxing day reading there. If I could pinpoint the most surprising thing that I learned on my tour, it is that London is just composed of bridges. Obviously, that's nowhere near true, but after going back and forth along so many bridges ( and running by even more ), it certainly seems true. And it obviously makes sense to have a lot of bridges, but it's just not something that I generally think about, nor am used to. I know when I'm at State, I'm often frustrated that the bridges across the Red Cedar are so few and far inbetween. 

The Harry Potter studio tour started off by guiding us past the actual cupboard under the stairs that was Harry's room for most of his childhood, paralleling Harry's beginning with the beginning of the tour. They ushered us into a room where an overly enthusiastic guide was cracking bad puns and generally being too cheerful for my liking, and I began to despair that the whole tour would be like this. Luckily, that feeling disappeared after they closed the door on the small amphitheater we were in, and started playing a movie.

It was a mini documentary about the first time that Harry Potter was read by Warner Bros Studio, before it had caught the world by storm. It was supposedly handed to a lowly assistant, on the bottom shelf of a bookcase filled with books to be considered for adaptation. After that video was done, we were herded into an actual theater type room, and settled down to watch yet another video. This was possibly my favorite part of the tour: the main actors and actress came on screen, and spoke about how filming Harry Potter influenced their own lives. It was incredibly moving to hear how these children grew with the films, and how completely it dominated their lives. They ended with a heartfelt thanks to the behind the scenes workers, and with how they broke the fourth wall, inviting us into Hogwarts, I admittedly teared up a bit. It was such a surreal experience to watch that short film, and then go behind the screen to find exactly the same doors that the actors had just disappeared through in the film. 

 I tasted butterbeer, drove Arthur Weasley's flying car, stood outside number 4, Privet Drive, and boarded the Knight Bus. My inner seven year old cried tears of joy to be in such close proximity to the actual props used in the movie adaptations of the books that inspired me to read, and cultivated my thirst for more and more reading material. I'll forever owe this book series more than I can say, so I'm inexpressibly grateful to have had the opportunity to be a part of that magical world, if only for a day. 

Pre-London Denial

I'm twenty years old, and I had never been out of the United States of America, except for a brief jaunt through Canada to reach New York. I'd never flown on a plane due to my father's intense dislike of flying. Yet this summer, both of those things changed.
Ever since I was introduced to Harry Potter in second grade, I've held England in my mind as this ideal utopia, this magical place where everything is just simply better. As recently as a year ago, I remember watching along with the rest of the world as England prepared to host the Olympics. "I don't even care about the Olympics," I recall saying. "Just fly me to London." At that time in my life, England was about as possible to visit as Narnia to me. Last spring, I started looking through the study abroad programs available during the summer on a whim. I had realized that this summer was my last free summer available to try and fit in a study abroad, because I didn't have any obligation to stay in East Lansing, as I would next year. Immediately, my eyes focused on "English Literature in London." It sounded too perfect to ignore. I was put on the waitlist, and notified of my acceptance a month later. It never once felt real to me.
It would never feel real to me, I decided, until I was on that plane. Funnily enough, I would find out that that wasn't even enough. I spent the remainder of my semester and start of summer as I would have without knowing that I was going to England: I packed my meager possessions into my small car, drove myself home, and went back to work at my summer job.
"London? You must be so excited!" My coworkers would say whenever I explained why I was leaving early.
"Yes," I would laugh, and continue working. What more could I say, really? Of course I was excited. But not just excited; I was terrified. I was terrified to board a plane, and then spend six whole weeks ( which only sounds like a long time when you're trying to pack clothes into one suitcase and a carry-on ) in a foreign country. Mostly, I felt guilty. How could I leave my family, my friends, my job?
I worked every day up until two days before my plane, trying to avoid thinking ( and thus panicking ) about leaving. On the day of, I met up with a few girls from the program at the airport, and we lingered before security to say our goodbyes to our loved ones who came to see us off. Stubbornly, I held off from posting any kind of goodbye on my social media until I had touched down on English soil. I didn't want to jinx myself.
Of course, my avoidance of social media didn't stop my first experience with airports from spiraling into disaster. I didn't actually make it to England that day, or even that weekend, for that matter. I had a flight from Detroit to Boston on June 28th, with a layover in Boston of about an hour and a half. Announcement after announcement for delays came on the loudspeaker in the airport for our flight, and my group of four English Lit program girls steadily expanded to include several other students from other MSU study abroad programs. We were all waiting on that plane to get us to Boston so that we could get to London, but severe thunderstorms in Michigan had other plans for us.

Maybe I'll just stay home.

In retrospect, I don't know if there was more that my fellow students and I could have done. There was no room on later flights that day to London, and the airport staff were unflinchingly adamant that there was no way that they could influence Boston to hold that flight. The best thing to do, they said, was get on the plane and hope that Boston would hold it themselves: supposedly, they could look at the roster for the plane, and hopefully they would see that there were so many empty seats because so many people were coming from Detroit for that connection. Well, after finally boarding the plane, we started crawling to the tarmac when we heard yet another announcement: due to the weather, planes had to depart from the other end of the runway than they were in position to, which meant that there was a whole line of planes waiting to take off, and we were number sixteen in a line of twenty eight. Great. Looking at my watch, I saw that there was now no question that we would miss our flight. Trapped in the plane, I focused on preparing myself for my first take-off.
We pulled into Boston an hour exactly after our plane left. Our group of disgruntled students milled about in line around the Delta clerks, despairing about what we would do now. Orientation was a scant eight hours away, and we were no closer to another flight. Oh, did I say clerks? I meant clerk. There was exactly one representative at the Delta station in Boston to help all ten of us find new flights. It was a nightmare. We stood for three hours in the same spot, just waiting for someone to come help us, since the sole clerk was already helping another customer. Finally, more employees arrived, and we spent another two hours trying to find flights that left sooner than the next Wednesday. Since there had been two planes from Detroit to Boston, within a half hour of each other, some of the students had already been accommodated, but that just meant less space for us. Finally, my friend Megan's uncle called Delta himself, as a frequent flyer Gold card member or some other haughty title, and managed to squeeze us on a Sunday flight to Manchester. It was better than anything Delta could offer us, and since it was still covered by Delta, we gratefully accepted it. However, that meant that the two of us were left in Boston for two days, in a city that neither of us had ever been to, and without a place to sleep. Luckily, since it was the airline's fault that we were left in Boston, they gave us vouchers for taxis, hotels, and food, and put us in a taxi themselves to our hotel. This was the only bright spot of our experience with that airline: they put us in four star hotels both nights, so at least we were accommodated in style. The only bad thing about our first hotel was that it was England-themed, and everything inside of it was a snide reminder of where we should have been.

Also, this. C'mon. 

Since I had never been to Boston, it was fun to explore and see new things, but I feel like it ruined my first impression of London. Let me clarify that: the awe and wonder of seeing a new city was wasted, in a sense, on Boston, when it was meant for London. It might just stem from my bitterness that my plans went awol, but it felt like my appreciation for London was diminished a bit, because some of it had gone to Boston.
That Sunday, Megan and I checked out of our hotel, and settled in to wait for our five pm flight to Atlanta, Georgia. Georgia? Yes, Georgia. We had another small layover in Atlanta before Manchester, and we were understandably apprehensive, especially when we caught the announcement that our flight was delayed for "cleaning." I kept checking and rechecking the times for our flights against my watch, both before and during the flight. We had exactly forty minutes, if our plane ride took as long as they promised, to make it to the gate for our Manchester plane. When one considers that they close the gate a half hour before the plane departs, that isn't a lot of time at all. After the plane landed, I grabbed my carry on and left, collected Megan, and then guided us toward our next terminal. I had looked it up on the flight over; it was three terminals over. I'll never forget the exhilaration of literally running through that immense Atlanta airport and finally boarding a plane bound for the island across the pond. Finally, I was en route to my life's dream!