No plans,

I haven't thought out this post. I have no grand statements to make. Just observations and documentations.

It rained the day we left California. Caitlin said that the skies were long overdue for a weeping. The sky here in London is always weeping, but I would like to imagine it felt a bit more sorrow yesterday. We walked through Hyde Park to have you're last meal in Kensington Palace and our ankles were all chilled from the puddles we stomped through.

We said goodbye in a tube station and I rode back by myself and listened to music and stared at my reflection in the window. I wondered how much of my story is visible to people who see me. It seems strange that people can look at me and not also see my friends.

I am far away this semester. There are events taking place without me in Houghton, NY. But this new form of friendship that I have been exposed to seems to stretch across farther distances than I thought possible. When we are younger, bonds are broken over summers apart. Now, the Atlantic doesn't seem to stand in our way.

I miss people, but it is a feeling I have become used to. Its insignificant now, in face of how thankful I am.

Why yes, there are more people than just Lindsay in London.

I didn't realize how thorough an updater Lindsay has been, but I suppose when I found this out, I figured that meant I didn't have to write. Others don't agree with this logic and are forcing me to write.

The excitement and adventure paired with traveling often blinds us from the obstacles. I feel as if I'm having the greatest semester of my college career, and yet when I look back at things that have happened, I've been through a lot of shit. My camera broke within the first two weeks, my identity was stolen because I'm an anxious poor fool, a fever drove me to delirium, and other more painful, personal experiences have followed; however, I could not be happier about any of these things happening. In fact, my semester would not be as incredible as it is if one of these stretching times did not occur.

I have 15 days left in London, and I haven't figured out how I'm going to say good-bye. How will Houghton's route 19 ever satiate my need to take bus 19 down to Tottenham Court? Will Big Als ever make me as happy as our regular Hope and Anchor? Damnit, Houghton, why can't you be a lot a bit more like London? Actually, the one thing Houghton has on London (besides the people) is milkshakes. I can't wait to have a good ol' American milkshake! Speaking of good ol' American...

Star Spotting: Kid Rock in South Ken with nasty white trashy hos. He wore a Detroit leather jacket. God bless America.

Also, yeah I went to Paris,

I went with my grandmother and my Gagi. We got on the Eurostar and I met my new friend Anna. We went from the train to a bus. From the bus to a boat. From the boat to a bus.

I feel like I saw Paris through a window. Gagi and Grandma exclaimed throughout the day that, "this is the way to see a country!" but I don't think it is.

At one point, we took an elevator to the first floor of the Eiffel tower. I spun around in a circle taking pictures while they bought me a key chain in the gift shop. My camera died.

They wanted to take the elevator back down but I told them I was going to take the stairs. As I climbed down, I felt like I could breathe for the first time all day. I felt like I was in France, not in some Disney world version of it. I was walking and I was breathing and my new passport stamp was practically burning a hole in my bag.

I love when cities live up to their reputations, and Paris most certainly did. But I want to go back one day, and I don't want to get on a tour bus once.

So in conclusion, try not to see Europe through a window.

Crossing paths,

Her name was Anna and she was eleven. She was on my train to Paris and she had red hair that reached down to her elbows. She also had a black hat on with her navy blue sweat shirt. Her parents both grew up in Ireland, but they had lived in Illinois since she was a baby.

She was sitting across the table from me and staring at her lap. Her mother was stretched across the aisle chatting with the women there. She told him how Anna hadn't been able to sleep the night before because she had been so excited for Paris.

"No mom," Anna told her, "it was because I didn't have a book to read."

So Anna and I got to talking. She told me how her father had died the year before. Her mother had taken her out of school to go on this trip because she wanted to distract her from it. She told me she was writing a book and she was in the sixth chapter. She told me that in a few days they were visiting Scotland so she could visit the cafe where J.K. Rowling wrote Harry Potter.

Then we talked about books, and her mother came into the conversation. She told me Anna had been a reader for as long as she could remember and she didn't understand it. Why, the woman asked me, would a girl prefer to stay inside with a book then play outside? Why did Anna insist on wearing that hat all the time? She told Anna not to bother me but I assured her it wasn't a problem.

Anna and her mother told me a lot of things, but I couldn't say so many things I wanted to.

This afternoon I stood outside Christ Church in Oxford in order to catch the merest glimpse of the field where the first Harry Potter movie was filmed and I was just as excited about it as I would have been when I was eleven. There are parts of me which are very much still eleven. Except that now I am not the same person when I was eleven because I have company.

So the things I wanted to say to Anna were this - That one day reading is going to be the cool thing for her to do. That she should never stop writing her book. That one day she will meet people just like her and finally get to talk about things with someone. Things that she cares about.

But I knew I couldn't stop her from feeling lonely. Plus, by this time we were in Paris and Anna was following her mother down the aisle and off the train.

I walked through a field full of sheep poo,

World conquerors.

Blenheim Palace

Oh, that's just my future house.















With an incredibly spacious backyard.

Done with Dublin,

Thursday, I boarded a plane decorated in blue and yellow. The flight was cheap so they could try and sell me things and every seat contained a young person. Together, we fidget and fiddle, pretending we're comfortable and that we've done this all before.

In customs, I am ready to beg the man behind the glass to concede. To grant me my badge of honor, but as he pulls the bulky metal contraption from underneath the counter I relax and breathe. With a bang he tells the world, "Yes, she has been to Ireland."

My jacket is buttoned high on my neck as the far too icy wind beats against my face. I check my watch again but it still says, "No, your bus is late." The man next to me, in his Scooby Doo head scarf, doesn't seem concerned, and I had peeked at his passport a few minutes before. He is Irish and would know to be concerned. Plus, I am too proud to admit this could be the wrong bus and my knowledge of transit systems is not universal.

The man at the hostel was the wrench in the machanics. He tries to be kind as he tells me that no, there wasn't a reservation made. There was a reservation made for Monday night. I try to keep my patience as I say that we are here today with no place to sleep. They are full and nothing can be done.

Another hostel is found with different lounges and different lumpy mattresses. I am grateful and sleep well in my room with twenty other girls.

In the morning I ate watery porridge and strong hot coffee and thought about learning German. When can one know they are a traveller and not a tourist, I wonder.

Lessons of the Afternoon

There was an Asian woman this afternoon. She had set up the usual speaker with a guitar and microphone. Into this microphone she was singing How Great Thou Art. But she was singing it in the strange full way a person who has never known English would.

And I thought, "interesting."

Walking around Westminster Abbey this afternoon Kat and I crossed the path of some middle aged women wearing Victoria's Secret Pink Sweatpants. I wish I could state that their sweat pants were what bothered me the most, but that would be the fact that despite the signs telling you not to, they were eating as they walked.

And I thought, "Interesting."

I'm not good with the words right now,

I thought it intelligent to spend some time just being here before I tried to organize my experiences. Now I have been here five days, and I have seen many of my childhood dreams come true. But now I still don't know what to write.

In this age of cell phones and the internet London could be just another borough of New York City. Except that its like the ferry stopped floating and my parents can't come visit on a whim.

There are a lot of things I could say about London, many of which are way too poetic and mostly crap. But I will tell you this - The food is just as bad as everyone has told me, and trying to find better food gives me a headache because I realize that I am twice as poor as I think I am.

The First Weekend