"And Here We Have Some Off-Coloured Ravens"

Off-Coloured Raven

The London Rain finally caught up to me. It had been waiting for me in Marseille and Aix the whole time after all.

What are you doing Canary Wharf?

So there were no problems with Ryanair, it having got me to and from London, safe and sound. There was one downside to my return, however.

Well, I got up at 7 am, scarfed my free breakfast, and headed off to Finchley Road, where, despite being disoriented once again, I managed to wander straight to the bus stop, 5 minutes early for the 15 minute late bus. I took it the airport, where I stormed through security (for some reason, no one was going into one of the security checkpoint lines. Silly Brits). I got on my plane, and off I went.

Accursed Daylight Savings time. You may kick in 2 weeks later in Europe, but you still make 7 am feel too early (forgive me Mom).

I was just sitting at my table, minding my own business, eating my fish & chips, when the telly tells me that there's been rioting in Central London. That's absolutely ridiculous, says I. I was in Central London all day, and saw nary a sign of said rioting. Sure, the tube was unnecessarily crowded, but that's just because the boat race is sooo popular. Well, it would seem I'm near a riot each year, albeit further and further away. I wonder how next year's will be...

Oxford in the lead

After leaving behind my abstract wanderings of Canary Wharf, I zoomed by Tube across London to watch the boat race. I was rooting for Oxford, for no particular reason. Turns out Camden was favored, that's okay, because Oxford won by four lengths! For those of you who don't know what the boat race is, read the previous three sentences. Anyway, the race being completed, I crammed back into the Tube and headed to my hostel for dinner.

That morning, I climbed up the 311 steps of The Monument (to the Great Fire of London). Then I climbed back down, and toured (I suspect my choice of the word "tour" here comes from the French word for tower being "tour") the Tower of London. Much more impressive from the inside. This guy helped:

My favorite Beefeater

I think the most important thing I learned from him is that bad men do still exist, and "they're under your beds, children". The blog total is one of his gems as well. For some more, he's on Youtube (though this isn't my tour):

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DeiW_bWZ2Is

I had my room all to myself, so I slept well.

Afterward, I walked all along the Thames at sunset, and through the National Gallery.

Following our picnic, we went to the British Museum. Museum's don't get described, they get seen. It's free, like almost every other museum in London, so go there yourself. My one comment is that I found a single plaque incredibly interesting: it dealt with the Japanese conception of time changing speeds with the seasons. Time is so steady today, but that fluid perception holds a strong appeal for me. After promenading around, Simone left for something or other.

Rosetta Stone, at the British Museum

I met up with a friend from Pitt, Simone, in Trafalgar Square Saturday morning. She was late, but I got to do some people watching. French tourists are hilarious. One French adolescent tried to climb atop this lion:

Big Lion

After failing, he asked two older French teens how they'd managed to do so. One demonstrated by jumping and twisting in midair to land elegantly on the lion's rump. After dismounting, the preteen tried to follow suit. Except he missed both the jumping and twisting parts, and just ran head-first into the lion.

Anyhow, after Simone showed, we watched the changing of the guard, then picnicked in St. James Park, outside the front of Buckingham Palace. The Queen thought this was a jolly good idea, so she joined us for tea. However, William and Kate did not pay us this respect. See if I invite them to my wedding.

I tried my best, but I woke the Germans up leaving in the morning.

I arrived in my hostel late Thursday night, technically Friday morning. No sooner had I begun putting my valuables into my locker, two German medical students who were backpacking through England barged in. It was their room too.

I decided I was too cheap to take the metro, and I wanted to actually see the streets of London, so I decided to walk from Finchley Road to my hostel. It was a forty minute walk, and at the beginning, I had no idea where I was going. By the time I remembered that I'd printed out directions, I had already been walking for ten minutes. Turns out I followed the directions to a T without having ever read them.

And now for my first experience with Ryanair. Well, it got me there. And I wasn't worried for a second.

London 

Everything is backwards in London. They drive on the left side of the road, silly Brits. And I sure could not figure out pedestrian traffic. Sometimes they kept left, sometimes they kept right. Escalators were always keep right, except to pass. Everything else involved me crashing into Londoners. Silly people.

Barcelona

Barcelona
Barthelonianth are nowhere near ath thilly ath Londonerth. Unfortunately, at least for me, Catalan is their primary language. So what little elementary Spanish I know just looked even more touristy. No hablo Catalàn.


Other than that,  I have two takes of Barcelona.

Take one: I didn't get enough out Barcelona.
I don't want to sound whiny, but I am whiny. Sorry.

Good First Day in Every Way

Columbus, pointing East

Everything started out well enough, despite the six hour bus ride: wondrous views of the Pyrénées, the high temperatures that induced me to remove my sweater (I knew better than to even bring my coat), a pleasant two hours wandering about, discovering La Rambla and les platges (I knew beaches in Spanish, but not in Catalan). Then a brief walking tour, which basically consisted of walking us to La Rambla and away from the beaches without giving us much information. Still good stuff though.

I didn't feel like going out that first night, so I just wandered around a people watched. Good stuff.

Ah, Mediterranean

 Second and Third Day, The Bad Take
The next morning, some of us went to the market and then lounged on the beach for an hour or so. Then things started going sour:

1. Our tour "guide" didn't know exactly where we were, and had difficulty leading us to the bus. At that point, I had figured out enough to know our location better than him. Strike one.
2. The bus driver drove in large, pointless circles at least twice, that served nothing other than needless time consumption. Strike two.
3. Our "guide" merely pointed to objects we drove past and named them. No history. No bus stops. Useless. Aggravating. Strike three.
4. Now, normally, being at strike three, he'd be out. But I really wanted to get to Park Güell, a UNESCO-listed site constructed by famous Barcelonian architect Antoni Gaudí. It was pretty far from the center of town, outside of walking distance, so I figured the bus tour would be a good way to get there. Unfortunately, steps 2 and 3 were repeatitive, so much to the point that I fell asleep on the tour briefly. Strike three point five.
5. We finally arrived at Park Güell, and were given a mere hour to explore it. The time shortage was due to the earlier inefficiencies. Anti-climactic. Strike four point five.

So, after whittling away the day, we returned to our hostel. Our tour "guide" had mentioned a Dali museum, and being a fan (of Dali, not him), I inquired further with him about it. He said he wasn't really sure of the location, and to ask at our hostel. I did, and was informed that it was two hours outside of the city by train, which I verified by internet. So naturally I ascribed this to our "guide" being useless.
Anyway, I was ready to go out for the night, but I was waiting for someone who was waiting for someone else. So we didn't get out until almost one am. Okay, it's Barcelona, that's what Spanish people do...
During that time, we managed to pick up some people in our group that I didn't particularly like. They have a word for that: loathing. Alright, I just won't be near them when we go out....
Somehow, these unwanted comrades commandeered our group and steered it into a bar at half past one. No one from the original group wanted to go to a bar; they all wanted to go clubbing. This was unbearable. I went back to the hostel for the night.

The next day, I decided to visit the Picasso Museum in lieu of the Dali Museum. It was good, but not mind-blowing or anything. Then, with about twenty minutes until the rendezvous time for our departure, I discovered a Dali exhibit in Central Barcelona. So our hostel was pretty poor as well (they didn't even provide sheets for warmth). But no redemption for our "guide": moments later I discovered that the Cathedral he had claimed you had to pay to get in had free entrance at certain hours. Which had ended about a half hour before I realized this.

Wasted two days.

Park Güell

Second and Third Day, The Good Take
 Admittedly, the tour guide and driver were incompetent. But I did enjoy the beach. And, although they did so inefficiently, they did eventually drive us past nearly all the major sites, including Olympic Village and much more Gaudí architecture, including the incomplete Sagrada Família, a massive basilica that has been under construction for 130 years, and still has 10 to 15 years to go. We even got to get out and walk around the Sagrada and a vista of Barcelona, in addition to Park Güell.

Sagrada Família

Then, dinner was delicious. I sought out and found some seafood in Barcelonita, one of Barcelona's harbor areas. Let me reiterate: my paella was delicious. It consisted of rice, peas, mussels, clams, crayfish, lemon, squid ink, squid, and some other unidentifiable seafood. I ate an entire pan of it, before heading out again later for tapas, which were also quite good. They did not rival my epic paella. Delicious.

I should not dismiss the Picasso Museum so lightly. It was very good, and provided an interesting look at Picasso's development. Who would've guessed that he started out painting normal-looking objects? I actually really liked his youthful paintings. Which made me realize what a grip of artistry he needed to convey images through cubism, even if I find cubism terribly uninteresting. Good thing there wasn't much of it in the museum.

Finally, I was in Barcelona with friends. I'm in Europe. I won't complain.