Kate's Adventures in Wales

Well, I have made it to Wales. It was a close thing. I woke up on time but left late, of course, and made it to Bristol Parkway in time to print my tickets... I got to the platform and then realised I had forgotten to print my RETURN tickets, and as I did not wish to be stranded in Flint, I had to go back. The turnstile attendants were amused at my running back and forth, but I made it back to the platform before the train doors closed.

From Bristol Parkway I rode to Birmingham New Street and then back another direction to Stafford, where I switched to a train to Crewe. From Crewe I travelled to Chester, and from Chester I rode to Flint, the final destination, where we arrived on time at twenty minutes to twelve.

I paused to collect a sandwich at a shop in town, and then began my three-mile hike to Pentre Halkyn, and the hotel where I’m spending the night. It was a lovely walk past blooming gardens and open fields with some stunning views* back over the bay. I stopped at the top of a hill and had a conversation with some sheep on a hill. I don’t know what I said, but they seemed excited about it.

My 12:30 I was regretting having packed my laptop into my backpack. There’s something about lugging that and a rolling suitcase up and down a series of hills that makes everything feel heavier. Still, the scenery was lovely, and the air was fresh. By 12:55, My shoulders had begun to ache in earnest, and I was wishing I’d learned how to Apparate. Then it began to sprinkle. Fortunately, I sighted a town just a couple of hills away, so I carried on and arrived, breathless and slightly muddy, at the Springfield Hotel.

The hotel is a converted country estate, and after staying so many hostels, I appreciate the level of comfort. Clean, comfortable, well-decorated, stocked with instant coffee and an electric kettle, and I have a private, fully-functioning bath. Oh yes. (I’m not kidding though, I’ve only been here about ten minutes and I’m ready to recommend it to anyone.)

It’s now raining lightly but steadily. I intend to put on my new wellies and have a hike on to Ysceifiog for some sightseeing. Here goes!

~~~~~

So it turns out that Google directions doesn’t warn you about things like hills. Wales, as it turns out, is mostly hills. The road I took out of Pentre Halkyn went up and away from the village, allowing me a beautiful view of what I’d walked all morning. Ahead of me were several steep hills and lots and lots of sheep. Many of them were kind of wandering free, their backs marked with spray paint. All the new lambs were bleating plaintively and chasing their bored-looking mothers about. Not far from the village centre is a quarry, and many of the vehicles on the road appeared to be quarry trucks, with some farm vehicles thrown in for variety.

I conquered a minor snafu with my directions, but then the rain began... Fortunately, I had both wellies and umbrella, so on I trudged. And on and on. I had nearly made it to the turn-off to Ysceifiog when a car full of geologists pulled up and offered me a lift into the village (They’d seen me by the quarry, which they’d been out to explore) and dropped me at St. Mary’s, the largest village landmark.

Seeing as Ysceifiog is only about three blocks big, from St. Mary's it wasn’t long until I was out of Ysceifiog and out along the northern road, winding through the countryside. The rain picked up again as I followed this road down a steep hill and up yet another, but the worst of the rain passed as I was under some trees, which was good. Eventually I wandered into nice weather, at which point I turned around and followed it for a while. The hills, which had been misty before, cleared up and shone a brilliant green in the sunlight. At the crest of the most recent hill I briefly explored a footpath next to a sheep field where there were a couple of little black lambs running around. They were precious!

The rain picked up again so I continued into the trees back down the hill and explored another footpath running alongside the stream. There were some interesting stone foundations alongside the creek, which dad suggests could be from a mill or something similar. The climb back up the ridiculously steep hill was taxing, but didn’t deter me from another wander through Ysceifiog.

The returning trek to the hotel was an adventure: in trying to get back to Pentre Halkyn, I took a wrong turn and went a few miles out of my way... then it was back up and down past the Pentre Quarry and finally back to the Hotel, where I collapsed. Walking twenty miles really takes it out of ya! After some room service and a bubble bath, however, I feel quite refreshed. Tomorrow I intend to read up on these villages at the local library – we’ll see how that goes. Then it’s home again, home again, for revision and some final coursework. Woo!

*Pictures to follow. I forgot my camera cable.

Vendredi, Samedi, Dimanche

With three weeks’ worth of time at our disposal, Lauren and I have whisked ourselves off to Paris for a ten day stay. We left Bristol coach station at about 6:15 Friday evening to arrive in London just before 9. There were two coaches leaving for Paris at 10:30, but of course ours was delayed. It was there in the coach station that I gathered my first impression of what to expect from the French – they are incapable of queuing. After seven months with the British, this was a difficult adjustment, one I’m still getting used to four days later. When the coach finally pulled in, there was a mob of people wrestling to be first onto the bus, though it certainly wasn’t going to leave without anyone. The result was that Lauren and I were separated for the nine hour journey to Paris.

The coach itself wasn’t too bad except that the driver announced as soon as we were on board that the toilets were out of order. At this point I realised that in order to avoid having to use the toilet on the coach I hadn’t drunk much all day... nor had I brought anything to drink with me on to the bus. Nothing makes you thirstier than that realisation. On a bus packed full of people, it is bound to be crowded, and there are also a number of interesting smells – there seemed to be a number of strange ethnic foods on board, and at least one person

Our first interruption came about fifteen minutes into the trip when a little girl decided that she needed to pee. With the toilets out of order, there was nothing we could do but pull over to a petrol station and wait a few minutes. Then it was south to the point of crossing. The British border control boarded briefly, selecting only a few passports to verify and then waving us on. The French border, maybe 100 yards farther along collected every single passport to check, which took a good half an hour. The coach then had to queue for twenty minutes as we waited to board the vehicle train to French soil. It was 2:30 by the time we were parked inside the train car.

The sensation of being in a parked bus on a moving train was very strange, but I slept until we made it to France and disembarked. Two passengers had boarded the wrong coach to Paris, so our route was altered slightly to run past Charles de Gaulle. The sky was beginning to lighten as we approached the city, and we arrived at Gallieni station (named after this guy) fifteen minutes early, 7:15. From there it was a short ride on the Métro 7 to its intersection with line 3 at Opéra, and an even shorter ride to Cadet. We emerged to find rain, but fortunately, Gina’s door was only half a block up the street. Gina met us at the door of her building and helped us wrestle our bags into the lift. We proceeded to crash in her room for recovery naptime.

At around 2, it was decided that we were all rested enough to dare venturing out, and after quick showers, Gina guided Lauren and me around her neighbourhood on a brisk walking tour. We first stopped at the enormous and magnificent Église de la Madeleine which was being prepared for Easter services. From there we made for a well-known “salon du thé” called Angelina, founded in 1906 and famous for their hot chocolate. After our little stop we wandered across the street and across the Jardins des Tuileries in front of the Louvre, and then on to the quay by the Seine. We spent the rest of the afternoon strolling along the river, snapping pictures of the bridges and people-watching. We passed at least one couple enthusiastically macking on the riverbank – Paris, city of romance.

There were lots of tour boats out on the river, and lots of people, tourists and Parisians alike, walking along the banks of the Seine. Up along the street, a level above the water, little stalls fold out where people have books, postcards, and art prints to sell. One of them also featured old Disney comics. I stopped every few feet for more pictures of the Île de la Cité, trying to identify buildings that I’d only ever read about. I’m looking forward to taking closer looks at the Notre Dame de Paris and the Sainte-Chapelle, and maybe even the Conciergerie, where many a famous prisoner was held before being executed. Soon we made reached the Pont Marie metro station on line 7, which we took back to Gina’s place. Gina’s flatmate Caroline joined us for dinner at a sushi place just across the way – ordering sushi in French was definitely strange at first. Bed was preceded by cookies, milk, and harmonising over Caroline’s ukulele (played by Gina).

On Sunday morning we woke up fairly early to make it to mass at the Notre Dame de Lorette. It was performed in French, but the rituals were familiar. It was interesting to hear how the prayers were both similar and different to what I know in English. After mass Lauren and I returned to Gina’s to collect our things and check into our hostel, a six minute walk from the Cadet metro stop. We arrived during the hostel’s lock-out hours, so we dropped off our suitcases with reception and went for brunch at Breakfast in America, a diner-like restaurant specialising in American breakfast food and hamburgers. After forty-five minutes in a queue (the place is popular!) we were seated. Lauren enjoyed a breakfast burrito and home fries and I opted for pancakes with scrambled eggs and bacon. All of the waitstaff there speak English, and at least one of the girls who served us was American – I could tell because she said “awesome” when I handed her my debit card, a word I haven’t heard anyone else use that way since I left home!

After brunch Lauren and I returned to the hostel to settle in. The place is called Woodstock, and it’s brightly coloured and cheerfully decorated. The rooms are set up with bunk beds, three to a room, and the one we’re in includes a sink and a shower. There are two toilets and a kitchen off of the centre courtyard, and the hostel has a friendly cat that sits on our doormat. Hanna from Sweden was in when we arrived, and we were later joined by Iona and Christina, both from Edinburgh. Lauren and I walked down the street to Monop’, a grocery store, for some simple foodstuffs (fruit and cheese, mostly) and settled in to watch half of Chalte Chalte before bed. We got to chatting with our bunkmates after that, and were soon joined by Laura from Brazil, our sixth and final roomie for the night. We turned the lights out at around 12:30, the end of our first weekend in Paris.

London Version 2.0, Volume I

On Saturday morning I woke up the earliest I’ve had to since my last opening shift at Starbucks. Padma, Lauren and I caught the 5:10 Megabus to London, which actually turned out to be the 5:25 bus. Typical. The ride seemed extremely long, but unlike last time, there was little traffic on the road and we made it to Victoria Coach Station at around 7:30. Our plan was to split up for the first part of the day: Padma went to catch the underground to BAPS Shri Swaminarayan Mandir, London, which holds the Guinness record for being the largest Hindu temple outside India, and Lauren and I were to locate the TKTS booth in Leicester Square to get tickets for a matinee of some kind. Because it was early and the booth wasn’t going to open until at least 9, we stopped for coffee at the best Starbucks I’ve been to here in the UK. The foam on my latte was perfection.

On our way to Leicester Square, we stepped into St. James’s Park for a few minutes to have a look at a bridge we could see from the Mall. There were dozens of birds in an around the water including some very overfed looking pigeons and some creatures that appeared to be a blend of pigeon and duck which had green feet and red eyes.


I took pictures from the bridge of some black swans gliding along...


...and from the other side of the park I tried to zoom in on some really large birds that looked like a cross between a pelican and a really fluffy egret.


We continued our walk up the Mall and through Trafalgar Square, and in front of the National Gallery we passed an ice sculpture of a polar bear.


I turned us down a side street that I remembered from the map and was just about to second guess myself when we entered Leicester Square and found the TKTS booth. It was about 9:15 by this time, and we soon discovered that the booth wasn’t going to open until 10, so we took this opportunity to get in line and pick a show. Wicked was not available, so we went with a showing of Avenue Q which was even better since it started at 5 instead of 2:30. Planning our Saturday had been a bit of trouble because the museums don’t open until 9 or 10, and they generally close between 4 and 6.

10 o’clock finally arrived and Lauren and I got three really good tickets at half price. Take note, bargain shoppers! That squared away, we headed for the National Portrait Gallery, a half a block walk from our location. We took a huge escalator to the third floor and began with the Tudor gallery, over which I geeked thoroughly out. You know that picture of Henry VII that you always see? Well he was there. And right next to him was Elizabeth of York. And there was also Thomas Cranmer, whose chair has this really cool pattern in it, and whose tablecloth is clearly awesome. They had Hans Holbein the Younger’s gigantic cartoon for the Whitehall Mural hanging, and if you go right up to it you can see all of the knotwork on his trim drawn out. It’s pretty awesome. Nearby was the portrait of Mary I than I’m sure you’ve seen before, and if you look closely, you see that her underdress/chemise-y thing is almost identical to the one that Catherine Parr is wearing in her portrait on the other side of the room. The two were painted about a year apart, and that is not the only similarity between them. I was way more excited about this than a normal person would have been, and Lauren was amused.

The next room had Elizabeth’s coronation portrait, among others. I had a look at the map in the Ditchley portrait and found that her hem comes down just north of Bristol. Sir Francis Drake was there, and there was a really cool painting of Sir Henry Unton’s life story. In this painting of Mary, Queen of Scots, I had a look at the lace on her right cuff. One of the points has been painted over as part of her hand. How cool is that? Also in this room was a portrait of John Donne, who wrote poems about getting dumped. The caption for his portrait most amusingly noted that his collar had been left undone to convey poetic melancholy.

In the many galleries we wandered through, portraits of note included Flora MacDonald in the Jacobean Room and George Washington in Room 14 not far from a huge portrait of King George III, at which I shook my fist, just because it felt appropriate. I enjoyed reading the captions of the portraits in this room, which were mainly of people involved in “the conflict in the American colonies,” which is known to some of us as the American Revolution. Reading one’s own history from someone else’s perspective really gives a fuller understanding of how it fits in the world.

Padma called us about halfway through our tour of the NPG and requested our location. We told him we were in room 17 and sat down on a bench to wait. He called us not long after and wanted to know if we were sure we were in room 17, as room 17 was blocked off and couldn’t be entered. Turns out, he was in the National Gallery, which is next door to the National Portrait Gallery, and after straightening this out he found us, no problem.

The rooms in the National Portrait Gallery are arranged chronologically, and I found it interesting to watch as the subjects of the portraits changed. At first, only pictures of royalty and important court figures were available. Soon, other political figures were painted, and then military heroes and advisors, and then there was this movement that included actresses, courtesans, musicians and poets. Among these people were George Eliot and Kitty Fisher, whose name is worked into her picture. The Regency galleries included portraits of the mistresses of the crown, and in one portrait, the child of that indiscretion. Keats, Coleridge and Wordsworth were all there, and so was the little drawing of Jane Austen done by her sister Cassandra. One of the 19th century rooms included albumen prints of actresses, ballerinas and Oscar Wilde.

Twentieth century portraits included, as one might expect, rather a lot of people involved in the World Wars. Also included was Emmeline Pankhurst, a suffragette who just looks like someone I would want to know. Through this gallery, the art became less and less structured and it was interesting to see that happen only through portraits. Amy Johnson, a lady aviator, was pictured, and so were Beatrix Potter, Aldous Huxley and T.S. Eliot. My favourite portrait in this gallery was of Sir Alexander Fleming, the fellow who discovered penicillin, who is painted working with an agar plate at a cluttered bench.

Padma went for a spin through the galleries upstairs that he hadn’t seen, and Lauren went to investigate the museum shop. I took a tour through the Twiggy display, which included many of the shots that America’s Next Top Model featured when she was guest judging on the show. The NPG is currently featuring a “Beatles to Bowie” rock portraits and memorabilia exhibit that I intend to hit up next time I visit, which will hopefully be with Tamsin. By the time I made it through all of the contemporary displays Lauren had finished in the shop and Padma was just coming down the stairs. We turned to the door just in time to see a cloudburst ending, and this perfect timing could not be wasted. The three of us set out for the British Museum and maybe something to eat.

Friday the Thirteenth, a tale of why I am forced to believe.

As I write this, the bus that I’m supposed to be on is en route to Prague. It will arrive there in two hours. Rather than on that coach, I am propped up in bed, writing a blog. Here’s how that happened.

Friday dawned grey but bright, or I assume that it did as I failed to properly set my alarm and woke up at 9:30. I had intended to be up early, to better pack my things and tidy my desk, but I didn’t mind oversleeping so much. Padma, Lauren and I had breakfast together, as we were expecting Friday morning to be our last time together for several days. This went fine, and so did printing my coach tickets and a map of Prague from the library. I packed and tidied and was ready to go in plenty of time to pick up some snacks from the school shop before catching a bus that was theoretically supposed to drop me at Broadmead in reasonable advance of my 1:45 departure. This is not what happened.

What happened is that traffic on Gloucester Road was ridiculous for no apparent reason. Several cars did stupid things in front of my bus driver, who took it upon himself to attempt to correct their behaviour. He would stop, open his door and holler at the drivers, engaging them in unpleasant, expletive-strewn conversation. As a result, we sat through at least three unnecessary traffic lights on top of the queues of vehicles moving approximately 7 miles per hour.

I ran through Broadmead and across St. James Park only to find that I had missed my coach by four minutes. I called Lauren to check for a train that would arrive in time to make my coach to the continent at 5, and I leapt into the queue for coach tickets for some information on available journeys. After standing in the queue for fifteen minutes, I was told that the next coach would leave at 2:15, arriving a scant ten minutes before my coach to Prague was supposed to leave. Should I chance it? I deliberated a few seconds and stepped out of the queue to call Lauren for train information.

According to her research, there was one leaving at 2:30 set to arrive at 4:46, but I remembered from our trip to London that the Victoria Train Station is four blocks from Victoria Coach Station. Also, in order to catch the train I’d have to run several blocks to Bristol Temple Meads and purchase a ticket. Given these options, I decided that it would be better at least to arrive in the coach station, even with the shorter turnaround. This decision had taken perhaps 3 minutes, max, but by the time I returned to the ticket queue, it was back to length it had been when I first stepped into it.

I waited anxiously as several people who had absolutely no idea what they wanted to do talked to the two ticket agents working the desk. I watched the 2:15 coach to London pull up and begin boarding, and I was finally forced to ask someone ahead of me to let me jump the queue in order to make it. She graciously allowed this once she understood my situation, and I got a ticket as quickly as I could. I was the last person onto the coach, but I made it. I sat down, and began to pray. (And to knit. The herringbone scarf is going very well.)

We were flying along for the first hour, but our speed soon began to drop, regardless of the fact that traffic was still moderate to light. As we got father toward London, traffic became denser, and by the time we got the Cheswick, it had reached the point of stop-and-go. There were loads of pedestrians all mashing the crosswalk buttons, and stacks and stacks of taxis clogging up the bus lanes. I watched the clock over the driver’s head as it counted 16:57... 16:58... 16:59...
We pulled into Victoria Station as the clock turned 17:00. I shot off of the bus, through the arrivals terminal and across the street (narrowly avoiding a taxi) into the departures terminal. The first fellow I saw told me that Service 192 was leaving from Platform 18, and I sprinted the length of the terminal to Platform 18...

No bus. The helpful people at the Eurolines desk informed me that I’d missed it by two minutes. Because my ticket from Bristol and my ticket to Prague were separate and therefore not planned by the company to connect, policy dictated that they couldn’t refund anything, and additionally, my ticket to the continent was a funfare (non-refundable, cheaper) ticket with nho connection. Because the journey involved no tconnection, there was therefore no w ay to send me to Prague. Tthey directed me to the ticket desk on the other side of the terminal for further information.

At the ticket desk,a I was informed that the next coach to Prague is Sunday night and that there’s nothing I can do before then. I called Lauren to ask if perhaps there were trains I could catch from Victoria, and she and Padma very kindly headed to the library to perform some research. I was upset about all of this for maybe ten minutes while I sat there, but then I decided that really it would be easier and more pleasant to just laugh at the ridiculousness of my entire day. I pulled out my knitting again. Lauren called me back to say that the farthest she could get me was Brussels, so I hopped back into the ticket queue for a coach home. The very sympathetic woman to whom I next spoke informed me that the next coach to Bristol left at 6, which was seven minutes from the time that I stepped up. After that, Megabus was departing at 9. Could I make the 8? I wanted to know. “If you run,” said the ticket lady.

I decided that I had had enough of arriving at platforms to see NO BUS, so I chose the 9 o’clock. It turned out, of course, that the 6 o’clock was late departing, so I could have made it, but no matter. I got some yogurt and a bottle of water, and I sat down to knit some more. In the time that I sat there, I got four rows done, I watched The Nightmare Before Christmas on my iPod, I texted back and forth to Tamsin, I spoke to Liz and I made plans with Lauren and Padma to proceed with a movie night upon my unexpected return. In the time that I wasn’t doing any of those other things, I observed the station population.

The station was full, for some reason, of little children all in varying states of distress. One in particular was very frightened of pigeons, and would cry whenever one took flight. I feel I should mention that the white pigeon we’d seen in the terminal three weeks ago was there. At least, I assume it was our white pigeon. I haven’t seen many around. The number of people standing around rose and fell very rhythmically, peaking at the top of every hour. The buses seemed to be running fairly on schedule until about 8, at which time things fell pretty much to pieces. Platforms kept getting switched around, nobody knew where they were supposed to be...

As I had prepared myself to expect, 9 o’clock came and went, and all they announced was that the Megabus service was “delayed,” reason unknown, no expected arrival given. Two Megabuses pulled up at 9:35, but only the one to Birmingham took any passengers, which was confusing to everyone who had queued up. A bus to Cardiff also departed around that time, and since the service I was taking would also be stopping at Cardiff, several people went over thinking it was ours and had to be sent back. We finally boarded at 5 minutes to 10, an hour late. We didn’t start moving until 10 after 10, at which point the driver explained that he had been delayed because the wind had been blowing heavily since mid-afternoon, and that buses were only permitted to go 45 miles per hour under those conditions. This boded well, I thought.

I got a seat to myself for this journey, though I kept my bag in my lap so I’d have something over which to slump. From that position I eavesdropped on the conversation of the people in front of me, which was in French. There were four of them, students from France, and they’d never been through London before, nor had they ever heard of the Victoria & Albert Museum, which was lit up when we passed it. We also passed a skating rink, lit purple, and the Natural History Museum, lit in green. Many of the shops had gone all out with their window displays for Christmas, particularly Harrod’s which was just ridiculous.

It started to rain again outside of London, but the wind dropped some and we went what seemed to me to be a reasonable speed. We pulled into UWE at a quarter after midnight. (One of the major advantages of taking Megabus over National Express is that Megabus stops at UWE, requiring no additional bus or cab to get home.) I called Lauren as she’d requested to let her know I was home, and after stopping at my room to pick up a DVD and to run a comb through my hoodie hair, I walked over to Mendip Court and knocked on Lauren’s door.

I discovered upon entering Lauren’s kitchen that the entire time I was sitting in London, Lauren and Padma had been preparing a party. It had occurred to them that if I’d managed to catch the proper coach, by 1 in the morning I’d have been somewhere in the middle of Europe - Paris, maybe, and since I couldn’t be in Paris, they brought Paris to me. They spent the evening making French-themed food, served with French wine and accompanied by all the French music that Lauren had on her computer. There were balloons and fancy dishware and a gold tablecloth sprinkled with star confetti. It was awesome. And the food was delicious! I am so lucky to have these thoughtful, talented friends.

It turns out that I wasn’t the only one with rotten fortune on Friday. Lauren, thinking that her lab was at 2:30 got ready for class at 2:15. She stopped to check what classroom she’d be in only to discover that class had started at 1:30. Oops. We toasted to a better Saturday the Fourteenth, which, as I pointed out, it clearly already was. Padma has an excursion to Oxford today, after which he and Lauren are performing a concert with Showstoppers. Due to the fact that I am not in Prague, I will get to see it. That was the only part of this weekend I was sad to be missing, so it works out in the end.

By the time we finished our crepes and Nutella, we were all far too tired to consider watching a three-hour Bollywood movie, so we’re saving that for tonight. In the meantime, I’m going to get a jump on the coursework that I would otherwise not be doing. Better luck next time...

The Walking Tour of Everywhere

London is a pretty nifty town. Two Saturdays ago, Padma, Lauren and I took the 7:10 Megabus, and excepting some alarm clock problems, it went smoothly. It was raining, of course, because why would the weather be good on our first daytrip across the country? But as Lauren said, we might as well have an authentic English experience. This seemed to include the bus inexplicably breaking down outside of Chiswick, fifteen minutes from our destination. About forty minutes later, another coach arrived and the passengers all climbed off of the bus, through a hedge and onto the replacement. We whizzed on through London proper, passing parks, posh hotels, Harrod’s and several Starbucks’ before arriving at Victoria Coach Station.

Victoria Coach Station is conveniently located on Buckingham Palace Road which we followed to... Buckingham Palace! There were tons of people milling around snapping pictures and conversing in more languages than ever heard at the Tower of Babel. Before long, some guys with tasselled hats and red cloaks on really pretty black horses went riding by the Victoria Memorial and down the mall, and not long after that the actual changing of the guard took place, complete with a marching band. I tried to take pictures, but I mostly just got close-up shots of the backs of people’s heads.

From Buckingham Palace we wandered northeast down the Mall, through the Admiralty Arch, and to the edge of Trafalgar Square where we stopped for photos of the monuments and of the National Gallery. We turned right down Whitehall and took pictures of the war memorials, including one to the Women of WWII, which was really interesting, and the Monument to the Glorious Dead. We arrived at Big Ben just in time to hear it strike noon and went from there across the Westminster Bridge and along the Thames which was quite as dirty as you have heard. We took pictures of the London Eye and of each other being silly, and in a little market off the walk we found a painting of Shah Rukh Khan (our favourite Bollywood hero) on the front of a shop.

I’m using google maps to help clarify the streets we used, but some of them don’t appear to be included. There are many landmarks identified, however, and it’s interesting to me how close we were to so many things that I’ve seen/read/heard about but didn’t run into. The Rose and Crown, for instance is only a few blocks from The Mad Hatter, which I took a picture of. We made it down to the Globe Theatre Centre, and then past what is supposed to be a replica of the Golden Hind, the Southwark Cathedral, and Borough Market.

By this time it was half past one, Lauren was headed for a hunger coma and Padma and I had both developed headaches, so we stopped at a small bistro type place for emergency good-mood-restoring paninis. We then headed for the Tate Modern for some surrealism. Some bits were better than others, but my favourites were a giant mahogany electric plug suspended from the ceiling and the works by Georges Braque in the Poetry and Dreams exhibit. By the time we got out of the Tate the weather had cleared. It was breezy and gorgeous and we took lots of pictures from the Millenium Bridge, which is the one that Dementors destroyed at the beginning of the sixth Harry Potter movie. It’s seemed intact, however.

The Millenium Bridge leads straight to the side of St. Paul’s Cathedral, which was sunlit and beautiful. We used a handy dandy map that Padma procured to discover that we weren’t far from Fleet Street and we headed that way. Along that road we passed a creepy-looking church set back from the street that turned out to be St. Bride’s, the place where Virginia Dare’s parents were married. If you don’t recall, Virginia Dare was the first colonist born on American soil. Our country is such a baby!

From Fleet Street we turned onto Aldwych and then onto Drury Lane. We didn’t see the muffin man, but we did pass the theatre currently showing a production of Dirty Dancing. From there we headed for The Royal Opera House and Covent Garden. Almost every flower box along the street contained ivy and gardenias in full bloom.

As it got darker, we turned in to Soho and meandered through the streets as they filled up with people. Most of the avenues were closed off to vehicles or were open only to cabs and police cars. A few brave bicycle cabs were pedalling around, but almost everyone was on foot. Imagine a cross between Shockoe Bottom and Times Square and you’ll have an idea what this was like – small shops, restaurants and clubs lining narrow cobblestone streets, with giant lighted billboards and theatre fronts breaking it up. Navigating was difficult because the map that we acquired was very tiny, and some of the streets weren’t at all marked, but we got it figured out eventually and even found a Thai place for dinner.

It wasn’t far from the restaurant to Trafalgar Square, and from there we retraced our steps back up the Mall and past Buckingham Palace. The first Victoria station that we found was for trains, but we stopped to use the facilities, which one often pays to do here. We made it to the coach station a few blocks away just in time to hear that our bus was delayed half an hour. While we waited, we watched some fearless pigeons search the station for food. One of them, a grubby-looking white bird, fluttered up onto the bench opposite ours and looked at us for a while before taking off again. Our bus finally arrived and on we got. Padma slept all the way home, but Lauren and I got in some girl talk. Once home, I stayed up just long enough to discover that our trek through the city had covered more than ten miles. No wonder my feet hurt!

Apple Mess

I created something delicious last night and wanted to share. I call it “Apple Mess.” It’s not exact, but it’s delicious!

First, I preheated the oven to approximately 350°F (177-ish C).

Second, I adapted my chocolate chip cookie recipe for kind of a sugar cookie effect.

With a wooden spoon, cream together 1 stick of butter, 1/3 cup of white sugar and 1/3 cup of brown sugar (packed if it’s American, loose if it’s European). Beat in 1 egg, 1 teaspoon of vanilla, 1/8 teaspoon of salt and 3/8 teaspoon of baking powder.

For chocolate chip cookies, I would here add 1 cup of semisweet or bittersweet chocolate chips BUT I was not making chocolate chip cookies, so instead I shook in some of a spice blend that contains cinnamon, clove, ginger and allspice. I didn’t measure, just went with it until it tasted right. Then, to the butter mixture, I added 1 1/3 cups of flour. This made it slightly thicker than my usual cookie dough (which is 1 1/4 cups of flour) which is totally what I was going for.

Next I greased a small ceramic casserole dish with butter. Its dimensions were approximately 9 x 5 x 1.5, but I expect that the recipe could be adapted for something bigger. I pressed between 1/2 and 2/3 of the dough into the bottom of the dish and baked it for 10 to 15 minutes, until the edges were golden but the middle was still mushy.

While this was baking, I shook some more spice blend and some straight up cinnamon into about 1 cup of chucky applesauce. It could have used more, but I only had the one jar. I spread this over the bottom later of dough, and then I dotted the applesauce with butter. I pinched the remaining cookie dough, small portions at time, into flat pieces which I set on top of the applesauce. When more or less all of the applesauce was covered, I popped the casserole dish back into the over for another 10 to fifteen minutes, until the edges of the top layer of dough were golden and the middle looked more dry than mushy. I cooled it for about five minutes before serving.

I called it Apple Mess because it isn’t really pie, and because it doesn’t hold together at all when it’s being served, which has to be done with a spoon. It would be really good with vanilla ice cream, I imagine. It’s super easy. If you try it, let me know how it goes.

Mmm

The best part about all of the obnoxious flyers people have been shoving into our mailboxes and under our doors are the takeaway menus. Dominoes campaigned really hard during freshers week, but even with their ridiculous amount of coupons, the pizza at Piccante is much better priced. And tastier, from what I know of Dominoes back home... So now I have a place from which to order pizza. And kebabs, if the mood strikes, although there is a kebab stand that sets up in a car park on campus on party nights. Clever business strategy, really, with so many kids running around drunk off their behinds. I believe I mentioned that their kebabs are really good with ketchup. One of the menus also offers alcohol, tobacco products, and ice cream, I suppose so that you can get everything you need for a good night all in one go.

The best takeaway experience so far was when Padma and I ordered Indian from a place called Simply Spiced. Delivery is free, we get 10% off cos we’re students, and the food is really good! The menu offers just about everything you could think of, and there’s a note saying that if they don’t have it on the menu, you should ask for it anyway and they’ll try to come up with it. In addition to starters, rice and salads, breads, tandoori dishes, sabjees, specials , omelettes and biriyani, they have fifteen different curries offered five ways each, including vegetarian.

We tried the saag paneer, a creamy spinach and cheese dish and an order of the garlic nan, which was spread with roasted garlic. From the curry menu we ordered vegetarian Kashmir, which featured a mild fruity sauce of coconut, pineapple and banana. We also tried the vegetarian Pathia curry, which was the favourite. Spicy, but not overpowering, and just a little bit sweet. They sent along a dish of Bombay aloo, spiced potatoes which were very pleasant and definitely something I could do myself with little trouble.

In my own kitchen, I’ve made panang, chili, roasted potatoes, Glamaorgan sausages, lots of rice and a really bad batch of mac and cheese. Glamorgan sausages are apparently a Welsh thing, using cheese instead of meat as the base. They worked out pretty well, although I couldn’t find any unseasoned breadcrumbs at the store, so I used crumbled up toast. The mac and cheese incident remains a mystery to me. It was going along just fine, though the cheese was taking a long time to melt into the sauce.... and when I added the pasta, the sauce all separated so I had seasoned milk coating the pasta, and melted cheese lining the bowl. Fail.

I had groceries delivered from Asda the other day, which included material for making Punkin’s meatloaf. It fell apart but tasted really good, and that’s what matters. I made chocolate chip cookies from scratch two nights ago, and aside from uneven temperature problems, they worked just fine. I’ve found that the vanilla extract I found here has a warmer flavour than what I use at home so the batter is softer-tasting. Also, there don’t appear to be such things as semisweet chocolate chips available at the grocery, but as even the most inexpensive chocolate here is quality stuff, what I found was fine.

I should also mention my favourite dining out experience of the last three weeks. We Americans went to Cabot Circus to top off our phones, because the Vodafone website seems to dislike American credit cards. After our errand, Lauren was ridiculously hungry, so we stopped at a tapas restaurant called La Tasca. They were conveniently offering a lunch special of five tapas for £10 – good for a student budget!

From the vegetarian selections we first chose a vegetarian paella, which wasn’t very paella-y but tasted fine. We then picked an aubergine dish with tomato, cheese, onion, and garlic that was absolutely fantastic, my personal favourite. The mushrooms that we next selected had been sautéed in garlic and olive oil – delicious, as you might imagine. From the meat dishes we chose to try the albóndigas, simple meatballs in a thick tomato sauce - straightforward and tasty - and their chorizo, sautéed in wine. The chorizo were very smoky but not overpoweringly or artificially so, and though they were less spicy than I expected, they were very good. Lauren ordered a simple prawn dish that was very well done. The shrimp were cooked just perfectly and the broth in which they’d been steamed complimented and enhanced their shrimp-ness rather than trying to hide it.

For dessert we tried their fresh strawberries in cream, which were underwhelming, and their chocolate mousse, which featured both milk and white chocolate layers. It was okay, but there were some texture issues. I ordered a little glass of Crema Catalana, a dessert liqueur, to go with that, and found it pretty good. I’d go back to La Tasca, just because the rest of the menu looked interesting. Their dishes were either really special (the aubergine, the prawns) or really not (the paella, dessert), so it’s a matter of winkling out the best choices. I did see on the dinner menu that Catalan spinach is offered, with pine nuts, raisins, and pear. I’ll have to see if it measures up.

Lastly, for sheer entertainment, Padma and I have turned Bollywood movies into a drinking game. First person who has to pee loses. Rules include a drink for every character called Raj, a drink for every flashback, two drinks for dramatic scenes in which the characters lie awake, and you finish your drink should any character have to obey another’s dying wish. So far we’ve seen Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi and Om Shanti Om , courtesy of Tesco’s rental service. Don’t fear for my liver, though, because we play with bargain juice boxes. Classy.