London Pictures

Taking off from Charlotte… Goodbye, USA!

Good morning, London.

Sunrise before landing

So close!

St. Paul's Cathedral 

Street Performers

…this guy.

Palace Guard

For Claire 

The guy on the right seems really into the Rosetta Stone. 

Babylonian Mural (British Museum)

The Abbey

Walking in London

Any Sweeney Todd fans out there?

Tower Bridge

"Yes, Mom, I took a picture in front of Westminster Abbey."

Big Ben

Buckingham Palace

Garden where we waited for dinner… Don't climb the trees there. You WILL be escorted off the property. 

Dinner

Westminster Abbey 

Paris (Part One)

Monday, March 17^th, 2014

Outside Notre Dame- Paris

I have fulfilled every tourist stereotype of Paris- geeked out over the Eiffel Tower, cruised the Seine Rive, carried a backpack filled with enough useless crap to feed a country, and eaten crepes… twice today. Half of my jambon et fromage is stuffed in my backpack. Moment of shame… It was too much for me. I had to toss it at the train station. *weeps*

So much to talk about, so little time… Let’s start with Versailles.

Arrive in Paris, morning of the 15^th.

We boarded a bus driven by the impeccably dressed Kareem- tailored suit, sunglasses, the works- and headed to the Versailles palace. Mario, our Portuguese guide, showed us through the building… Incredible. Gold, oil paintings, windows to the ceiling, a stone court half a mile across… We only went through eight or ten rooms and the Hall of Mirrors, and we barely scratched the surface. Walking through the Hall of Mirrors was the best part- it’s another one of those weird things I’ve been dreaming about doing since I was a kid. I read way too much. See previous post regarding core parts of my education taking place in a fast food restaurant.

Anyways. We got to see the King’s Chambers, including his bedroom and offices, and the Queen’s Chambers, where she was required to ‘give life’ in public, as Mario so tactfully put it. I completely forgot to mention the gardens… They were huge, and though mostly dormant due to winter, still impressive. Hedges, fountains, the like. The first forest I had seen since leaving home.

After the tour, we waited outside the gates, where a group of peddlers- (entry stops here, picks up on night train to Barcelona).

Bit of a change of scenery… Anyways. The peddlers were hawking cheap trinkets- Eiffel Tower key chains, toys, etc.

“One euro, one euro!”

“Five for one euro!”

“You buy!”

They remained on the outskirts of the group, calling to us. A few of the girls finally got up the courage to go and buy something- suddenly, they were swarmed with peddlers, all competing for that one euro.

“Pretty lady, pretty lady!”

“Five for one! Five for one!”

I quite literally lost sight of one of the girls for a few minutes. I was afraid she had been impaled on a keychain.

They mobbed us for a good five minutes, but they got their sales. On that note… anyone want a keychain?

After Versailles, we went to dinner at a place called Hippopotamus. We had éclairs, and while I’m sure they weren’t the best Paris had to offer, they were quite splendid. Next stop: the hotel. Tiny little place that probably had the French version of a panic attack when they heard they were booking 30+ teenagers for two nights. I roomed with Courtney and Sarah, in a room with two beds slammed together to make floor space. Our shower was missing a significant part of the door (as in an entire panel), but the showerhead lit up- groovy, right? One of the rooms in the apartment across from us was consistently bathed in fluorescent pink light; we spent two nights trying to get a peek at the resident.

So, here’s an interesting story… Please don’t freak out, Mom, we were all fine. Anyways, Michael and Mr. Goebel come knocking on our door fifteen minutes after we’ve turned out the lights. When we finally collect ourselves enough to get to the door, I can’t get it open. Did I mention the knob doesn’t work? You can only deadbolt it shut. Anyways, once we finished talking, we lock the door and climb back into bed. About ten minutes later, footsteps pass our room and stop next door, where two of our group are staying. The person knocks and one of the girls calls out sleepily- “What?” (The walls are paper-thin. This all sounds like it’s taking place in our room.)

What follows is a babble of rapid-fire French from a very concerned sounding man. He pauses, waiting for an answer, but they’re too smart to give him one. He sighs in frustration and knocks on our door, repeating the urgent message. Having learned our lesson from next door, we keep silent. The man knocks harder, then gives another frustrated sigh and stalks off.

Thus, having now been scared out of our wits twice, we spend our first night in Paris jerking at any creak of movement in the hall.

Day two of the City of Lights. We sleep in until 7:30 (what?!) and enjoy a breakfast with plenty of French pastries. We then hop a bus with a tour guide whose name began with a ‘k’ sound- her accent was so thick, no one could make out the rest. She was quite lively, and poked fun at her native folk. I’ve learned that a key element for tour guides is the ability to tear down your countrymen. That being said, she started our tour off with a quick tale of plot, murder, and cannibalism. Vive la France.

We took a bus tour of the major sites of Paris (Grandy, tell Pawpaw I saw the Arc de Triomphe and took a picture!), then dismounted for lunch. After, we split into groups during free time pursue various activities around Paris-. I chose to climb to the top of Notre Dame. Despite having to wait crammed in small staircases and narrow walkways for extended periods of time, it was well worth it. The view was incredible; close-up gargoyles and spires, and a view of the city that left me staring. It was worth every euro, every step. Speaking of steps, there were a lot. A little girl in front of me declared this many times, and much to my group’s amusement, eventually busted out with what had apparently been preying on her mind for the entire climb-

“These steps look like cheese. I wish they were cheese. I’m hungry. I want cheese and crackers. Forget that, just cheese.”

She kept us sufficiently entertained all the way down. There was only disadvantage to climbing the church, what I call Notre Dame Leg Syndrome (or NDLS, as we later referred to it). Every muscle in your legs vibrates when you put pressure on it, especially the leg that hit the stairs first. Try standing on the subway for twelve stops when your right leg thinks it’s Michael Jackson. Afterwards, we headed to a church called Hillsong Paris. Tommaso discovered for us that the service had been moved at the last minute, and actually managed to track it down for us. The entire group flooded in, exhausted and hot, for what was supposed to be a two-hour service. In my opinion, all we had to do was hand out glowsticks, and it could have been a rave: lights, loud band, and dancing in aisles and on benches. They sang some songs in French and some in English, and when the pastor’s turn came to speak, he had a translator (she translated into French). The message was… weak. He read a few verses from Acts about Paul and Silas praising God in prison, then spouted off a lot of spiritual self-help, music playing the whole time.

Upon reading this, I realize I come off as rather harsh and condemning. My issue was not with the music, lights, dancing, etc., although that is certainly not my style… My real issue was going into the service expecting to learn, and walking away feeling disappointed at the watery message spoon-fed to me. I realize it was meant to be more ‘revival style’, and also that the majority of the Parisians in the church were young believers. I talked about it a little bit with others and found some who agreed with me and wanted more, and some who didn’t mind the service. It’s a preference, and what you just read is a culmination of unmet expectations and exhaustion… and a wee bit of sickness. I was at a low that day. Like I said, I’m trying to show you exactly what I felt and saw each day… although this entry needed some explaining.

We had to leave early to keep to our schedule. We may have made a bit of a scene, thirty-five Americans all getting to our feet and walking out. Ah, well. It certainly wasn’t the refreshment I’d been hoping for, but seeing believers in such a dark city was encouraging.

We had twenty minutes to hunt down dinner afterwards. I just scavenged some baguette and Nutella off of Lauren. (Thank you for that, by the way.) Afterwards, we headed off to what would be the most spectacular night I’ve ever experienced… and which I must write about later. Goodnight and goodbye, Paris, France. I’ll be back.

Abigail

March 15th, 2014 (British Museum, Poet's Corner, Phantom, and Morally Delicate)

March 15th, 2014

London to Paris

Early Morning

To pick up where I left off. We ate lunch in the park, then walked a lot. We saw Covent Gardens, Trafalgar Square, crossed the London Bridge, and stopped in Piccadilly Circus, where we split into groups for free time. Most people stayed to go shopping (the Circus is basically a giant, outdoor mall), while a few of us went to the reconstructed Globe Theater. For those of you scratching your skulls, that's the theater where Bill Shakespeare's works were performed. After a thirty-minute walk, we find out… The theater exhibit is closed for a performance. Apparently, calling two days ahead wasn't early enough… We couldn't get tickets, or even poke our heads in. So, after a brief venting session and some crippling moments of indecision, we decided not to waste the walk over and settled on a tour of the Rose Theater, a smaller competitor of the Globe that was discovered back in the 1980s and saved from development by the likes of Sir Ian McKellan and Dustin Hoffman. Our tour guide was a very English woman named Jane, who had obviously done some time in the theater herself. We followed her to the original site of the Globe- now an empty lot- and then to the theater, where we were again disappointed. The foundations of the building had to be kept in complete darkness to prevent algae from growing on the surface of the water… Why there was a pool of water in the middle of the theater, I have no idea, but God forbid algae grow on it. That being said, we could view the ruins only by a thin strip of red lights running along the floor, which did relatively nothing. The tour wasn't a complete waste, however… Our group was the only one that got to ride a double-decker bus.

Afterwards, we went to a place Tommaso called 'a little British pub'… Serviced entirely by French people. The food was good, though- some kind of fried chicken cutlet with gravy and mashed potatoes, and a banana cream pie for dessert. After dinner, we went back to the hotel, heard a little bit from a missionary working in the country, and crashed… Hard. I slept so deeply they could have yanked my tonsils out and I would have simply rolled over.

Day three of London started at 7 am- breakfast at the hotel, then off on a bus for a guided tour. Our guide, Joel (or 'Joelle', as he pronounces it) was memorable. He repeatedly referred to us as 'morally delicate', but that didn't stop him from swearing mildly and frequently referencing 'slap and tickle' and unfortunately shaped British architecture. Needless to say, he was a hit.

After he gave the Welsh a thorough raking over (something about football), we were obliged to tell him that our driver, Sarah, was Welsh. His face… We died. The only time we ever saw him speechless, I believe.

He had a sense of humor about his own country, also; while discussing the Royal Wedding in 2011, he affectionately described his queen as being 'dipped in custard'- a reference to her lovely yellow outfit.

Upon learning that we were Protestant, he also invited us to jump up and down on Charles Darwin's grave when we visited Westminster Abbey. Should say a bit about the way we are viewed by outsiders… Slightly convicting.

Joel took us to the outside of St. Paul's Cathedral, London Bridge, and Buckingham Palace, where we watched the changing of the guard… obligatorily, I suppose. He left us there and the group split again- a few to go to Harrods, a few to go to 221B Baker Street (the actual address, as I found out later… not where Sherlock is filmed), and the rest of us to the British Museum. 

After waiting twenty minutes for a crappy takeout 'burger' (a fried patty on bread, once again served by Frenchmen), we wolfed down our food in the museum courtyard and raced inside to spend forty minutes going through a collection that could take years to see. I went to the Ancient Egyptian exhibit, where I was graced by the presence of Cleopatra, along with many other scribes, kings, and queens whose names I can barely remember, and certainly not spell. A quick peek inside the Babylonian and Assyrian exhibit yielded spectacular murals, and then I was off to see Sutton Hoo.

For those of you who did not spend your childhood immersed in the free DK guidebooks that came with your Chik-fil-a kid's meal (as I obviously did), you should know it was a burial site believed to from around the time of Beowulf. To be more exact… three cemeteries, two 6th century, one 7th century. One contained an untouched ship burial stocked with Anglo-Saxon artifacts. 

There's an ancient Saxon helmet that pops up whenever you read about the site, and it stuck in my head as a little kid- I was determined to see that helmet someday. 

Fifteen minutes remaining. I race to the end of the Ancient Europe exhibit looking for Exhibit 41. The course, the exhibits end at #39 by an unmarked set of closed doors. Seeing as how closed doors usually mean ‘don’t even think about it’ in museums, I backtracked to the entrance. 

EXHIBIT 41 IS CLOSED.

Shoot.

This is all very ridiculous, I know. But it gives me an excuse to come back… I WILL see that darned helmet. 

Ten minutes left. I see a flight of stairs and run down them, hoping to hit the first floor (where we came in). Instead, I find myself stuck between the Ancient Mexico exhibit and the Enlightenment Gallery. 

Back up the stairs. Find the correct staircase, head to the first floor. Find out I could have cut through the Enlightenment Gallery and saved myself ten minutes of stairs. Recognizing my innate ability to lose myself practically anywhere (it's a gift, I know) I latched onto some girls from my group and went to find the Rosetta Stone. The Stone was mobbed with people, so I had Michael take a picture for me (taller… could see over the heads) and then spent thirty seconds admiring the much more impressive Egyptian columns and statues on display… Huge. We also got to catch a glimpse of a moai- again, for those of you not educated at the knee of the Chik-fil-a kids' program… it's an Easter Island Head. Some of you seem to be fond of the phrase 'Dumb dumb. You give me gum gum.' Whatever makes it easier for you.

Outside we go, and off to Westminster Abbey. The place is huge. As in… enormous. And while I'm never one to approve of spending vast quantities of money on a building when beggars are living down the street, this place was an exception. While I know it's less of a church and more of a museum, it still felt fitting to be a place of God. Due to Lent (actually, this is on the hour, Lent or not), they said a very brief, very solemn prayer during our visit. Afterwards, you could hear the organ playing… To be as non-cheese as possible, it felt sacred. Don't take photographs, don't do anything touristy (no posing with Elizabeth I, for example)… just walk and remember. 

The graves at the beginning were mostly old, rich dukes and duchesses no one remembers. There were a few knights circa 1300, as well as Elizabeth I, Mary I (buried in the same room… Mary in an Anglican Church, no less), Mary Queen of Scots, and Anne of Cleves. I must have missed 'ol slap n' tickle himself', as Joel called him… Henry VIII. 

Poet's Corner, though… Be still my beating brain. 

I actually stood on Sir Laurence Olivier and looked directly across at Shakespeare (or his memorial, at least). Weeks after watching Hamlet, no less. I looked slightly to my right, and what did I see but the three Brontes, all neatly stacked on top of each other. Behind me, Dickens is laid out, and Handel looms over him. I am surrounded by Shelley, Hardy, Milton, Byron, Kipling… Wow. Just, wow. Amazing.

Michael… Is this the 'pretending not to be impressed' part you told my mom about? ;)

After strolling outside for a moment, I ducked back inside to find Darwin. And for the record, I didn't lay a toe on him. We passed Churchill and the Unknown Soldier on the way out, as well. 

After having my mind completely blown apart (is this the act they call 'fangirling'? I believe it is), we stopped at a little square of shops and restaurants for dinner. The pub we ate at was more authentic… Still served by Frenchmen, though. Fish n' chips with soggy fish, good chips, and cream puffs to end. The English could learn a thing or two from their Southern brethren about frying fish. That being said, Southerners could learn a thing or to from their English cousins about portion control. 

Michael, Bekah, and I then head off to Her Majesty's Theater for The Phantom of the Opera. A note… Theaters with royal names are under the patronage of that royal… Prince of Wales, the Queen, etc. The visit left me with one impression of Her Majesty- she's cheap when it comes to A/C. Despite roasting our American rears off, the play was excellent… The music was even bearable. I'm not a fan of musicals, as a general rule. The stage effects, though, were amazing… The boat, the roof, the chandelier… awesome. 

Afterwards, we headed back to Waterloo, where we waited for the train and I had The Lady in Black explained by a guy who obviously couldn't decide between his sandwich and me. In his defense, the sandwich looked really good. 

We returned home for a two or three hour nap, then enjoyed a 4:30 wakeup call and checkout. Currently on the Eurostar, Paris-bound. Explains my shaky handwriting. Actually, I just don't care, sooo… Sorry. See you in Paris.

Abigail 

Those last few sentences are an accurate reflection of that 4:30 wakeup call, eh? Grumpy Abby. 

Outside the Abbey

Front of Westminster Abbey

The Helmet That Got Away

More pictures when I have internet. 

March 13th, 2014 (In Which I Go 33 Hours Without Sleep)

Italics indicate later notes/thoughts.


March 13th, 2014
8:30 pm
London, England


To say the past two days have been surreal is an understatement. I haven't slept in over thirty-two hours, flown thousands of miles over the Atlantic, discovered a hundred new ways to be uncomfortable in your plane seat, and looked up through this fog of exhaustion to see Big Ben staring me in the face.
Let's start from the beginning…
Monday, the 10th, late: finally finish packing
Tuesday, the 11th, 6 am-4:30 pm: go to school and say my goodbyes. Make a few frantic, last minute changes in student council.
5 pm: Off to Cookeville for some American food… Cracker Barrel.
8:30 pm: Pop and Penny pick me up for Knoxville- more goodbyes.
Wednesday, the 12th (DEPARTURE DATE!), 8 am EST: Give up trying to sleep and repack my backpack.
10:30 am: Visit Grandmom
12, noon: Arrive at airport- a few frantic goodbyes, some last minute tubes of toothpaste, and one checked bag later, I'm coming out of security… To wait.
12:30-2:19 pm: Wait. Wait. Wait.
2:19 pm: Board flight to Charlotte. Window seat! And turbulence.
3:00-4:45 pm: Wait for second group to arrive from Knoxville. Spend eight dollars on a bottle of water and some fruit- learn never to buy airport food again.
5:30 pm: Whole group in Charlotte. Waiting, waiting, waiting…
6:30 pm: Board plane to LONDON! No window seat. Boo.
7:15 pm: OFF WE GO!
7:20 pm until… forever: Wait to land. Watch movies, eat a nuked dinner, listen to music.
Midnight: Try to sleep.
12:15 am: Reposition self and try again.
12:17 am: And again.
12:19-1:30 am: Keep trying.
1:30 am: Give up on sleep and watch more movies.
2 am: Lights blaze to life, along with the announcement that we will be landing in ninety minutes. Eat muffin and drink the worst cup of coffee I've ever had... Seriously.
6:30 am, London Time: TOUCHDOWN! In complete fog, may I add. We thought we had made a very sudden, very vertical descent through the clouds… Or simply crashed.
7-8 am: Walk a lot. Make it through border security. Hear British accents. Miraculously, we're waved through customs.
8-9:30 am: Meet Tommaso, our quad-lingual tour guide. Wait around in the airport for a while, then board a bus headed to our hotel, where we check in our luggage.
10 am: Hit the metro, and… London begins!

I can't quite break the these past thirty-six hours up into 'day' and 'night', and I often forget I'm in London until the Cockney guy next to me says something aloud.
Wow. I'm in London, guys.
I'll admit, my first impression wasn't the greatest. The metro took us through a little ghetto to get to our destination, and we then walked thirty minutes to see something worthwhile… the clock tower. It was that clock looming up before me that convinced me I was in London. It rang, too, and from that moment on, it was cemented in my brain: I am in one of the greatest cities on earth. 
Having food in me also helped. Remember that at this point, I am jet-lagged, unwashed, and wearing 75% of the outfit I was wearing yesterday… Not to mention dehydrated and sore from a too-heavy backpack I had forgotten to unload.
Food helps, though. Food always helps. After browsing a street off of (park something… name forgotten), I gave up (too expensive!), bought a water bottle from a place called Eat, then went to a circle of food trucks in the park. Despite interesting choices ranging from ox-cheek to gutted rabbit, I settled on a jerk chicken truck- smell is everything, and jerk chicken smells good. Anyways. The guy was extremely friendly… Asked me how my day was, where I was from (after I told him I'd flown in at six… Don't fret, Mom), how the weather was in America (I mentioned we lived close to Florida… He didn't seem super familiar with the US… I think he was from the Caribbean). Before you rip me apart for telling him we live anywhere near the Sunshine State, I should note the location he picked first was Washington. I'm not even sure he meant Washington D.C.
"I've always wanted to visit America," He said earnestly as he scraped my chicken around on the grill. "I've heard the portions are huge!"
To be honest, I think he just appreciated my love of spice. I was all too willing to let him paint my chicken with chili oil. I also wasn't picking about toppings when he put the salad together. So, let this serve as a lesson… Eat as your cook eats. And have plenty of water on hand.
More tomorrow- wake up call at 7 am tomorrow.

Abigail


First entry was a little rough, a little dull…  Just like the first day. More to follow.

Jerk Chicken Salad

View of the Thames

The London Eye

Er… Lion.

Park Where We Ate Lunch 

Art in Trafalgar Square

Trafalgar Square

Trafalgar Square always leaves a column open for modern art… This is the current exhibit. Very… modern.

Page One

Excerpt from page one of my travel journal…


This journal is for those who helped me take the trip of a lifetime in March of 2014… Anyone who bought a bag of coffee, donated money, or simply wished me well. This is what I saw and heard in London, Paris, Barcelona, and Rome… What I ate, where I went, who I met… I wrote as often as I could, usually while traveling on a bus or train, so excuse the shaky (or just naturally terrible) handwriting.

Cheers,
Abigail

Obviously, the handwriting won't be an issue here. I'm putting this blog together to give those interested a glimpse into the most incredible twelve days of my life. I filled up an entire journal (and scribbled in two others) and took nearly a thousand pictures (of which a very small number will be posted), and I want you all to live the trip with me. I will try to perserve the integrity of each entry (with minor edits, of course) in an attempt to show you exactly what I loved, what I hated, and so forth. Europe: Uncut. Sort of.

A.R.B.