Of London, Part Deux, Cont.

Saturday

Upon waking up on Saturday after an uneasy night and greeted by a sour throat in the morning, my travel mates headed off to what proved to be a day within the pages of history. One thing that I do admire about London is how central most of the famous locations are. If you look on the map, a majority of the most famous structures is located within the center of London along the Thames. With the exception of the British Museum, most of them are close to the river itself, which signifies the importance of that body of water within British history and culture. Yet I digress, on to the sights!

Our first historical stop of the day: the Tower of London. Contrary to popular opinion, and my misconception due to many a British historical documentaries/movies, the Tower of London is not only one tower (a la Rapunzel) but rather, it's an estate that has been occupied by many a British rulers and subjects. It's built in the shape of a square with the White Tower (not like the "Lord of the Rings") occupying the center.

After paying the 12 pound student rate to enter such a noble establishment, we proceeded to make our way around the tower. Starting from the Medieval Palace, once occupied by Edward I and where he sought refuge for a time.

Then, we proceeded to move around the establishment with such sights as:

The White Tower, built by William the Conqueror in 1100AD and currently houses the armor of kings and knights who defended the tower.

Yet, the most interesting part, the reason why I was so eager to visit such a gloomy place, was the infamous Beauchamp tower. This was where Anne Bolyn, Guy Fawkes, Jane Grey, and particularly Elizabeth I was imprisoned. Funnily enough, it was not located in the center of the Tower but rather, to the side.

It always looked so much taller in film...

What I noticed that was most interesting was the shape of the windows looking out.

Is it a mocking gesture or was it used to convey a sense of false hope and perhaps even piety? Amazing the power of religion.

Finally, there was the most chilling part of all: the torture tower. Of course, it is nameless (as well it should be) and the entrance to it differs from the other entrances in that you are led downward into the chamber rather than up spiraling staircases. It is there that I could feel the ghosts of so many years and looking at the model of the torture devices employed on prisoners, I was made aware of the sadistic nature of humanity, and how dark we have gone.

What kind of person could invent such a punishment? And who could actually use it on someone? What does it say about humanity that such a device exists?

Walking through the steps and halls that span hundreds of years, where people such as Elizabeth and William Raleigh were imprisoned, where countless others were tortured, the same steps that so many kings and prisoners once walked, I was quickly struck by an otherworldly sense of disorientation. From the etching on certain walls within the building, the history just seemed to permeate the entire structure, an uncanny sense of lost souls and supreme acts of human cruelty. I was particularly struck by how new and clean the walls of the entire structure still looked (albeit some places were in a state of renovation and were blocked off). It was as if the entire castle had been suspended in time and we were just travelers from another world. We didn't seem to belong to the structure.

Following this excursion through time was a short Underground ride north of the Thames to the British Museum, a large, dominating, wonderful piece of a building. And the best part about it? It's free! For the budget traveler, the best places to go when in London are museums because not only do you not have to pay to enter (save for viewing new exhibitions), but you are privy to such a large reservoir of history, culture, and really incredibly sights.

There, we spent two hours rushing through everything, trying to take it all in. In our rush, we saw:

The Elgin Marbles, the pieces of Grecian history that sparked a war of controversy over their proper owners. Lets leave that legal bit aside and just admire the thousands of years old craftsmanship.

Mummies. Lots and lots of mummies...

Roman artifacts, such as this gladiator helmet. Imagine Russell Crow wearing it.

And believe or not, that took us two hours so as you can see, we barely grazed the surface. I feel like even if I had a day to spend, I would still not uncover all this museum has to offer. There's so much to see and not enough time to do so, which is frustrating. Yet, it is also amazing how much information and history is encased within this one space and how lucky we are to be able to still see such historical relics and monuments, that they haven't all been lost.

After the two hours, brains partially fried, we decided (after stopping quickly at Oxford Circus to buy one our compatriots a new pair of shoes) that it was dinnertime. And what better way to end our day of history than to go to an old-fashioned, English pub.

Located on Fleet Street (beware the demon barbers), the Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese had been around since 1538 and was rebuilt in 1666 after the Great Fire destroyed the old building. This pub, located within an nondescript alleyway on Fleet Street, has seen such famous writers as Charles Dickens, Mark Twain, Alfred Tennyson, and apparently Ben Jonson. The interior belies its age with its wood paneling, low staircases, cellars (there was a bar down there), and dim lighting. And the food wasn't too shabby either.

After dinner was a long, cold walk, back to the nearest tube station where on the way, we passed by Saint Peters. Most of us were cold, tired, and sore yet it was the perfect ending to a day of wandering through the pages of history.

Of London, Part Deux

So last weekend, a group of 4 American exchange students decided to tackle London. Some were doing it for the second time, the others, it was only their first attempt. Little did they know, that the city was mightier than they expected and they only managed to get to 6 destinations over the course of a weekend.

On Friday the 23rd, due to a certain mess-up with the train ticket, I took a train from Coventry Station to London all by myself while the rest of my party took a separate train from Leamington Spa. Yet, it wasn't too bad because the two hour ride allowed for some quiet time and admiration of the picturesque English green countryside, the site of admiration for many an English poets. Not to mention that since the rails were electric, the train was incredibly comfortable and spacious (each seat has a table for your food!). Though sadly, no trolleys a la Harry Potter.

"a fair green country under a swift sunrise" - JRR Tolkien

With sheep!

Upon arriving in London, I then braved the London Underground all by myself. Now London differs from New York in one primary respect: while New York was built on an orderly, gridlike plan (and in that case, so are many American cities), London seems to have been arranged in a haphazard manner with a myriad of large streets which divide into subsidiary streets, similar to the threads of a spider web. Suffice to say, nothing follows a grid, not even the subway. Despite that, the London Tube is incredibly easy to use, if only for the fact that each individual train lines are divided by color and the stops are clear on the map. Not only that, but the trains differ from NY subways in how clean they are. There is no bum sitting in the corner and no musky, slightly questionable smell. Instead, everything is white, clean, and the bums (if there are any) drink out of actual bottles rather than paper bags.

The way to the underground is paved by a big red target. Very handy for the visually impaired.

That Friday, after checking in at our hostel, Journey's Smoking Barrel, we proceeded to explore the central London (where we would predominately remain for the next day and a half). This included sights that I saw the very first night I came to London only this time, it was 100 times better since I was a) not jetlagged and b) well-fed. First stop was Waterloo where the London Eye awaited me yet again. And this time, I did not forget to bring my camera. According to my guidebook, it's the Eiffel Tower of London, with the best view of the city for 15 pounds. Sadly, since the sun was quickly setting (at freakin' 4!), we decided to save a journey up the Eye for another, sunnier day.

"My grandma, what big eyes you have!"

Next was a stroll along Westminster Bridge and Westminster itself, where we passed the beautiful Big Ben at dusk. Now, the building is not actually called Big Ben, but rather, it is the name for the large bell within the clock. These days, native Brits use the name to refer to the large clock.

Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament at sunset

I'm sure quite a number of people know about the delicacies of British pub culture, particularly its focus on authentic British cuisine and beer. Yet, I did not realize how prevalent pubs were in Britain until we were walking around and exploring the city and there was a pub ON EVERY BLOCK. Americans have our Starbucks on every corner, the Brits have their pubs. At one of the pubs we stopped at, they had authentic British desserts, which included spotted dick, which surprisingly, tastes pretty harmless in comparison to its name (like most British foods I think, case in point "bangers and mash" - see Britishism dictionary below).

Spotted Dick, or basically fruit cake in custard. Surprisingly tasty, if a bit bland (Brits don't eat as much sugar as Americans).

The first night in the hostel was spent with me bemused at my travel mates for not bringing their own towels. For future travelers at hostel, please be aware that hostels do not give you towels. You have to pay for them if you want to use one. So be like Douglass Adams and always bring a towel with you when you're traveling.

"A towel...is about the most massively useful thing an interstellar hitch hiker can have. Partly it has great practical value - you can wrap it around you for warmth ....you can lie on it on the brilliant marble-sanded beaches of Santraginus V...wet it for use in hand-to-hand combat, you can wave your towel in emergencies as a distress signal, and of course dry yourself off with it if it still seems to be clean enough." - Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.
Word

For anyone wondering, a hostel is your college dorm experience where you slept in a bedroom with a multitude (in my case 5 other people, though certain rooms can hold up to 24 people) of folks and shared a (sometimes questionable) bathroom with the entire floor. Yet not bad for 15 pounds a night. It also comes with a common room and a kitchen on each floor, free continental breakfast, and clean (hopefully) sheets. And there is usually an age restriction of 25 years or towards students only (if you have a real job, stay at a real hotel).

Stay tuned in the next post for an extended account of our whole Saturday in London.

Random Britishisms:

• "Cheers" = another word for thank you. So when someone says cheers, they are not toasting you (and they say it A LOT)
• "Top up your phone" = add more money to your phone. This applies to people who have a pay as you go plan, especially when certain plans gives you 200 text messages when you "top off" 10 pounds on your phone. Text messaging is a very big thing here, even moreso than calling people.
• "pants" = underwear (aka: "knickers"). I found this out via a humorous exchange with my flatmates where they asked me what I was wearing for a night out and I replied, "dress pants" and they looked at me like I was a weirdo (or a harlot). Apparently, dress pants are "trousers" or "slacks."
• "pub crawl," it's a British student excursion which consists of getting on one of the lines on in the Underground and at every stop, go to the nearest pub, get a drink, then go back to the line towards the next stop. I'm guessing that towards the end of the night, the lines all start to blur together with humorous results, I'm sure.
• "bangers and mash" - sausage with mashed potatoes and gravy. Surprisingly tasty, if a bit salty. And the sausage is definately not as questionable as at home sausage.
  

Of the University of Warwick

University House

Since I've been getting a lot of questions in regards to London, I would like to take this post to remind everyone that (unfortunately) I am not going to school in London. This post is instead going to be dedicated to the University of Warwick.


The University was built in 1964 on a piece of farmland in the middle of Warwickshire (the county of Warwick). The nearest towns are Coventry, Leamington Spa, and Kennilworth; it is a 2 hour train ride away northwest from London and thus significantly colder. Since the university is located in the middle of nowhere, it is is a small town within itself. This town contains such amenities as a: pub, nightclub, movie theatre, play theatre, cafes, and restaurants. I haven't been able to find the police station or hospital but I'm sure it's around.

The Art's Center, apparently the largest arts center in the UK outside of London. I don't know whether to be proud or slightly perturbed.

And, last but not least, because this is England, there is also a wildlife reserve right behind campus of which I took a walk in one sunny Sunday to find:

A river

Swans

Tocil Woods

When I first imagined a university of England, I thought it was going to be something like UCLA, red brick, columns, that look of age and experience. Instead, I get...

South Campus (aka: ugly modern. That's the Humanities building btw)

But hey, at least I get green trees, rolling hillsides, clean air, and birds. That's a plus. Additionally, I also get classes that last all year with exams only being once a year (sweet!). Of course, when I go back home, it is going to suck major-wise. But I'll enjoy the sights in the meantime.

Britishisms I learned today:

• potato chips = crisps. A bag of crisps will come with 6 little bag of potato chips in it. On that note, "Lay's" potato chips is "Walkers."
• Chips only refers to largely cut french-fries. Thinly sliced french-fries (ie: fast-food fries) are still called french-fries
• there are no such things as dryer sheets. I only found one box after looking at two convenient stores and it was 4 quids. Bastards.
• Shire = county. So Warwickshire = Warwick county. Nifty huh?
  

Of Moolah

What I admire about British money is its use of color. For us boring Americans, our money comes in that boring shade of green. While for Brits (and from what I remember, Canadians as well) their pound "notes" come in delightful shades of pastels, such as pink and blue (on the same note).

See how pretty they are?

What I have not yet gotten used to here is payment by coins, especially in America, paying in coins carry a connotation of poverty (not to mention it makes for a very clunky wallet). But here, there seems to be more coins in circulation than notes (I have not seen a one or two pound note yet - I still feel compelled to call them dollar bills), which made the first couple of days fun (for me, not for the cashier or the people behind me) trying to figure out which coins were which. More often than not, I had to squint my eyes at the back of the coin to find the amount. I now finally understand why British ladies in Charles Dicken's novels always carried around coin purses; they needed a separate pouch for their loose change since people here like coins a lot more than bills ("notes"). The British denomination is broken down as followed:

pence = cents
notes = dollars

1 pence
2 pence
5 pence
10 pence
20 pence
50 pence
1 pound
2 pound

100 pences = 1 pound

See the disparity between size and value?

The penny is not the most useless coin. Instead, the 2 pence trumps it in uselessness. It's huge and yet, it's worth practically nothing!

I miss nice, skinny, monochromatic, uncomplicated American dollar bills that fits nice and snug in your wallet.

Britishisms:

• Another name for the pound: "quid"
• Price of a pint of beer: "two and a half quids"

Of Coventry Cathedral

So the University of Warwick, where I am currently attending, is not actually located in Warwick (or anywhere near London for anyone who thinks I am somehow studying in London - hah!). It is actually located between three small towns: Kennilworth, Leamington Spa, and - the biggest of the three - Coventry.

Now, having spent the past two years at UCLA, in the middle of busy, angry, vibrant Los Angeles, and having grown up in Anaheim only 5 minutes away from Disneyland, the thought of being stuck in the middle of green fields and houses (ie: nowhere) does not bode well with me (especially when I'm stuck here without a car).

But, luckily, the International Office at the University are kind enough to arrange various trips for all visiting students. One of them was a two hour tour of Coventry.

A 15 minute coach/bus ride later, we arrived at the 1000 year old city of Coventry (which was also the capital of England for two years during the War of the Roses). My flatmates warned me ahead of time that Coventry was kind of ugly. I wouldn't describe it in that way (I did live in Los Angeles after all) but I would describe it as a bit mismatched since you have hundred year old buildings right next to modern ones. And it is these hundred year old buildings that belie the history and importance of this small town within English history.

A quaint old English house right next to the walls of a shopping center

Getting off the van, we arrived at the Coventry Cathedral, which is actually composed of three cathedrals: the old St. Michael's and the new St. Michael's, and St. Mary's, Coventry's first cathedral which was torn down by Henry VIII and which only a base and few fragments remain.

The old St. Michael's Cathedral was constructed around the 14-15 century ("Still a very young Cathedral" - said our tour guide). If 500 years is young, then the question us Americans have to ask is, "What does that make us?" It also made me notice that America, especially the West Coast seems to lack really old Cathedrals, especially those built with that same hand-made attention to detail. But I guess that's the byproduce of being such a small country, especially one that was built mainly from the powers of industry. This one in particular was bombed during WWII and only a few sandstones remains are left, in which inside, there is a memorial to those who died in the bombing of Hiroshima. The thing I find most amazing about these ruins is how they are pretty much still intact, considering the rainy weather and the crumbly nature of sandstone. Though who knows how long that can last.

The ruins of St. Michael. I adore the Gothic shape of the windows.

The new St. Michael's Cathedral was built in 1962, right next to the old cathedral as a homage. Our tour guide was nice enough to show us around the Cathedral, describing the history and significance of relics within, which includes fun things as a boulder from Bethleham, a very very large tapestry of Christ (said to have a shelf life of 500 years), and the stained glass windows.

The facade of the new St. Michael's Church. The statue on the outside is entitled "Saint Michael and the Devil," in other words, "Evil getting a smack-down."

The stained glass Bapistry Window. 195 different panes of stained glass images which "represents the light of God breaking into the world" - according to the pamphlet,

One thing is for sure, you rarely see this kind of attention to allegorical detail at home, it's almost enough to make one holy. Who would think so much history lies within one town that a lot of people I know have never ever heard of before. I wonder, what other little historical facts lay in this small country that is roughly the size of California? Onward!

Coventry City Center, behind the cathedrals and complete with a naked statue of Lady Godiva, one of the more well-known residents of the city (and who rode through the city naked, it is not as dirty as it sounds, promise).

Britishisms that I learned today:

• A size 6 is the equivalent of a size 2 in the US. Imagine my chagrin when I realize that here, I have become a 6 and not only that, there are not a lot of 6's available. And the same problem that plagues me when shopping in the US plagues me here - ie. I still can't find my size. Even across the Pond, I am still the smallest person I know.
• A 500 year old building is still fairly young.
  

Of Homesickness and Disappointment

There are apparently 5 stages to culture shock when you move to a new place, they are listed as followed (this is taken from the culture shock handout the Warwick International Office gave us in our orientation packet):

1. Honeymoon or incubation stage. Everything may seem new and exciting.
2. Transition period. Communication problems occur and feelings of incompetence and frustration at not being understhood may arise.
3. Realization of some understanding, a feeling of direction and of wanting to belong.
4. Recognition that the new culture has both good and bath things to offer.
5. Re-entry shock. this occurs when you return home.

Of course, not everyone goes through the stages but during orientation, they say that after you get through Stage 2, everything gets better. Well, while I did not get the culture shock of "oh my god, I'm in England and everything is so different" when I first arrived, lo and behold, I did go through the homesickness/disappointment/"Everything sucks, what the hell am I doing here?"

It all began my first Monday at the University of Warwick, January 5th, only 3 days after I arrived. After what can only be described as a hellish first day (which started out fine enough, it was snowing), I did not get the classes I wanted (only having 5 options to choose from), had no one to talk to, nowhere to go, and thus ended up spending the end of the first day of class alone in my room wondering why am I not having that fantastic time with my hypothetical English friends. Then, to relieve boredom, I went on that evil entity known as Facebook. It was then, looking at the status of the people back home that I realized, fuck, I am on the other side of the world, everybody's lives are going on without me, I don't have any of the my closest friends or family to make me feel better, and I am utterly utterly alone. To top it off, I don't know if the classes I'm taking will transfer over to UCLA, not to mention they are classes I tried my best to avoid while at UCLA. And I was afraid that talking about it with someone would cause me collapse into a whimpering, blubbering mess, the likes of which I have not felt in quite a long time. I expected this to happen in theory but I never imagined it would be that bad or how absolutely miserable I would feel. It's amazing how, at that moment, in a house with 12 people, where you can hear the sounds of the people in the next room, how completely alone you feel.

And what to do?

Roll with it, find someone to talk to (or text with), avoid Facebook like the plague, and sleep. Tomorrow is another day. And most of all, have faith that it will get better.

The rain from my window, serene almost.

And a week later...it has. Classes are better (I finally got into a Romantic Poetry class after waiting a week for it to open), I've met some really cool people, both in my flat and outside of it, and despite the rain, everything is beautiful. As always, you have to be kiên nhẫn, be patient and have faith that despite how bad it may look sometimes, everything will look ụp

Next post, join me as I finally go into town!

Random Britishisms I learned today:

• "Where's Waldo" in England is actually called "Where's Wally." In the words of my flatmates, "Waldo's an ugly name!"
• "Pop in"/"Pop out" - to quickly go into somewhere/quickly exit
• British accents become normal and less exotic after you listen to it for a really long time (such as having to hear your flatmates speak like that for a week now)
• "Soda" refers to club soda, not soft drinks.
  

Of the Flat

Living in the dorms at UCLA, the concept of privacy has become all but lost. Living in one large room with 2 people, you learn the value of having personal time, how to make the smallest amount of noise, and how to dress/get ready for school/surf the internet when the lights are out. Most especially, it forces you to have a close relationship with your roommates, if for no reason than to have someone to talk to and someone to walk to Rendezvous (I miss Mexican food) with. If you don't get along with your roommates, then your dorm experience is pretty much soured.

Which makes living in the dorms at the University of Warwick an adjustment. Finally, I get a bed where I don't have to climb up to it via a ladder. Finally I get my own room. Finally, I get to play music on my laptop speakers instead of through my headphones. And finally, I get to share a bathroom with the rest of the people on my floor (something that luckily, I avoided when I was living in UCLA dorms).

I finally get my own room! And it comes with a reading chair!

What make the dorms (also called "flats" if they are arranged in the style of a small house, as mine are, though there are also dorms with long hallways and different floors) at Warwick interesting is not the communal bathrooms (or private bathrooms, depending on how much you are willing to pay for them). Rather, the interesting part is the communal kitchen and living room, which allows for interaction with your flatmates (we call ourselves that because we share a flat, not a room, thank God!). Most of the conversation takes place in the kitchen, as you're cooking food (both for yourself and for your mates).

Our kitchen, for 12 people.

At no time are you absolutely forced to get to know your flatmates. On the contrary, because everybody has separate bedrooms (no matter where you live; the Brits know the concept of personal space), it is very easy to become a hermit and only go out of your room when you need to eat. Yet, once you get pass that initial awkwardness, start talking with your flatmates while you are both making dinner and eating dinner with them, then the very act of knocking on someone else's door or stopping by your flatmate's room for a quick conversation becomes easy. After a while, it is almost like home (especially when you have a bottle of fishsauce to help make everything taste like home). And so, I have gotten pass that part of myself which is known in Vietnamese as ngại, past the shyness, past the bashfulness, past being uncomfortable. And it feels nice.

Though it still feels cold as hell sometimes.

Enjoying a midday meal together.

"Let's be friends!"

"Best friends!" (This was taken outside of my neighboring flat)

Of the Importance of Sleep

At the end of my 2nd full day of London (January 3rd), I slept better than I ever remember. One good thing about forcing yourself through a long, busy day, you get your rest, which is untimely, undisturbed, and ever so peaceful.

Funded by the Educational Abroad Program and led by our lovely EAP guide Jenn (whom I won't let the fact that she graduated from USC be a fact against her), the schedule for the day included (remember I was half-asleep the whole day due to not getting a full-night's sleep the night before):

Orientation meeting at 8:30AM - 2 hours

A short, teasing tour through the Tate Museum of Modern Art (which contained Marcel DuChamp's "Bride Getting Stripped Bare by her Bachelors" to which I squealed) - 1 hour



The way to the museum, which includes the Waterloo Bridge on the Thames. Notice the crown on the lamppost, to indicate that this is near Victoria Street and thus royal.



Ice Skating at Somerset House which was both magical and kind of frightening with all of the people - 1 hour


Wandering around London trying to get a cellphone and braving the cold and traffic - 2 hours

The one and only Trafalger Square at dusk.

An early 2 course dinner at the so-high-class-shit-I-can't-believe-I-walked-in-wearing-my-UCLA-sweatshirt Criterion where I had the most wonderful smoked salmon appetizer (with a delicious cheese whose name I do not know but damnit I want it again) and the most tender, most expensive steak I have ever had - 1 hour


The menu didn't even have prices on it so I can only imagine how much this rib-eye cost.

A play entitled "Potted Potter" where I saw the entire 7 Harry Potter books condensed, satorized, and as a result, side-clutchingly hilarious - 70 minutes



"Catch the Golden Snitch."

Finally getting a good night's rest at the end of a long, memorable day in London - priceless.

Of Jetlag and Beer

To inaugurate the very first post of my abroad blog, I would like to dedicate a blog to the funness of jetlag. The lesson of this post is, if possible, fall asleep on the plane, it'll save you tons of exhaustion.

I left LAX on January 1st at 9:30 Pacific Standard Time to go up to San Francisco where from there, I would commence my true journey to England. Well, I land in SF at 11AM and the flight to London's Heathrow Airport (the airport in "Love Actually") is 10 hours long, on which I slept about 2 hours while the other 8 hours was devoted to watching "Bottle Shock" (which made me want to drink, where the hell was the bar and why am I not 21 yet?) and "City of Embers" (kind of lame).

10 hours later, arrived at London Heathrow where the local time is 7AM and I just technically spent the whole day in an airplane crammed in a small chair filled with crying babies (why he hell do people take kids on trips?). I then proceeded to cart two suitcases, a backpack filled with books (yes I am a geek), and my laptop bag through the airport (damn long terminals), to the London Express (a 15 minute train ride into the heart of London in which I lose my beautiful, white, down-filled puffer jacket), and roll it through Picadelly Station. A mocha latte at the station (everything is less sweet here, and that is why Europeans are so skinny), a conversation with a very nice American girl that I met on the train, it is almost 11AM. I hail a taxi and 10 pounds later, get to the hotel where I realize, fuck, I can't check in until 2PM. It's 10, I'm tired as hell and sore from head to toe (I have bruises on my legs to prove it) and all I want to do is sleep.

Luckily, I am able to leave my luggage at the storeroom in the hotel while I get to wander around London for 4 hours. Now, if you were to allow me to do this while I was awake and lucid, I would have probably appreciated it all the more. As it was, it was an American zombie walking around London, a shame since I spent 2 hours in the British Library where I saw original manuscripts of Shakespearean plays, Bibles, Charlotte Bronte's "Jane Eyre," and Beatles lyrics and all I could think about was a bed (and why I didn't remember to take my camera out of my backpack before I left the hotel). It would have been a geekfest had I not been exhausted and kind of brainnumb. Yet, it was wonderful all the same.

Suffice to say, I did not sleep until 12AM that night (only to be woken up at 7AM the next morning for a meeting at 8:30) and that was only after a guided boat ride on the Thames (to which I kind of dozed off), a pizza dinner (not hungry), and...(wait for it) an authentic English pub! At that moment, the entire group of tired, slightly cranky, UC abroad students decided to drown our exhaustion in booze (and in which I finally remember my camera).

And has it been worth all of this tiredness and trouble so far? Hell yeah, especially if you have beer and cider to help you through it.


This is what happens when you're tired and buzzed.