prettypoisonno9

English Tea and Scones

Thursday, July 23

I'm sitting on the edge of one of the fountains in Trafalgar Square.
A chlorine breeze is blowing off the water, sending spray into the air.
It's refreshing.
It reminds me of summer.
It's actually the first time its felt like summer this year.
It's not even hot out.
Just the smell and the gentle mist.
That's all it took.
I'm sure my back will be wet by the time I finish this.
Then again, it already is.
It's turned out to be a beautiful afternoon despite the pouring rain this morning.
Now that I've got a spare moment to relax, I'll try to remember where I left off.
Tuesday.
I found my way to Justin's flat.
He's a writer, the eccentric type I get along with. He reminded me of my friend AJ, both gentleman rogues.
He made me the best cup of tea I've ever had. He was shocked that I liked my tea like his-with milk and lots of sugar.
He called it builder's tea.
We sat outside on his landing and talked about ourselves. The morning air was chill so we moved our conversation inside to the livingroom and continued where we left off.
I felt relaxed and content in this- two people living different lives and in the chaos of it all, and without rhyme or reason, our paths have crossed breifly- a static point among many in our trails across the universe. A person is blessed to have had such random and enriching experiences. After an hour or two, I prepared to go out for the day and he went back to sleep.
I walked along the Thames and watched street performers.There was a small skate park filled with young kids on BMX bikes and skateboards, with colored alcoves full of artists painting grafitti along the walls. There was a bohemian man with long tied back dredlocks, classical music coming out of a boombox at his feet, while he rolled one, and then two, three, four crystal balls over his limbs in a mesmerizing dance. Next was a troupe of onyx black men in bright green trousers balancing stacks of random things on their faces from the crowd, and bending themselves into unnatural pretzels to the beat of bongos and cheers of the crowd.
I took pictures and walked in the wrong direction, then back.
Undeterred but sore I finally made it to the Tate Modern.
Here I found few displays I actually appreciated. I've never much been one for the abstract stuff.
After the Tate Modern I went back to Old Street and did some grocery shopping.
This is all very boring and catalogue-esq, but it'll get more interesting, I promise.
Montage to the present.
I couchsearched more and then made way too much chicken and pasta for two people. We drank vodka and coke and had deep conversations for hours about politics and relationships as our brains grew fuzzy.
At 4 am, we agreed on sleep. He insisted I stay in his bed for the first night to recharge while he took the couch.
I slept in this morning and he booked us two tickets for a Stonehenge and Bath bus tour, insisting I absolutely HAD to go.
I went to the National Portrait Gallery first thing this morning and was not dissapointed.
I definitely recommend this to everyone. Art lovers, art haters, the indifferent and ignorant.
You will be impressed, I assure you.
And just around the corner is Trafalgar Square where I find myself now.
I saw the Fourth Plinth, the artistic endeavor of Antony Gormley involving the public.
And it's here that I had my first English tea and scone with clotted cream and jam.
I am absolutely sold.
London, if you give me nothing else, at least you gave me tea and scones, and for that I will forever be grateful.
The sun is out again, where shall I go from here?

The London Letdown

July 21, 2009 -Thursday night

Life is such a strange beast.
My boyfriend is in Orlando, Florida staying in a VIP suite at the Hard Rock Hotel, and eating like a kind and getting pedicures while I'm in the London ghetto, sharing a room with 15 other girls, living off hot pockets (if anything,) and unsure where I'll be laying my head tomorrow.
I slept in and missed breakfast.
Then I bought a tube pass for the week from the ghetto supermarket in Lambeth and headed towards what I hoped was civilization. I walked to the Houses of Parliament, Big Ben, and Westminster Abbey. I snapped a few shots to prove I was there and moved on.
I decided to check out the popular shopping districts to see if anything caught my fancy (or if I could afford anything.)
I took the tube to Covent Garden and Leicester Square.
Instantly I could tell I couldn't afford anything. I decided not to bother.
I wasn't having such a great time and I wasn't finding anything interesting in London so far.
The cities supposedly beautiful exterior was marred by countless construction sites, due to preparations for the 2012 Olympics.
My expectations had dimmed quite a bit.
I went to Hyde Park next and it rained some more. I ate a sandwich on a bench under a tree with a mother and her three daughters crammed in next to me. I watched them feed pigeons.
Hyde Park also disapointed me.
It was also here where I found out about my plans falling through.
I had gotten an email from the flat of guys that was going to host me for a few days. Apparently they double-booked couchsurfers.
Somesort of internal communication mix-up.
So that means that I have no idea where I'm staying for the next few days.
Things were dismal indeed.
I wandered through Hyde Park in the direction of Portobello Road.
I ended up on the wrong side of the park, going in the wrong direction.
I was backwards and upside down from them on out.
I ended up at Portobello Road to stop in a few independent shops before they closed.
Exhausted and disapointed still, I headed back to the hostel to commence my desperate couchsearch.
A boy named Ben got back to me rather quickly, but he couldn't accommodate me until 10:30 the next night.
I would have to lug my backpack around with me all day long.
Thankfully, another man, named Justin, responded about half an hour later.
He said I could come over straight away in the morning.
Thank God.
I really do.
Thank God, that is.
I have faith in the belief that things happen for a reason and according to some grand plan.

Hyde Park

July 21, 2009 - Thursday

So I'm in London now. Perhaps I'm only dissapointed because I am lonely and poor.
I'm sitting in Hyde Park as a pigeon pecks around my feet for crumbs.
Park birds are bold creatures.
It's starting to rain again.
I honestly don't know where I'm going.
I am here and that is all I know.
Hyde Park: grass (often bald,) sparse trees, a FEW gardens, a few benches, some water...not as pretty as I would have imagined.
Central Park wins.
Alright.
I suppose I'll get up off this bench now and see where my feet take me.
By the way.
I have no idea where I'm staying tomorrow.
THe hostel is only booked for tonight and my other plans fell through.
I'm not worried.
I believe in the powers of God and The Universe.

Bed Bugs and Homicide

July 20, 2009

I'm lying in Bunk A in Room 8, in Journey's London Eye in, where else? but London. Yep, I'm here at last. That might end up being a common theme. The whole 'here at last,' phrase. It feels like that everytime though. It's always an excited and exhausted, 'here at last!'
First there's my room. Not much bigger than the last, but a little neater and less smelly. The bunks have curtains, a reading light, and our own private outlet. THe blankets seem nicer too. Somehow I feel like they might even wash them occaisionally.
However, the beds are stacked 3 high. And there's three. I happen to be in Bunk A. THe top of stack ABC. The constant hiking up and down the ladder is a little obnoxious, but at least I have a ladder this time.
So. It's all looking up. Sort of.
But I'll tell you about that later.
I arrived in London around 2:30. I found the tube station and bought a Zone 1 and 2 card for the day. I took the green District line to Embankment, where I changed to the brown Bakerloo line to the Lambeth North station. Then I followed the street directions that were emailed to me from the hostel.
The farther I went, the seedier the neighborhood looked. Was I going the right way?
I was getting nervous.
Then I saw the sign. Thank God.
I was tired and sweaty again.
The main common room seemed a bright and friendly place and a few people were lounging around at tables and computers.
I checked in and made my way up three flights of stairs past bright, multicolored walls and handrails. I was still heartened.
Besides, I'd only be here two nights. That morning I had gotten a reply from couchsurfing. It was from a flat of four crazy, fun-loving guys. They said I could stay with them.
Perfect. It felt good to have a plan.
I found a place to put my things and climbed up into my bunk to look at a map of London while my phone charged a bit.
After awhile I decided to do some research on where I was staying.
SO I went to wikipedia and typed in Lambeth.
This is what it said, "Lambeth has the highest population density of the inner London city boroughs. It also has a high umemployment rate and crime levels are also high. It has the highest number of homicides in any of the London boroughs.'
Lovely.
So, in essence, I chose homicide over bed bugs.
Perfect.
It was around 7:00 already so I decided to leave the exploring until tomorrow. But I was starving. So I went out to a tiny thai food restaurant on a typically sketchy looking street not far from the hostel.
I was the only one there and I decided I didn't care.
The music was really relaxing and I was enjoying the quiet atmosphere.
I ordered a coke and a noodle dish from the polite woman and munched on some shrimp flavored cracker things while I waited.
This was a good choice.
The food was amazing and I had enough left over for my dinner tomorrow.
I bought an orange from a small market and ate it on the way back.
I hung out in the common room at a table for a bit before I struck up conversation with a quirky Aussi girl.
I want to say her name was Melissa?
We talked for an hour or so before calling it a night.
And here I am now.
Calling it a night.

Transience

July 20th- Monday

As lonely as it may get I love this transience.

Here I am.

hard work and sacrifice and here I am.

Actually living my dream.

I've proven myself worthy to myself.

I have proven to myself and others that I have the determination and power to change my life,

And I have.

Already.

Even if I don't make it 3 months I have changed my own life.

I will never be the same.

I am not a girl anymore, with aching wings, landlocked and wistful, naiive in the womb of her homeleand.

I am a woman.

Airborn, belonging to the curents and all the lands.

I've unleashed my wild spirit and my sould was so thirsty.

I am drunk on this gypsy existence.

Every mountain and glen,

every hotel and hovel,

every river, and valley,

every city and village,

clean, dirty, new, old

I am filled with wonder.

I had dreamed, only dreamed (the power of dreams!) of being able to see, touch, smell-EXPERIENCE the world and here I am.

LIVING the dream.

LIVING.

I was a vessel made to hold water, that had been empty until now.

Each day I feel it, now more than ever-that sharp and clear sensation of being alive and LIVING- not merely the dull insistent hum of existence.

Goodbye Edinburgh, Hello London

July 19th- Sunday

I'm back in Wolverhampton at my uncle's. So you're wondering- back to Edinburgh- did I go see Mark Farina?

After my last entry I got dressed and went to the kitchen to heat up the UK version of a hotpocket for dinner. I chatted breifly with a pair of French girls while I ate and around 9:40 I headed out. Out into the rain and cold with my giant camera around my neck.

There was no way I was buying a locker for a few hoursand no way I was leaving it in my hostel room.

I put my hood up and stepped out onto the cobblestone streets of Old Town.

Up High Street, down another street to the close that cuts down to Market Street behind Waverly Station. Covering my camera I headed towards Electric Circus.

Once I got there they informed me they would be closing the club at 10:30 before reopening for the event. So I'd wait. I couldn't afford to hang out aall lonely at the bar.

I took pictures of the club and decided that it was too miserable out for anymore street photography.

I walked back towards the close where an exit from Waverly Station opened up at street level like a dark fluorescent-lit maw. I descended the stairs to lean against a wall while I killed time and stayed dry, my hood up, red-lipped, like a city vampire.

While I stood there my surety wavered and I began to contemplate whether or not I should do this.

I was tired and alone and I had to catch a train in the morning.

Could I afford this?

I rolled it around in my head and decided, yes.

Yes I would.

I'm already here, yes.

10:30.

I walked back.

There were people outside now smoking. I walked in-No. Not open yet.

But I could get buy a ticket now.

However, it was now 14 pounds instead of 12.

Whatever. Take my money.

I went back outside to wait.

Hood still up I found a corner to wedge myself into while I waited.

My camera soon drew the attention of two boys nearby.

They asked if I was working the event and could I take their picture?

So I told them No, I wasn't.

They noticed my accent and asked where I was from.

Grudgingly I opened up more after deciding they were harmless enough and not trying (very hard) to pick me up.

I lowered my hood and we chatted until the doors opened.

Once inside they introduced me to a table of their friends.

'This is our American friend, Nicole,' they'd say.

It was cute.

Tim had been afraid of guys hitting on me or something sinister happening since I was a girl all by myself, out in the city at night.

I understand his concern.

I have concerns of my own as well, but I also can't live in fear.

And tonight I decided to play my cards and trust my insticts.

ANd now here I had managed to be adopted by a bunch of 18 year old kids for the night.

It was, 'this is Nicole, our American friend,' a few more times and then the bass kicked and the volume jumped.

Mark Farina was on the decks now.

I excused myself from their table and made my way to the front to dance.

Soon enough I was joined by Alex and David, the two boys I'd met outside.

We danced and sweat for a few hours in the flashing blue lights while the bass shook the drinks on the stage.

The party was going until 3, but I slipped out around 2.

I still had to walk back to the hostel.

Alone.

Granted it wasn't far, but the prospect of passing through the long narrow alcove-pitted close to the street above made me envision various Jack the Ripper scenarios.

Lady lLuck was on my side for once and, as scary as it had been, it was mercifully deserted.

Back at the hostel I climbed into my bunk in the dark in all of my clothes and went to bed.

Check out was at 11:00.

It's not hard to figure out that I didn't make it back to Arthur's Seat.

Instead I slept in until about 9 when I labored out of slumber to pack my things.

I was glad to be leaving the hostel but remorseful about leaving the city.

I turned in my keys and headed to the station.

Goodbye Edinburgh.

The Rest is rather uneventuful.

I caught my train, made it back to Wolverhampton and hour earlier than I expected and waited to get picked up by Sarah and Uncle David.

That night I stayed in and recovered from my Edinburgh adventures.

It felt so good to recharge.

I never imagined this trip would be so exhausting.

Physically and mentally.

On Sunday, my Uncle made blueberry pancakes and we joked about making my adventures into a movie and mused about which actors would play who.

then I went online to find a place to stay in London and book transportation.

SO far I'd had no luck with couchsurfing in London.

There was still time.

That afternoon we drove into Birmingham to see Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince.

It poured in monsoon proportions on our way there, so I didn't see much of the city.

The new movie was pretty good, but the movie theater candy was a bit strange.

It was definitely cool seeing it in England though, since that's where it's all set.

I never imagined that's what England actually looked like.

I pictured Hollywood sets of a more Oliver Twist England, but no-It's the real deal (for the most part.)

On the way home we searched for rainbows through the sun and rain.

It was perfect rainbow weather, but we'd had no luck.

That is, until we were pulling into their driveway.

Uncle David spotted the biggest, most brilliant rainbow I'd ever seen.

Leave it to the blind guy to find it.

It was so brilliant thatthere was a sligyhtly fainter twin right above it.

It arced beautifully over...the grocery store parkinglot across the street.

Ironically enough, it appeared to terminate at their pub across the street.

I snapped pictures until it faded and dissapeared.

Uncle David and Sarah played with their new pop-up tent in the livingroom while I resigned myself back to the attic to book a bus and a hostel.

Booking the hostel was the hardest.

I scanned descriptions, prices, reviews, and locations until my preferences nearly limited all of my options.

It's a hostel Nicole, not a 3-star hotel.

It's bound to be a bit grungy and dissapointing.

Beggars can't be choosers.

I finally narrowed it down to two.

Two people complained about beg bugs in the first one so I decided on Option B, Journey's London Eye.

It seemed really close to a few points of interest so I felt good about it.

I paid the few extra pounds to get an all female dorm as well.

Okay, there, I had a bus and a place to stay for two nights.

Now that it's well past 2 am I can finally go to bed.

Weather and Whether

July 17, 2009-Friday-Edinburgh, Scotland

Well. Today.
The weather sucked. Windy. Rainy. All of that.
I slept in until around 10:00, then got up with the rest of my fellow bunkers to shower.
There were three shower stalls in a very narrow space.
I walked in, not knowing what to expect.
I opened the door and found a man in a towel shaving his face.
He turned, smiled and said, 'Goodmorning.'
I smiled sheepishly and muttered something like, 'yeah,' before squeezing past him to the last stall.
I opened the metal door with hope.
Oh no.
It was just a shower.
Where would I change??
I saw a grungy moldy curtain about 7 inches from the door and groaned.
So I could change there, BUT it was almost guaranteed that my clothes would get at least a little wet.
I left my sandals and room key outside the door, feeling a bit like a newbie, and quickly wanting to obtain some sort of hasty privacy.
I figured out the shower (one of the easier ones I've encoutered,) and made it quick.
After pushing aside the curtain I groaned again and cursed myself.
I'd forgotten my towel.
Super.
I wiped off all the water I could and put my pjs on over my wet body, my pant legs soaking up the water on the floor.
I opened the door to get out and-there it was.
I'd just left it on the railing outside with my shoes and key.
Oh well.
I changed in the bathroom and then hung my wet clothes and towel over my bunk bed railing to dry.
As soon as possible, my hair still wet, I headed outside to clean fresh air.
To the city again!
I went to Boots to buy a very expensive (and yet oh so cheap,) umbrella, sinus decongestant, juice and a comb (since I hadn't thought to bring any such thing.)
Afterwards, I bought a pretty orange shirt at what must be something akin to a salvation army. Finally, some color in my wardrobe!
Even if that color is orange...
I am mourning the sacrifice of not bringing any fashionable clothes with me.
Ugh.
Here in Europe, even the ugly people are fashionable.
I wanna play.
I want to prove that I can play dress up with the best of them!
Pardon my girly outburst...
I made my way back down the Royal Mile towards Arthur's Seat, stopping by an expensive cafe to buy a muffin and a teensy saucer of coffee.
It certainly was windy out today. And cold.
As I neared the rising green, craggy hill I pondered- where to ascend?
I saw a man in hiking gear heading up a steep slope on a very faint path.
I followed his destination and decided that surely this would be a better view!
From the tippy top of the thing!
I spared not a second glance at the very beaten, easy, gradual slope of the main pathway and tackled this more...rugged approach.
So up I went.
Up this 'path' that had once been dirt, but through the chemistry of rain had now become mud. More of a mudslide than a pathway actually.
And here I was in running shoes, hampered by a giant bag and a camera around my neck.
Great idea.
Soon enough I was no longer hiking but climbing, grasping at clumps of long wet grass, trying not to grab or step on any of the multitude of slugs crawling about. Black ones and brown ones, tan ones and gray ones. With and without shells.
I only hoped snails and slugs would be the only grass creatures I'd have to contend with.
I paused for long moments, deciding on where to plant my foot next, my hair whipping in my face, praying I didn't slip and fall down the steep incline.
Somehow I made it up to the higher leveler ground, panting in exhaustion, mud caked underneath my nails and streaked across my face from pushing hair from my eyes.
Now I didn't feel stupid, I just felt triumphant.
But at this height and under these conditions I had a new element to deal with.
WIND.
I tried not to think of being blown over the cliffside.
I stopped to catch my breath and take in the view around me.
Screw that monument. Now THIS was a view.
I could see Scott's monument from here and it looked quite pathetic from this height.
This was just amazing.
This behemoth green and graggy land jutting out of the middle of the beautiful city.
Tall and wild wheat, grass, and flowers bent in a sea of waves under gusts of wind all around me.
Seagulls fought the air currents with the smaller birds as I trudged through the soft grass.
I hiked up to the very highest point and took in the breathtaking sight.
Here was man and nature in simbiotic splendor-two beautiful and magnificent forces.
The Old Town and the New Town, the valley and the crags-
Oh why did it have to be so farkin cold and windy!
Surely I would get stuck in the rain.
Possibly a storm too.
Oh, I prayed there would be no lightning.
My luck alone assured me I'd make a fabulous lightning rod.
I hurriedly took pictures, whilst trying to tame my hair and make my way along the beaten grass path.
I would find a way down (sometime this year,) and tomorrow I would come again.
Before I check out at 10:00 am.
And I would take glorious pictures.
Yes.
Early.
Uh huh.
Eventually I made it off before it started to rain.
I went back to the hostel to add a heavy sweatshirt to my layers before marching off to the art gallery.
Well, the free one at least.
Sorry Picasso.
I craned my neck at gargantuan oil paintings, mostly all depicting something involving Jesus.
My favorite painting there was called something like The Stoning Of Saint Stephen. Or something. Crap. I can't remember.
I really liked it though.
I was becoming more and more sleepy the longer I perused the dim and quiet rooms of the gallery.
I was exhausted.
I'd hiked up a ... something-or-other...mountain-hill? mill? hountain?
And then walked across the city to the gallery to do what? but WALK around the gallery.
So,yes, exhaustion was setting in.
It was still raining.
It was only about 4:00 pm.
I'd go back and take a nap. Rest up and kill some time before the night life began.
Screw that castle.
I didn't feel like paying the entry fee, or walking around anymore for that matter.
Besides, I already had pictures of it from the monument.
My feet and pockets ached.
I returned to the hostel once more to pass out in my stifling bunk.
I woke around 6:00.
Now what.
All the stores would be clothed. Not like I could afford to go shopping anyways.
Perhaps I'd get food.
I changed again into my nicer clothes and put on some makeup.
Then off I went again. In the miserable rain.
It was drizzling in earnest now.
I found myself striding with purpose to nowhere in particular. Aimless.
Umbrella-less.
Down South Bridge Street where I discovered quite a few interesting shops.
Too late.
All closed.
I had my jacket hood up now.
I felt like the grim reaper deep in its recess.
Good.
This part of town didn't look particularly wholesome.
I was unafraid.
The weather was staring to get to me though.
Then-A light in the gloom.
A bookstore that was open until 8:00!
I killed maybe 30 minutes amongst stacks of books before spending a small fortune on The Doors of Perception and Heaven and Hell by Aldous Huxley.
Defeated by the rain and my lack of purpose, I hurried back to the hostel to do what I am doing now.
Writing.
Killing time.
I considered the flyer I'd seen earlier for the Mark Farina gig.
I remembered walking by a place by the art gallery called the Electric Circus with the same flyers posted outside.
It wasn't too far from Brodie's.
Should I go?
It is so dissapointing that I'm so bone weary and it's so rainy, and the show's so expensive, and I'm so lonely...
Proactive.
I will go.
Why not?

Hello, Edinburgh!

July 16- Thursday- Edinburgh, Scotland.

Currently I am lying on top bunk C in room 9 of Brodie's Backpacker's Hostel. There are 5 bunk beds crammed into this tiny room, with clothes and bags and shoes and towels strewn everywhere. It appears I am staying in a room made up of mostly boys. Or men. Or animals. I've already met two of these...men...
(Rewind to this afternoon.)
After checking in, I was given the key to room 9. Through the door and down the hallway, last door on the right. Check. As I neared room 9, the unmistakeable sound of a bagpipe grew louder. Surely, it wasn't...I stopped in front of the door that lacked a door handle labeled Room 9. Yep. That ungodly noise was coming from my room. I unlocked the door with much jiggling and twisting and almost tripped over someone's backpack and shoes. The room was dim and crammed with beds and debris. Manly debris. Oh boy. The noise stopped and as I angled my way into the center of the room, I saw a man with long black hair sitting on a chair with the offending bagpipe in his lap.
He was very friendly.
He informed me that he was from Israel and that he had just recently bought the instrument with which he was torturing all within hearing range with. As I was trying to figure out where to put my stuff, another man entered, much taller, resembling Borat, but with less hair. No hair in fact. I supposed he was from Italy by his accent. He wore tight windbreaker pants and looked puzzled when I told him I was from New York, but not the city. He then informed me that he did not realize New York was a state and not just a city.
I had nothing to say to that.
Or much at all.
This was all very overwhelming.
Once I was sure my things were secure...on the floor...in the open...I made my way to the common room. Sitting down at the computer desk I made a grim discovery that I'd have to pay £1 per 20 minutes of internet usage. I decided against this robbery and got up. Feeling awkward, I poked around the pamphlets with purpose. I saw a flyer for Mark Farina. It would seem he was spinning tomorrow at some local club for £12. Interesting...I picked this up, ignoring all the haunted Edinburgh, highland, and castle touristy pamphlets before heading back to Room 9.
By now Bagpipe Boy had left.
However the other man was still there...
I shall dub him Tighty Whitie.
His bunk was perpendicular to mine and he is sprawled obscenely across his lower bunk in strictly his tighty whities.
Perhaps this is customary is Italy.
I sincerely hope he is just an exception.
I try so very hard to shut off my peripheral vision, while I rummage through my backpack, a mere 3 feet away. Although his eyes must be shut, I'm trying determinedly not to sneak a glance, or act as if I'm unacustomed to this sort of thing.
Perhaps he is a voyeur.
Somehow I don't think I'm wrong in assuming that he wanted the attention.
The attention that the other roomates would surely give him since I certainly was doing everything in my power to do the exact opposite.
(Fast Forward to the relative present.)
Ten minutes ago I returned from the city exhausted.
I am relieved to find Tighty Whitie absent.
(Later on I learn that his name is actually Flavio.
I can't tell which one I like better.)
I was going to get in my bunk and write. And relax.
Now...how to do this?
I inspected the bed. Not discovering a convenient way up, I then I inspected the other beds.
Each of the other 4 bunk beds came conveniently equipped with ladders.
Mine for some reason did not.
Or rather, it did at one point.
I noticed empty screw holes.
Great. Perfect. 'Brilliant.'
They're lucky I'm leggy!
I clambor (is that a word?) ungracefully to the stifling upper bunk where I lay on my belly with my journal out.
Soon I am rejoined by Backpipe Boy and his ever vigilant sense of musical determination.
Of course he resumed his 'practicing,' mumbling some dry joke about 'serenading me.'
So how did I get here?
Im luxurious Room 9?
(Rewind to this morning.)
Sarah drove me to the trainstation in Wolverhampton this morning to catch the 10:37 train to Edinburgh, Scotland, due to arrive around 2:30.
Not a bad trip.
Once aboard and off, I was captivated by the scenery whizzing by.
My photographers soul ached at all the verdant green hills that sped by behind the glass.
At some point I napped.
Very well, too, I might add, until a very large and obnoxious teenage girl came aboard.
She not only woke me up, but put me in a rather irritated mood.
I suffered the girls manic laughter and idiotic outbursts until they got off in Carlisle.
Then, before I knew it, we had stopped.
Completely.
Engines off.
I was surprised to discover, after a moments panic, that we'd finally reached Edinburgh; the end of the line.
And oh my is Waverly Station large. Compared to all the little stations I'd met with up until then at least.
I shouldered my bag and marched off to find a map.
I located High Street, where I had booked the hostel, and then attempted to find the smartest way out.
I stopped at a shop in the station for a chicken salad and sweet corn baguette and a small coffee and then chose a direction to head for.
Up some stairs.
Waverly Stairs apparently (sensible.)
Once outside my breath caught in my chest.
What a city.
Instantly I congratulated myself on deciding to come after all.
It was beautiful.
You'd never see anything in America this old.
Now that I was above ground, I just needed to figure out which direction to go.
I asked someone the quickest way to High Street and they told me to take a right here at Princes Street and head right across North Bridge and there it would be.
Simple.
I finished my food and coffee and began my determined stride.
The sooner I got there the sooner I could abandon my bags.
After much searching and walking in the wrong direction and sweating profusely in the shape of my backpack, I found the place.
You all know how that went.
After leaving my things at the hostel I armed myself with my camera and wandered off to explore the city on foot.
And soon enough I was there again;that blissful life-loving zen moment of pure contentedness at being where I am in life.
I could feel the glorious wind beneath my wings at last!
With a smile on my face I strode down the Royal Mile, delighted again to be a stranger in a strange land.
I made my way down to the end of the street where I marveled at the architechural artistry of the Scotish Parliament, and glanced around the gates to the touristy Holyrood House. Sattisfied I headed back to the city center, my eyes intent on one of the towering gothic monuments that forked upwards into the sky.
There were still plenty of daylight hours left and I was going to make the most of it.
Scott's Monument. That was the name of the tower-like structure.
And for £3 you can climb up 187 tight and narrow winding stone stairs.
I think there should be a girth limit to the people admited up.
Mind you, theres only one stair case, about as wide as myself, and people are expected to pass up ND down...at the same time...yes...passing each other.
The claustrophobic need not apply.
And those afraid of being smooshed to death against a curving stone wall.
Also, don't bother if you're afraid of heights.
This monster structure boasted 3 or 4 magnificent views of the city, the next one a little higher and smaller and more confined than the next.
But oh the city was a wonder to behold!
Old and new, ancient and modern lie together on one land like lovers entangled in the bedsheets.
And you could see the sea from here!
And the northern part of Scotland hazy in the distance across the waters.
I saw a massive ferry making its way towards port.
Oh, Scotland, I think this is the begining of a beautiful friendship.
I didn't want to descend.
I wanted to stay until the sun set and the stars came out and the city glowed with neon and street lamps.
I was also reluctant to make my way down the hellish ribbon of stairs.
I made it to the bottom after an eternity, afraid I wouldnt be able to move anywhere but down and left after such an ordeal but I found I was able to stagger in a straight line after all.
Back to the hostel.
It was getting chilly out and my sinuses were starting to act up. The intense pressure in my head was giving me a headache and making me quite dizzy.
I changed into more night appropriate clothes and decided I'd find a place to have a nice dinner.
All I'd eaten all day was an English muffin and a baguette.
Starving and dizzy.
A lovely combination.
There was a Duran Duran concert going on, and I walked up to a police officer standing at a street barricade.
I asked him where I could get a good Scotish meal.
He pointed to his left.
Deacon Brodie's Tavern.
I thanked him and headed towards the overflowing doorway.
I was pointed around the side of the building where I made my way up a staircase to the restaurant on the second level.
It was absolutely stifling up there.
And my dizziness was reaching...dizzying heights..?
I felt as though I was in a boat and not a building.
I leaned against the door frame to steady myself while I waited an agonizing 15 minutes for a table to free up.
Thunder crashed outside.
A baby on the floor looked up and clenched its tiny hand at me in its attempt to wave.
I smiled back and received a delighted gurgle.
The other couple waiting for a table asked if I was a tourist.
From their accents I pegged them as southerners.
I clenched my teeth and said I was from New York.
They were from West Virginia.
Tourist. Psh.
Then I was finally seated.
I ordered a big £12 meal: Roast lamb with gravy, mashed herb potatoes, fresh vegetables, cooked potatoes, and a side of garlic bread.
I devoured every last crumb.
Shockingly enough, I could have eaten more too.
It poured while I ate.
I'd watched it rain from my seat in the center of the room.
Thank God it let up before I left.
I didn't have an umbrella.
I walked back to the hostel in the cold air, intending on going out again.
All the stores had closed at this hour, but it was too early for clubs to open and I couldn't afford sitting around in a pub all night.
Once there, I was defeated by my lack of purpose and my stuffed sinuses.
Stuck inside with Flavio and the Bagpiper.
And here I am, writing this, caught up at last.
Oh well- early to bed, early to rise?

The Good, The Bad, And The Ugly

The bad and the ugly, well, those are me and my rash. Or, my rash and me.
Either way I woke up today and of course its worse.
Its all over about 70 percent of my body.
And its sooooo itchy.
BUT.
The GOOD!
Yes, there is good here.
Surprising, I know.
The good:
As of August 7th, I will no longer be travelling alone.
Thanks to my Aunt, my cousin Mary from California will be flying in to Berlin to join me on my trip right to the end!
Yay for not being alone!
Granted, there are things I could learn and experience on my own that I wouldn't have the opportunity to do with another person.
But I'll be on my own until then at least.
It'll be fun though, to share in this experience with someone.
I can have someone share in all my miseries now ;-)
Perhaps she has no idea what she's in for.
Muahaha.
Erm.
Ahem.

Men In Tights, Free Clinics and Gravy

Am I caught up yet? No? Are you sure?
What if I have a note from a doctor?
Cuz I do.
Now.
But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Friday-
I finally made it to Dublin port where I 'qued' for awhile to buy my ticket for the Jonathan Swift which was leaving in 45 minutes. Perfect!
And, oh glory, it would get us into Holyhead in about 90 minutes.
And not like 4 or 5 hours as I had dreaded.
I lucked out and was able to purchse my ferry and train ticket at the same time.
I bought more tea and we all boarded the massive vessel around 2:30 (around here it's 14:30)
Once inside I made my way to the windows.
The window tables were filling up fast and I didn't see any empty tables left.
Then I espied a girl at one with 3 vacant seats.
I recognised her from the bus ride to the port.
We had rolled our eyes in mutual annoyance across the aisle, at a woman and her three screaming banshee monkey children.
I asked if I could sit with her and she nodded graciously.
She put her magazine down and we started some small talk.
As tired as I was and as much as my throat hurt, I found myself telling her all about my adventures.
We swapped a bunch of stories and then randomly ended up talking about makeup for 15 minutes. Go figure.
Then an older man strode up and leaned against one of the backs of the chairs at our table, smiling at the girl I was talking to.
She smiled and they spoke breifly, apparent acquaintances.
While they talked, I was taking in his strange appearance.
The first thing I noticed about his apparel was the black spandex pants he was wearing. Perhaps for warmth. One would assume.
I wondered if perhaps he should be wearing these things UNDER some actual pants...
His attire gets better.
He also wore a green and white flannel type shirt, which he had tucked INTO the unflattering and somewhat obscene spandex leggings. It bunched awkwardly around his waist beneath the tight black material.
And of course, over this mess, he wore a hefty fanny pack that's definitely seen some better days.
Sattisfied with the information he had gleaned from my ferry companion, he meandered on towards the buffet.
She smiled at me and told me that he was from Iowa traveling alone through Europe.
Appearances aside, he seemed amicable and harmless enough.
We docked at Holyhead at last.
As we got off the ferry, we realized we hadn't introduced ourselves.
So it was hello and goodbye Marie, thank you for your helpful information and pleasant conversation/distraction from motion sickness (that could have been awful.)
Despite the fact that I had done more sitting today than anything else, I was exhausted.
What time was it?
I was starving too.
It must have been around 4.
There was a cafe open in the train station section of the place, and I drooled over a few things before realizing they only took cash.
And they took pounds here, not euros.
I hadn't exchanged my money yet.
Phooey.
I went, foodless, through the doors then to the train station.
I somehow found my platform and waited for my train to Shrewsbury, where I'd have to change to the one to Wolverhampton.
I told my Uncle via text message that I estimated perhaps being into W'hampton around 8:30.
We boarded the train and Crazy Pants decided to sit next to me.
I multitasked between talking to him and communicating to my mother and boyfriend Tim on my aim application on my phone.
We barreled smoothly through the countryside of Wales.
It was so very foreign to me.
It was all vast expanses of green pastures and hills, all brimming with flocks of sheep sheep sheep everywhere.
There were low stone walls frilly with bushy overgrowth stretching here and there across the land.
Any houses we saw seemed so very old world to me.
Everything was brick or stone or wood. The whole landscape looked like it could have been taken from a history textbook or a fairy tale with princes, peasants and dragons. I felt so very out of my element.
I leaned sleepily against the window and watched the hills roll by like green waves toped with crests of white sheep.
Crazy Pants was telling me about living in New Zealand.
And then he told me a story about the time he went to Singapore. And a man he met told him it was a 'fine fine fine fine fine fine fine city.'
He had inquired what made it so fine?
And the man had replied, 'they fine you for this! And they fine you for that! and they fine you for-'
I felt so very rude for not paying more attention to him, staring out the window or at my Blackberry.
I was so exhausted though.
He didnt seem to mind too much, so full of energy and optimism.
He turned to a boy in the aisle and I eavesdropped absently while I attempted to nap a bit.
We passed a circus in the middle of a great field.
We passed hoards of trailers.
We passed what looked like a castle but was actually a bridge.
We passed through tunnels.
We flew by the rocky coast, the shore glistening in low tide.
I slept.
I woke to hear Crazy Pants mention Chester and waking me up.
Chester was his stop.
I pulled my head away form the window and rubbed my face blearily, saying, 'I heard that.'
He got up and asked if he could take my picture, since he was trying to get pictures of everyone he had conversations with.
I agreed, feeling muzzy, and mused at his awkward stance as he crouched low like a grasshopper or something on his skinny stick legs to take my awful picture.
We pulled into Chester and wished each other well on our travels.
I woke up a bit more then, panicky, as I surveyed the train emptying at this station.
Was I the only one aboard now??
I got up and moved a few seats back where I saw a woman sit down across a table.
I sat down across from her to be near my luggage and another human being.
She smiled and I asked if this train was going to Wolverhampton.
She told me that she believed it was the stop after hers.
I relaxed a bit, before realizing we were heading in the opposite direction.
Back to Holyhead???
We both sincerely hoped not.
It think we had just taken a great detour to make a few of the other stops.
Great.
So I'd only be in Shrewsbury at 8:30.
Wolverhampton around 9:30.
And my phone was officially dead.
I hoped my uncle wouldnt be mad or waiting too long.
Nothing I could do about it now.
This woman and I talked for quite awhile.
She was Australian and traveling alone for 4 and a half months.
I gave her a high five and she told me about some of her traveling misfortunes.
She'd had her wallet stolen out of her hand in Toronto with $2000 in it.
I thought I'd had it rough.
We are agreed on the matter though: there's nothing you can do about it, so chin up and move on.
I liked this woman very much.
She told me how she traveled for her work so often that she couldn't have a social life.
Then, in all contradiction, she up and quit her job to travel more!
She was visiting all her friends across the world, from Greece, to Switzerland, Spain and Canada.
She told me that settling down will be very hard for her. A much different lifestyle.
For me it is quite the opposite.
We are doing it though.
I love this.
All of these people on their own grand world-travelling adventures.
It heartens me to see all of these nomadic backpack-toting souls. Even if we never speak, we are still sharing this human experience with each other. We recognise each others mettle and share a glance or nod in mutual respect and acknowledgment.
The nameless woman gets off at her stop and its about 40 minutes to Shrewsbury.
I spend this time alone, not thinking about much.
I get off at Shrewsbury at last.
It is late indeed.
Its getting colder too.
I sit down at my platform and pull out my jacket and hat.
I then devour a package of very crushed peanut butter crackers. The only thing I've eaten all day since the half piece of peanut butter toast I'd made at Alessandra's.
What I wouldn't do for a bowl of soup right now.
We finally boarded the train and ohhh dear lord there were 9 stops to make before Wolverhamton.
Of course.
The man came to check tickets and, seeing my pass from Dublin, inquired if I was an Irish girl.
I told him I was from New York.
'So you're pretty far from home then, aren't you?'
My heart ached a little at this.
But I was so much closer to family now than I had ben and I could not wait to be able to rest up and get well.
He told me I was getting a special stamp.
'One of the Queen's Swans,' he joked as he punched my ticket.
On his return through my car, he sat down across me and asked where I was from in New York.
Then he made some small talk about places I should see in Scottland and how it's a shame I didn't make it over to Western Ireland.
Then off he went.
And I sat and stared at my tired reflection some more as it grew darker outside.
I looked so gaunt.
Yuck.
I puffed out my cheeks and then sighed.
The time dragged by.
Wolverhampton at last.
I got off with a very dressed up young crowd.
Girls in short dresses and high heels going out for the night, clutching their arms in the cold air.
Boys about 18, with their button down shirts and bottles of Bulmer's Pear Cider.
So was this the place to go out then?
This was where the nightlife was?
I felt so drab.
I also didn't have the energy to care.
I followed this 'posh' crowd up some stairs through a corridor, down some stairs, through another corridor, all the while watching out for my uncle.
At last a sign 'Way Out' with an arrow.
I followed this to a small reception like area.
Glass doors to the outside world.
Still looking for my uncle. Not in here.
I opened the door and we almost collided, surprising each other.
We hugged then, and he swiftly hailed a black cab with a hindu driver.
'Perfect timing!' we agreed.
I got into the spacious backseat with him and he told me his funny story.
He told me how he needed to get groceries after realizing his stores were empty.
He had then sent me a very long text message detailing where to go, how to hail a cab and where to tell the cabbie to take me etc etc and he would meet me at his house.
You see, my uncle doesn't drive. So he wouldn't have been able to take a cab to the station in time (8:30 as originally estimated.)
Then he had settled in after shopping.
Around 9:00 he had realized he'd heard nothing from me yet.
Panicking he thought, what if her phone had died? He decided he needed to check the station after all. But what if I were to show up when he was gone?
So he left a hurried note on the front door telling me to STAY PUT! and then dashed off to the train station where he learned of the apparent delay.
It was then that we ran into each other.
PERFECT TIMING.
So my luck was...changing? Or just in limbo? At any rate, I'll take it.
We arrived at his place and he made us frozen pizza.
Glorious meaty pizza mmmm.
Sarah came home then and we told her our funny story.
I then drank even MORE tea and went shortly to bed.

Saturday-
I woke up at 6:30 the next morning, unable to sleep through the agony of my sore swollen throat. I crossed the hall to the bathroom. I'd just shower then.
I stared at the tub.
I stared at the shower.
Yeah, shower.
I opened the door and stared at the shower machine.
I twisted a few knobs.
Nothing.
Alessandra's at least had an on/off button.
I sighed and glanced back at the tub.
I can operate knobs.
So I filled the tub with steamy water and sank into it.
It was a really nice relaxing experience.
I soaked for about an hour and then dressed and tiptoed downstairs to make some tea and an (English?) muffin.
When Sarah woke to go to an appointment of sorts I asked about the clinics around here.
Uncle David got up (with amazing rooster hair) and told me that he was convinced it was free, even for visiting US citizens.
Ohhhh boy, I could only hope.
Sarah left and we made a call.
A nurse finally came on the line and quizzed me about symptoms.
Apparently, since I can touch my chin to my chest and have no small purple rashes, I do not have Swine Flu.
Deep down inside, I knew this.
Swine Flu, psh.
She gave me the address to the local clinic and gave me advice on how to handle my sickness.
Around 4, I decided I might as well go to the clinic. Why not?
We got into Sarah's red Mini Cooper, complete with British flag on the roof, and off we went.
It was only about 2 miles away.
This particular clinic was new and had just recently opened.
And it wasn't busy at all.
I filled out my name, address, phone number, and next of kin and then voila-I was up!
I went down the corridor to room number 3, where a woman (nurse? not sure what they're called here) met me.
I told her my symptoms and she checked my ears, my neck, and finally my throat where she nodded and said, 'Textbook Strep throat, 4 out of 4, you're making this easy on me. Are you allergic to Penicillin?'
I figured that if I was I'd probably know by now, so I told her I didn't think so.
She prescribed me 500 mgs of Penicillin V (the heavy duty stuff) to be taken 4 times a day for 7 days, since I had the infection 'acutely,' and anything less 'wouldn't touch you.'
She told me I had a lovely accent and would I like to switch?
Then she handed me my prescription.
Simple as that, golden ticket in hand, we left.
Off to Boots.
Which is like a super fancy drug store.
We filled my prescription, and my Uncle absolutely insisted on paying for it, then headed back home in a hurry so Sarah would make it to one of her school concerts.
I immediately took the first dose and planted myself on the couch in front of their giant tv.
I took another dose before bed and passed out cold.
Until-

Sunday. Today. Yes, finally catching up.
I woke up around 11:30. This was a good sign. I had slept in!
AND, my throat felt better!
However I, myself, was feeling a bit rough still. Like I was still sleepy and could use a few more hours.
But I felt bad about stalling any of Aunt Sarah or Uncle David's plans for the day.
I got up and hazarded a glance in the mirror.
Ugh, messy hair, puffy face-
Hm...really puffy face.
Well. Lips.
I leaned closer and poked my upper lip.
My lips are normally a little puffy in the morning when I wake up.
Normal.
But.
This was not normal.
I resembled Julia Roberts.
Great.
Super.
This can only mean one thing.
Yep.
I'm allergic to Penicillin.
I groaned and made my way to the bathroom.
I determinedly figured out how to work the shower and itched my finger as I stepped in.
Itchy finger...hm, yep, rash on my finger. At least that was it, not too bad.
Then I looked down.
Okay, rash all over my chest too.
After showering I caught my reflection in the mirror.
Okay, rash on my chin, neck, ears, ELBOWS and hands.
Super.
I dressed and headed downstairs to the livingroom where Aunt Sarah and Uncle David were lounging in front of the tv.
'Okay,' I announced from behind the doorway,'I have good news and bad news. The good news is my throat feels MUCH better! But...the bad news is...'
And I stepped into the room, 'I'm allergic to Penicillin.'
Sarah covered her mouth to stifle her laughter and my uncle squinted at me.
He couldn't see the effects.
But Sarah could.
She was laughing and I grinned ruefully at her.
Yeah, it was pretty funny, I admit it.
At this point, its funny.
I should have just assumed this would happen in the first place.
We agreed to go to the clinic AGAIN.
I decided to put makeup on today. I needed it.
Oh deja vu.
Repeat.
Same deal different faces, different prescription.
Erythromycin this time.
Finger's crossed folks.
After this we drove off through the countryside to one of their favorite pubs, The Grayhound, for Sunday lunch.
I ordered a Bulmer's Pear cider, since I'm so curious at this point after seeing advertisements for it everywhere (absolutely delicious by the way.)
Anyway.
Lunch?
Beef in gravy, mashed potatoes, fried potatoes, fried parsnips, some sort of 'pudding,' leeks, carrots, cabbage, ohhhh you better believe I inhaled this tasty fare.
Then we were off again to our next destination, through the midlands, to an outdoor shop.
And it was gorgeous out today! The countryside is so magical in the sunny summer evening. Its so depressing though, under slate gray skies. Amazing, the contrast.
On our way we passed countless makes, models, and colors of VW camper busses.
Sarah squealed in jealousy as each one flew by.
We could only guess as to where they were all going and what for.
The rest of the day passed in wonderfully uneventful leisure.
And here I am now, up in the attic, updating this as I absently scratch my neck, my ears, my chest, and stare bemusedly at my splotchy hands.
So, I have medecine for my throat, but nothing for my allergic reactions.
*Sigh*
I'll take rashes over a sore throat anyday.
At least one as sore as what I've had to endure.
Both though is a bit ridiculous to put up with.
But at least there is hope.
Sorry for that massive entry.
Hope you took a bathroom break at least once.
Okay. I'll upload some pictures now from the last few days.

Swine Flu?

Friday, July 10th

At first it was a joke, but now I'm seriously beginning to wonder if I really do have swine flu.
I'm sitting in the bus station with a 3 hour wait to get somewhere thats only 15 minutes away and I glanced at a swine flu poster. I mean, they're everywhere in these places.
But-I have the symptoms.
At least the ones listed on this particular poster.
They aren't really all that out of the ordinary as far as colds and the regular flu goes.
But still.
Swine Flu?
That would be the cherry.
Apparently, either way, I suck at life.
I nearly killed myself working 50+ hour weeks and 2+ jobs to save up for this whole...'experience,'
and now that I'm finally here, I'm in even worse condition!
I mean, seriously? What is happening?
Did I walk under a ladder? break a mirror? cross paths with a black cat?
I am absolutely exhausted, on 2 hours of sleep, sick as a dog, and at my wits end here.
All I can do is push forward and try not to contract any more lethal viruses.
Maybe I should just quaratine myself in a local hospital and then throw in the towel.
I'm not sure I can handle much more of this.
Can it get worse from here?
I am hoping things can only get better (including my health.)

Third Shift-Death Watch

Friday July 10th

It's 5 o'clock in Dublin and the sun is starting to glow low in the east behind the tall grass and brick and barbed wire fence in the backyard. Im sitting in the kitchen nursing my fifth cup of tea trying not to imagine dying this far from home.
A horrible fever still rages inside me and my throat is a furnace of molten pain.
I had lain awake, my body on fire, shivering in all my layers of clothes and blankets.
I imagined the girls faces when they wake to find me still and unbreathing in their spare bedroom.
I've only ever been this sick once before.
I had a fever of 103 and it climbed 2 degrees to 105 in 15 minutes-same symptoms.
My father threw me into the tub, fully clothed, and poured buckets of ice cold water over me until my temperature dropped to a safer degree.
In two hours I'll phone my uncle to see if he'd be ready and willing for me to arrive later that night. I really dreaded any alternatives.
I desperately wanted to be around family and familiarity in this time of illness. Im afraid of being alone for so long while in transit and travel tomorrow. Well, today now. A few hours. It just never ends.

Gypsy Girl and The Brazilians, Also: The MIS-adventures of GG

Thursday, July 9th

I woke up with my fears confirmed. My slightly irritated itchy throat was now a full blown case of swollen glands and agonizing soreness. Perfect. Just what I needed. I slept in until about 10:30 before getting up to shower and make more hot tea. I made my way to the little livingroom where I hopped on the brazilian laptop.
When I had first contacted Alessandra through the couchsurfing website, she had mentioned that she'd only be able to host me until thursday night since her and Leila were leaving early Friday morning to go work at Oxegen, a music festival.
Curious about this festival I Googled it.
And be still my beating heart, it was three days of practically all of my favorite bands and DJs all in one place.
I HAD to go.
I planned on it.
Originally.
If I went to the festival I'd only be able to go for one day since I didnt have a tent to camp.
That one day would have to be Friday since after Friday morning I wouldn't have a place to stay if I continued on for a bit in Dublin. Unless I stayed in a hostel or something.
Okay, so I could go Friday.
But, I was done with Dublin and I'd have to be moving on afterwards. What was festival transportatin like?
I had planned on heading north to Belfast next.
So if I went, I'd need transportation to Belfast from the Punchestown Racetrack where the festival was being held.
So there's a couple gray areas that need to be sorted out before I start buying any tickets.
1) What sort of transportation to and from the festival was there? and
2) The music would probably finish up late at night, so when did the last busses run?
At this point I was still hopeful and determined so I schemed and planned all sorts of options for tomorrow, where I'd take my next big step in my journeys. Belfast for sure. Possibly (hopefully) a detour at Oxegen.
Alessandra showed up shortly with a new couch surfer named Eliana, a Japanese-Brazilian girl who'd just recently moved from her home country of Brazil to London, England. She was here in Dublin for the Oxegen festival the next day.
Alessandra left shortly for work and school.
Eliana was experiencing planning and fesitval financial issues so we needed to visit the Dublin Bus station, TicketMaster, and she also needed to get in contact with London but her phone service newly disconnected.
Apparently she was having the same problem that I had had in Frankfurt.
I wanted to figure out Oxegen transportation too.
I decided this:
If there was transportation from the festival to Belfast then I would do it.
If not then I would just head straight to Belfast.
So we left the house with a few missions to accomplish.
I had a surprising grasp of the city layout and bus operations from my day out on Wednesday so I knew exactly where to go.
It was a bit chilly out today. I grabbed the umbrella again, just in case.
So it was damp and cold and my throat was getting worse.
Add Buy Jacket and Medecine to the list of things to do.
Eliana and I rode into town on the double decker bus (my first time in the top section!) and got off at O'Connoll Street.
We headed in the direction of the Bus Eiranne station.
Keeping our eyes out for a pharmacy.
And that's when I realized that I had left Alessandra's umbrella on the bus!
Whyyyyyy, why, why, why?
I felt horrible!
Right, so add: talk to lost and found at the Dublin Bus station to the list as well.
As we ran around the city, my throat grew increasingly more painful.
I found a pharmacy at last, and Eliana went to her 3 Mobile store across the street from it to sort out her coverage.
I wandered around searching fruitlessly for any sort of medecine.
And then I discovered that I suppose in Europe sometimes the medecine is behind the counter.
And none of it is anything Ive ever heard of.
No Nyquil, no Robitussin, oh what do I do?
I stood there dumbly and asked for something to help out a sore throat.
If I could peruse the selection I'd have chosen something to remedy cold and flu symptoms with sore throat included but I was a bit overwhelmed and confused and couldn't read descriptions so I left with Strepcils (somesort of throat lozengers,) and a nasty flavored throat spray.
Moving on.
We then discovered that busses only ran to and from Dublin.
Due to this information and my plumetting health I decided to forego the festival.
I spoke to them about lost and found and they put out an announcement that a white umbrella had been left upstairs on a 122 bus about half an hour ago. I left the station with a number to call later on.
By the time we got back to the house around 7:30 I was exhausted and deflated.
Add: lost host's umbrella, and very ill to my list of accumulating misforunes.
I felt absolutely miserable. I drank 3 more cups of tea while I sent out an e-mail to my uncle in England.
Originally I had planned on going North to Belfast to see the Giants Causeway, then taking a ferry over to Scottland and Edinburgh, before heading South to my uncle David's in Wolverhampton, England.
Now I was so miserable and exhausted that I was happy to cut out Belfast and Edinburgh completely and just attempt to take a ferry over to England.
I only feared it might be too short notice and they wouldn't be ready for me.
I called back to the bus station where they said they did indeed find the white plastic umbrella I had lost.
Great.
Eliana and I were supposed to meet Alessandra in Temple Bar around 9:15 after she got out of class.
We got ready and headed out early so I could stop by the station to pick up Alessandra's umbrella before meeting her.
As soon as we got to the street, who do we see? But Alessandra walking towards us from the other direction.
Talk about timing!
I told her about the umbrella and she laughed and said it was alright, and that it wasn't even hers. In fact someone had left it at the Spire in city center, and that's how she had ended up with it.
I suppose I was just continuing on the tradition then.
Apparently she had gotten out of class early and decided to come home before goign out.
Then Leila came home and in a few hours we all went out to the pub district in Temple Bar.
In our first pub stop, Eliana and I had our first real Irish Guiness, albeit a baby half pint (sore throat, remember? Don't judge me!) and we listened to live acoustic music.
We took pictures, sang along to pupular songs, finished our beers and headed off for the next stop.
Porterhouse Brewing Co.
Cue 99 Bottles Of Beer On The Wall....
Only, I'm sure there were more than 99 bottles along the walls of this pub. It was a three story establishment with cabinets from crotch to ceiling lit up and filled with bottles of beer from all over the world.
However, this wasn't the only impressive feature.
The pub's second and third floors were sort of deck-like with a big open center area where you could lean over the rail and look down to the first floor.
On the second floor landing, there was a tiny stage where the bands would play, that jutted out into the open space over the first floor.
So if you were on the third floor you could lean over the rail and look down at the band and if you were on the stairs up to the third floor you could reach into the space and touch the keyboard or the drum set.
Check out my pictures for a visual of this (my description may be a bit confusing.)
My health was continuing to dissintigrate rapidly and a fever had set in at this point. I could tell. My skin was hot (I also felt I could breathe fire if I tried,) but I was freezing. But I had sucked it up to get this authentic Irish pub experience!
We drank more (water for me,) and took a bunch more silly pictures, sang along to more popular cover songs, got hit on by two strange men, before catching a taxi back to the house around 1:30.
I hadn't heard anything from my uncle, but I decided that I wanted to be somewhere where I could rest up and ride this out in comfort and safety. So in the morning I'd catch a ferry to Holyhead and then from there, a train to Wolverhampton.
At this point, I had no more guilt or reservations about abandoning Belfast and Edinburgh, I just wanted to be around family and familiarity and get better as soon as possible.
I packed for the next day, said goodnight to all the girls, and headed off to bed. It was 2 am here, so it was only 9 pm at home.
Tim was on aim, so I talked with him, telling him how scared I was being so sick so far from home.
I really was very upset about it all.
This didn't make him feel any better either, about my whole situation.
I just could not get a break on this journey could I?
I was absolutely on fire, but I was absolutely freezing.
All the possible worst case scenarios spun around in my head.
I decided I'd try to get some rest before tomorrow, sleep it all off, so I said goodnight to Tim, but asked him to keep his AIM signed on so I could message him in case of an emergency.
Over here in Ireland I wouldn't be able to speed dial anyone since I'd need to know the country codes Im dialing to and from and all of that. I would be helpless.
I attempted to sleep, heartened somewhat by the fact that I was linked across the oceans by airwaves that transcended time zones to someone who knew about my situation and cared about me very much.
Worst Case Scenario: At least I could say my last words if I were to start dying at any point in the night.
That did hearten me.
Just that much.

First Day in Dublin (Because Yesterday Doesnt Count)

First of all, Id like to say that I slept gloriously in an actual bed last night. You can hardly classify napping in bus seats and on planes as 'sleeping.' Also, surprisingly enough, I was tired at the right time in DUBLIN time, which is 5 hours ahead of US time. I figured Id also get up at a easonable time too.
I was wrong. I got up around 1ish.
I could have slept all day too. Bleck.
But I felt guilty for sleeping so late so I dragged my booty out of bed and staggered across the hall to the bathroom where I had another glorious shower.
Then I looked over my depressing clothing options. And I looked out the window at the gray skies.
And I put on about 4 shirts and a heavy sweatshirt.
Note to self: next time bring an actual jacket.
I then proceeded to put make up on. And then take it off.
Im beginning to like the freshfaced me.
I may not have clearasil clear skin but at least it cuts down my morning routine by about half an hour! And during the day I dont have to worry about smudging anything by accident.
I never thought Id get to this point in my life.
Still depressed about the clothing options though.
Downstairs, Alessandra is getting ready to go to work.
She tells me all about the different things I can do and see in Dubin and writes notes and directions down for me.
Then she tells me Im free to stay and hang out until I want to go out and leaves me a spare key to let myself in later tonight since she and Leila will have school until late.
I honestly could not ask for a better first Couchsurfing experience.
These girls are such sweethearts, they really are, to open their hearts and home to me; a complete stranger.
After Alessandra leaves for work, I finish my cereal and grab the umbrella she let me borrow for the day.
Then I lock up behind me and head out to traverse the streets of Dublin on my own.
I made my way down Cork street to St. Patricks cathedral.
I was absolutely parched so I stopped at a little cafe for some juice.
When I entered the shop, the woman behind the counter told me tea or coffee only snce they were closing up.
So I bought nuclear hot tea before entering the gate to the lawn and garden beside the cathedral.
A group of boys asked me to take their picture in front of the church so I obliged. Then I asked if they'd take mine too. It was nice. I was really enjoying myself.
Its still so surreal that Im actually walking around the streets of Dublin, Ireland.
Then I made my way over to Christ's Church, but of course it was closed until the service at 6. From there I wandered in the direction of what I hoped was Dame Street.
But somehow I made a terribly wrong detour and ended up in a very ghetto section of Dublin along the quays.
However, it made for some great photos. To be displayed upon my return home. Since I took them on my nice DSLR and I need to work them in RAW.
I wasn't really worried though I was still enjoying this whole thing.
I asked a few people who pointed me in the right direction and made my way along the streets taking pictures as I went.
I stopped and bought a sub at subway to put in my purse for later. Thank God I haven't been too hungry I don't want to afford any food right now.
I somehow ended up back at OConnoll Street, the city center around 7. Exhausted from all my walking around I decided to just take a bus back to Alessandras.
I got on the 122 bus and actually got off at the right stop!
Then I let myself in, made some more tea, and sat down to the laptop for some endless uploading.
Now Im going to get off this thing to give Leila and Alessandra a chance at their own laptop heh.

Couch Surfing

I slept horribly, draped across two adjoining chairs in the Frankfurt Airport for about 4 or 5 hours until my flight to Dublin was ready for boarding around 12:00. The flight to Dublin was a sleepy blur and I was finally there!
For some reason I was heartened by the different scenery. It wasnt like Germany where I had experienced such lonliness and anxiety. It felt so far away now here in this new place.
I began to feel excited again.
And heartened when I realized I could still bring up and read old emails from my phone.
Emails from Alessandra, the girl who replied to my request for couch surfing via couchsurfing.com.
Here was another small miracle.
I had her address and rough directions to her house.
I waited about 10 minutes for my baggage before hefting it on my back again, snugging it securely against the growing bruises on my hips, before heading to the tourist and travel information center.
Thank god there was more English here.
I bought a Rambler pass and was pointed towards the 747 double decker bus to OConnol Street, where the main bus station and routes were.
I marveled at the barbed wire laced brick walls and the fact that we were driving on the left side of the street. And all those little compact cars. It still felt so surreal that I was actually here.
Before I knew it we were arriving at OConnol Street.
It was sprinkling a little now.
I had a map in my hands and hope in my heart as I crossed the street to catch the 122 bus, or the 16a, or...I hooked my thumbs into my straps and strode briskly by the stops trying to make sense of the street names and routes. I got on a wrong bus and promptly got off of it.
It started to rain harder.
I walked under the trees.
I asked a few bus stop waiters.
About the fourth person I asked actually had helpful information. It just so happened I had finally arived at the right stop and then lo and behold the bus showed up.
I sat right in the front so as to not miss my stop, speaking jovially of my heavy pack with the lovely old couple across from me.
The old woman with a prominent moustache next to me kept commenting on how much of a brave gal I was as I frantically sought to scan building for street signs as we jounced through the city.
Between the lovely old couple and the kindly grandmother next to me we sorted it out. They told me when to get off the bus and I ended up getting off at Cork at South Central Road where I walked back down South Center looking for her house number.
At long long last, my shoulders and hips aching, I had found it.
Her friend Danielle greeted me at the door and I was filled with relief. I had made it!
She showed me to the guest room where I left my things.
Then she showed me to the laptop where I emailed concerned friends and family.
And then I had a glorious shower.
And watched Two and a Half Men while I blogged my brains out.

Severance From The World

Frankfurt Airport, Germany

How ironic it is.
I end my first entry extolling the wonders of technology and now I find myself far from her safe embrace.
Upon arriving in Frankfurt at long last I enabled my network on my Blackberry Storm in anticipation. I longed to be connected again across the ocean, comforted.
But an icy grip clenched my chest as I read the message displayed, 'SIM card rejected, data service unavailable.'
No, no, no, nein!
Now its just me and God in this foreign land.
Except God speaks German and I dont.
I wandered around dumbstruck to my gate, trying so very hard to keep the panic at bay.
Stay calm.
I see a currency exchange booth.
Ah, heres something. One less thing to worry about.
My heart sinks again as my $294 US Dollars turns into 182.01 Euros.
This grand adventure smells more like a nightmare.
After pocketing whats left of my money I look around.
Computers? Phones? Help?
I see a calling card kiosk and spend 20 Euros for an international card. Then I ask a police officer where the pay phones are.
Once I get to the pay phones I find out that they dont accept calling cards. I give the operator my credit card number as I stare dumbly at all the german on the screen in front of me.
I give him Tims number and he puts me through. As soon as I hear his voice I break down. I tell him my problem and he searches the internet helplessly for an international number or a 24-hour service number.
I agonize over the cost of this phone call.
I tell him I can make it to Ireland without my phone. I ask him to do what he can and Ill just contact him once I get to Ireland .
For all the signs pointing me here on this journey all m getting now are bad omens.
I pray but Ive never felt more alone.

Airborn Over The Atlantic

On roughly 4 hours of fitfull sleep he drove me though the rain to the bus station in the city. Once we got there we choked back tears and jackhammer hearts and said our goodbyes for the second time that week. Our time together is always too breif.
I boarded the bus as the sky began to clear.
I shivered in the heavy air conditioning, nauseaous with fatigue, an hour or so to our first stop. In Binghampton I pulled two extra shirts from my pack and made my way to the only free seat- all the way in the back with the bathroom traffic.
Onced warmed by new layers I fell into an exhausted coma.
Upon waking I noticed I was no longer alone. A shirtless yoth sat dozing beside me, a skateboard on his knee and road burns on his arms.
I slept.
I woke.
I slept.
I woke and tried to quietly take pictures of me and my dozing companion. I am trying to be vigilant in documenting this grand adventure.
At long last we made it to New York City.
Not Penn Station as I had assumed, but the Port Authority Terminal.
I shouldered my behemoth neon backpack in the bowels of the station and made my way into its dark fluroescent green belly.
Now I was a bit nervous and bewildered.
I moved up an escalator to escape the stench of urine and body odor and followed signs toward ´Busses To Airport.`
For some reason this made me even more confused as it kept leading to dead ends.
The flickering oily yellw light only fed my anxiety as I went from sign to sign and back.
Finally I saw hope.
An official looking office.
I explained to the two women that I was lost and needed instructions as to how to get from here to JFK International Airport.
Maps and penmarks and more confusion later, the older woman with the lazy eye decided she would show me the way, an odd mixture of annoyance and concern on her face.
Upon exiting the officious looking office she asked if I was affiliated with the USO.
I think the blank look on my face answered her question fairly clearly. She shook her head in dissaproval and muttered about how they were only supposed to help those in the service.
I meekly thanked her for her troubles and followed at her heels until we reached the subway.
Once there, she swiped her metro card for me and pointed me towards the E Train towards Queens to Jamaica Station.
Ive never been on the subway before.
I was tired and trying not to feel overwhelmed by my solitude and the unknown.
I stood gripping a pole in the center until the car cleared out enough for me and my pack to have a seat.
I stared at my pathetic reflection in the window.
I listened to a young woman and an old man talk about carpe diem.
I watched a black man with no hair brushing his head.
The passengers dwindled. A Korean girl in greek sandals and a white dress asked if I was going to the airport. She smiled and told me it was the next stop, at Sutfin Station. I smiled and thanked her.
So I did look as lost as I felt. Not a good omen.
The car slowed and I stood up.
I followed the white dress at a brisk pace up an escalator or two before reaching a row of turnstyles.
I forked over $5 for an airbus card and sped up to catch up with the girl again.
I watched her dash into a doorway-the airbus.
My racing heart relaxed as I got on.
She saw me and smiled, then made her way over to me.
She asked if I was going to Terminal 1.
Panic again.
She pointed to a chart and a map oin the wall and we found my airline, Lufthansa-Terminal 1.
Theres a small mirace.
We made small talk about language as we raced along the tracks above a terrain of roofs and train yards.
Before I knew it, were were there-Terminal 1.
The rest was a breeze. I had made it this time, and with plenty of extra time to spare.
Im writing this now by cabin light and the sky to my right is darkening, the moon a brilliant disk floating on an azure sea of clouds. I empathized with the moon.
I have no idea what time it is anywhere or how long weve been in the air or how long we have left.
I only know that I will be in Germany in a matter of hours. And from there to Dublin, where I embark across a foreign continent to expand my horizons and become a word citizen.
Germany, then Dublin.
But also leagues and miles and timezones away from everyone I love and everything I know.
It will be a task to not dwell on these heavy things.
I have hopes that technology will soften this pain- we are al connected through its all encompassing reaches.
But for now, my heart aches.

An Act Of God: SNAFU

Today's date is July 2nd. I am supposed to be writing this from London. BUT. I'm still in Syracuse.

Let me break it down for you.

The facts:
I had a flight through British Airways from JFK to London at 7:35 pm on July 1st.

(Side note: I had actually purchased two tickets. One for me, and one for my friend/roomate Amanda who was going with me. Well. About two weeks ago she said she wasn't going anymore, but she'd pay me back. Last week she decided to bail out completely, packed up half her stuff and disapeared. No notes, no calls, no money, no nothing. Awesome.)

So. My flight to London was flying out of NYC. Somehow I had to get to NYC to make my flight. I had originally planned on maybe taking a bus or a train. Then someone suggested I take a plane to JFK. I checked and compared prices, and they all averaged out to be about the same. I decided that taking a plane straight to to airport I was flying out of would be my smartest option. So I booked a flight from Syracuse to NYC, leaving at 2:40. Did you get all that?

I got up early, ran around like a chicken with my head cut off finishing last minute details, then finally made it to the airport. However,

I had purchased a EuRail pass for my stay in Europe, to be expedited and arrive at my doorstep on June 29th. Monday. Well, it was Wednesday and no Rail pass. That I spent $40 extra to get to me on time. So on the way to the airport I called them.

Apparently I had entered the address wrong online and so its been sitting at the FedEx warehouse this whole time. And they didn't think to call me or anything to let me know. Now its too late to go pick it up.

My mom calms me down and tells me she'll just air mail it to my uncles in England, where I'd be meeting up with him in a few weeks. Okay, one crisis averted.

Airport. I get there and say my teary-eyed goodbyes and make my way to my gate. So far, everything looks good, still on schedule.

wait until 2:40. Nothing. Then I hear an announcement that the plane we are waiting for to fly us to New York, is coming to GET us from New York, and...it hasn't even left yet. Due to severe storm conditions. They estimate maybe 30 minutes before wheels up and then we'd be out in about an hour.

While I'm waiting, I text my boyfriend Tim. He was with my mom at the FedEx warehouse. I tell him about the delay and they agree to come back and drop off the package to me at the airport.

My mom gives the package to the security guard who scans it through the machine and hands it to me. I go back to my gate and relax a bit. Things are looking up now. I sit there some more, trying not to fall asleep while I listen to an old man and a pilot talking about iphones behind me.

An hour drags by. Another announcement. Still no plane.

More time passed. Now the plane is here but no one is authorized to land in JFK due to continuing hazardous weather conditions. They're telling us now that we're expected to be clear for 6:00. However, the crew that is boarding us can only legally stay scheduled until ten to 6. They are now in the process of trying to get a few minutes shaved off the official time to get us on the plane.

Now it's 5:20 and they tell us we can start boarding at 5:40.

I could still make my flight if I run.

We all board the plane and it taxis to the runway, where we sit, awaiting clearance into JFK.

Clearance that never comes. We sit on the runway until 7:05 before turning around to deboard and disband.

Now I'm panicking. I assume I can just rebook. But I wasn't thinking. I had booked the two flights sepparately. Deltas cancellation into JFK causing my no-show to London is NOT British Airways fault.

I call Delta, I call British Airways, I call my travel agency, I call Delta again and British Airways, I call everyone. I sit outside in the nice and peaceful evening crying and on hold for the better part of 2 hours before my phone dies. I watch the sun go down, and my heart sinks and darkens with the sky as each heavy moment passes. The reality is that I just spent $1070 to waste an entire hopeful day alone in an airport.

Around 9:00 pm parents finally come to pick me up and bring me back home to the place I had been so hopeful of leaving only a few hours ago. In one day I went from the highest hopes to the darkest depths. All of that hard work and long hours I put in to save up to make that money all for nothing. I have never been so close to fulfilling a dream. Everytime I get this close something out of my control slams the door shut. I work so hard to make it all work out!

But I believe it was an act of God that got me this far and ironically it was an act of God that prevented me from going anywhere. The lord giveth and he taketh away.

So now what do I do? Simple.
I roll with the punches and I try again.
I am determined.

So I woke up this morning and booked yet another flight: $886.

JFK-Dublin, Ireland on July 6th

Madrid, Spain-JFK on October 5th

This time I'm not taking a plane to JFK. I'll take a bus. Maybe I'll go a day early and camp out until my flight comes in.

I-AM-GOING.

This time around things have changed though. I'm out that $886 that could have floated me for a month in Europe. Now I'm reduced to surviving on about $30 a day. Since I'm still staying for 3 months. It's going to be quite the adventure.

Also, I am re-evaluating the items I had originally packed. My bag is way to heavy. I am going to cut it down to the bare bones. Being a girl who fashion is everything to, this is going to be a personal challenge. But I'm totally up to it.

So I might be a little dirty and hungry in Europe. No biggie. At least I'll be there.

In the meantime I have to re-plan alot of things and not spend any money, and not drive anywhere, since, oh irony, I took my car off the road.

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