The guy on the top bunk starts making a racket at 7 this morning.
Perfect. No need for the alarm clock.
I turn it off and hop on the shower. I eat the usual toast, tea, and cereal then wait around in the common area for Tamara to show up. At around 8:45 she comes and sits down next to me. She feels bad for being late but I don't mind one bit after yesterday's debacle. She hasn't eaten yet and shes flustered from being late, but she's ready to go with me. I tell her to go eat, take your time, and I'll be right here. After she eats she finds a hostel for me in Paris.
This is a good place. The people are simpthique she tells me.
It's right by Bastille and it's cheap, so it sounds good to me.
I check out of the hostel, throw my pack over my shoulders, and we head to the east end of London. We head to the Royal Bank of England, The Monument, The Tower of London, and The Tower Bridge. The Tower Bridge is massive. Suspended below it, high above The River Thames are the Olympic Rings. The past few days, the English have been preparing for The Games as if they were gearing up for war and preparing to be invaded.
I take pictures of everything. I ask someone to take a picture of me and Tamara in front of the Tower of London. I show it to her.
"I am jzealous. Its simpathique."
We go and grab lunch, dejeuner, in a restaurant. Then we decide to head back. We take the metro to Kings Cross station instead of walking back.
After we get off the metro i immediately start speeding around kings cross station. I'm pretty sure she thinks I'm insane, but I don't care.
Where is it??
I see the signs for platforms 9 and 10 and bolt in that direction. Shes following me wondering what the hell I'm doing.
There it is. Platform 9 3/4.
She starts laughing. It's one of the first times I've really seen her laugh.
I start laughing.
I have made the pilgrimage to Harry Potter Mecca. I ask her to take my picture pushing the trolley into the wall and she wants one too. And another.
We finally head back to the hostel where we'll say goodbye and I'll head off to Stansted Airport.
We get back, a kiss on each cheek, and I'm off to print my boarding pass and find a bus.
I find an Internet cafe and book the lot. I print them and start walking to the bus stop. It's across town, regents park and queen Mary's gardens are nearby, and I'm delighted. I stroll through the gardens on my way to the bus stop.
They look simpathique, but I'm not sure. Tamara is not here to tell me.
I get to the bus stop. I have a few pounds left and there's a pub there. I go inside and ask for a half pint of Guiness. I'm playing it safe. No cask ales. There's a round-faced man next to me in a suit. He looks at me funny when I only order a half.
I'm leaving the UK.
"Where to?"
Carndonagh, Ireland. I haven't been since I was young.
He laughs. "Well I reckon it's changed a bit since you were there."
We talk about football, he supports Arsenal. He roars when I mention Manchester United's financial problems.
"That's what happens when you sell your soul to an American."
We talk about everything. He lived in New York for 7 years. His daughter plays lacrosse. Big in the states, small here. He jokes around with the pretty girls behind the bar. A girl with jet-black hair from Milan and a blonde from Milan. A brunette from London. He's obviously a regular. He must use this bus stop to get home from work.
He leaves to catch his bus and wishes me a pleasant stay in Stansted Hotel. He knows I'm sleeping in the terminal. I'm left with the girl with the dark hair. She's very nice, and has a wonderful accent. She asks me to promise that I will eat spaghetti carbonara in Roma.
I do.
I thank her for the guinness and I hop on the bus to Stansted. I arrive an hour later. I have a 6:25am flight, so I walk inside, planning to sleep on the benches in the terminal.
Welcome to the worlds biggest hostel.
Bodies scattered everywhere. I hover over the benches, looking for one that doesn't have arm rests. There are none that aren't occupied. An old man gets up and I pounce.
An arm-less bench I can call my own.
I roll out the sleeping bag, lock my pack to the bench, set two different alarms (one on my alarm clock and one on my watch), and try to fall asleep.
It's almost as comfortable as the hostel. Almost.
Perfect. No need for the alarm clock.
I turn it off and hop on the shower. I eat the usual toast, tea, and cereal then wait around in the common area for Tamara to show up. At around 8:45 she comes and sits down next to me. She feels bad for being late but I don't mind one bit after yesterday's debacle. She hasn't eaten yet and shes flustered from being late, but she's ready to go with me. I tell her to go eat, take your time, and I'll be right here. After she eats she finds a hostel for me in Paris.
This is a good place. The people are simpthique she tells me.
It's right by Bastille and it's cheap, so it sounds good to me.
I check out of the hostel, throw my pack over my shoulders, and we head to the east end of London. We head to the Royal Bank of England, The Monument, The Tower of London, and The Tower Bridge. The Tower Bridge is massive. Suspended below it, high above The River Thames are the Olympic Rings. The past few days, the English have been preparing for The Games as if they were gearing up for war and preparing to be invaded.
I take pictures of everything. I ask someone to take a picture of me and Tamara in front of the Tower of London. I show it to her.
"I am jzealous. Its simpathique."
We go and grab lunch, dejeuner, in a restaurant. Then we decide to head back. We take the metro to Kings Cross station instead of walking back.
After we get off the metro i immediately start speeding around kings cross station. I'm pretty sure she thinks I'm insane, but I don't care.
Where is it??
I see the signs for platforms 9 and 10 and bolt in that direction. Shes following me wondering what the hell I'm doing.
There it is. Platform 9 3/4.
She starts laughing. It's one of the first times I've really seen her laugh.
I start laughing.
I have made the pilgrimage to Harry Potter Mecca. I ask her to take my picture pushing the trolley into the wall and she wants one too. And another.
We finally head back to the hostel where we'll say goodbye and I'll head off to Stansted Airport.
We get back, a kiss on each cheek, and I'm off to print my boarding pass and find a bus.
I find an Internet cafe and book the lot. I print them and start walking to the bus stop. It's across town, regents park and queen Mary's gardens are nearby, and I'm delighted. I stroll through the gardens on my way to the bus stop.
They look simpathique, but I'm not sure. Tamara is not here to tell me.
I get to the bus stop. I have a few pounds left and there's a pub there. I go inside and ask for a half pint of Guiness. I'm playing it safe. No cask ales. There's a round-faced man next to me in a suit. He looks at me funny when I only order a half.
I'm leaving the UK.
"Where to?"
Carndonagh, Ireland. I haven't been since I was young.
He laughs. "Well I reckon it's changed a bit since you were there."
We talk about football, he supports Arsenal. He roars when I mention Manchester United's financial problems.
"That's what happens when you sell your soul to an American."
We talk about everything. He lived in New York for 7 years. His daughter plays lacrosse. Big in the states, small here. He jokes around with the pretty girls behind the bar. A girl with jet-black hair from Milan and a blonde from Milan. A brunette from London. He's obviously a regular. He must use this bus stop to get home from work.
He leaves to catch his bus and wishes me a pleasant stay in Stansted Hotel. He knows I'm sleeping in the terminal. I'm left with the girl with the dark hair. She's very nice, and has a wonderful accent. She asks me to promise that I will eat spaghetti carbonara in Roma.
I do.
I thank her for the guinness and I hop on the bus to Stansted. I arrive an hour later. I have a 6:25am flight, so I walk inside, planning to sleep on the benches in the terminal.
Welcome to the worlds biggest hostel.
Bodies scattered everywhere. I hover over the benches, looking for one that doesn't have arm rests. There are none that aren't occupied. An old man gets up and I pounce.
An arm-less bench I can call my own.
I roll out the sleeping bag, lock my pack to the bench, set two different alarms (one on my alarm clock and one on my watch), and try to fall asleep.
It's almost as comfortable as the hostel. Almost.
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