Summer 2012 - Day 13

Today's post should be shorter than the post for Day 12.

I woke up early and made myself some food for breakfast before helping Dad feed his cows and the cats. I took a nap on the couch until about 10am, when I had another sausage, then got ready to go to Rapids with my mother. We went to the bank and I signed the will documents in front of the Notary. Then we went to the hardware store and the West Side IGA.

The new shed.

Ack! Some weirdo lives here! Oh, it's just my dad.

There was scary construction work happening at the shed - use of a circular saw in ways that scared the living crap out of me, so I avoided it by walking around, taking other photos.

Some random shots - on the left, when I was a child, that area was full of daisies. 

When I get back, my parents gave me a task of picking rocks out of dirt. My sister later asked me why they had me do that, to which I replied that it was a discrete task that they wanted done and did not involve dangerous power tools, so I figured that I might as well do it.

Summer 2012 - Day 12

I awoke today and waited in my bed in the hostel until most of the other people in the room (2 of the 3) had left. The final resident was still asleep when I assembled all of my things and went downstairs to go online, eat breakfast, and check out of the hostel - but not in that order. I decided to take pictures of the Olympics Medal board, because, you know, America won, with the highest medal count ('MERICA!). The three photos below are a progression of my realization that someone - a rogue Australian - had sabotaged the board. We corrected the first three countries, but since I am an American, I only pay attention to where America is in the standings (seriously, don't expect any more - I try to be worldly, but ... 'MERICA!). I knew that China was second (and only because they've replaced the Soviet team as our primary rivals), and the UK was third (which I only know because, apparently, this is a BFD for the UK, or something), but we (myself and the other people in the Lounge - not even all Americans) had no idea if the rest of the countries were correct.

Around 9:30, I set out for the tube to the airport - Victoria line at Oxford Circus to Green Park, where I transferred to the Piccadilly line to Heathrow Terminals 1,2,3, & 5. Near the end, when the announcer was telling us how to transfer to the train that would take us to Terminal 4, I hopped off the train when I saw a list at one station that indicated which airlines were located at which terminals. I saw "American Airlines 3", and hopped right back on the same train. After two more stops, we were at Terminals 1, 2, and 3. I got off and followed the signs to the correct location.

I checked in at the computer self-check-in thingies, and got in line to go through the baggage check thing. No one would confirm that my suitcase would be ok as a carry-on piece, and I refused (completely irrationally too) to use the provided little cage thing to make sure that it was ok. I had so much time, that waiting in lines did not concern me, so I got in the line that led to another line. In the second line, I eyed my fellow humans in line, with their huge suitcases, and wondered what they could possibly have in there, or how long their trips had been, that required so much baggage.

At the front of the line, I gave my passport and boarding pass to a UK immigration official, who quizzed me about my time there and what I did for a living. Then I went to the baggage check, and decided to check my case after all, and only slightly lamented giving my Burt's Bees shampoo to the hostel that morning. After that, I began to walk in the direction of the gates. Before getting there, however, I had to get rid of my pounds, so I went to the airport gym and worked out stepped up to one of the currency converters, and handed over my notes. The woman told me that I could get an even number of dollars if I had just a few more pounds, which I just happened to have, including the change. I left with my dollars, and just enough pounds to get myself some food for lunch, which was my next stop. I contemplated getting a Fish Finger Wrap, but instead chose a Persian Chicken Wrap and a sparkling water. I tossed the paper-wrapped wrap into my purse, then quickly drank my sparkling water when I realized that I hadn't even been through security yet. But with my liquids safely stored in my belly, I passed through the security gauntlet quickly, then walked into The Mall, as I call it, that constitutes some part of Heathrow.

In Heathrow, I guess that there aren't enough gates to allow people to wait at their gate for hours before boarding, so people wait in a large room surrounded by Duty Free shops of every possible kind. We watch screens that list our destination city, and about a half hour before departure, the screen tells us which gate to go to.

First, I switched both of my phones off, instead of waiting until I was on the plane, then ducked into a perfumeria to take advantage of the free testers and make myself smell pretty for the flight. My flight was still waiting to be assigned, so I walked around, looking for the toy shop I had seen four years ago on my layover from Madrid to SFO, with no luck. Men in suits, women in sari's, and a whole lot of other people sat at the tables in the middle of the action, weary from travel. I just walked and looked at all of the dry goods, luxuries, and sugary sweets whose sale runs the engine of humanity, Then I passed by another screen with a list of destination cities, saw the number 34 to the right of the word Chicago, and set off to the right gate.

I walked forever before I got to 34, then had like 3 or 4 people examine my passport and boarding pass in succession before I got to the holding pen they put us in before they could open the door into the mobile hallway connected to the plane. I was glad that they had so much scrutiny, because there are some pesky shapeshifters that make their way into the human race and wreak havoc with our plans. There were free newspapers and magazines available by the door, most of which looked painfully boring. I picked up China Today, then read about western companies having more of a luxury image in China, due to the, apparently, immature nature of Chinese consumer culture. I ate my wrap, used my last two pounds to get a vitamin water, and continued to wait to board. Time passed, and finally, we were allowed on the plane.

I had a window seat for this flight, over the wing. I plugged my headphones into the jack, and found that it was, well, jacked. I had to twist and turn the [whatever that part that holds the metal bit is called] just to get sound into one of the ear buds. I listened to the classical music as we taxied, endlessly, to the runway. When the plane turned, I looked back at the line of airplanes from various airlines waiting behind us. We aligned with the runway, and sped up, faster and faster, until the properties of air took over and lifted our giant metal container up above the weather.

The flight was going to be 7 and a half hours or so, and I knew from my last two flights, that sleep would be impossible. The headphones made it difficult to even want to look into the entertainment system, so I spent a lot of my time sitting, somewhat bored.

I did get up and stand, near one of the lavatories, which had a clogged sink. I alerted the flight attendants to the issue, and they came up to investigate. When the flight attendant checked it out, she and I told a young girl who had been waiting to use the lavatory that she had to use another one. However, I noticed that she went back and spoke with her father, who had to accompany her to a different lavatory. I realized that the ambient noise on the plane probably drowned out the words that the flight attendant and I were telling her, and she didn't understand why we were telling her that she couldn't use that lavatory. The flight attendants fixed the clog, and all was right again with the facilities, but probably not with the family of the girl we had directed to the back. After things died down, I headed back to where the kid and her dad were, and explained exactly what happened, so they weren't left thinking that a flight attendant and a random woman went and made life harder for them, for no reason. Then all really was right - at least in my immediate vicinity.

Back at my seat, I took out my notebook, and went to my notes on the nature and volume of earth's atmosphere. I had started the notes in January, but finished the calculations. There is a post on my "main" blog with the results of those calculations.

During the first few hours of the trip, we were served a meal, and we had the options of chicken with rice and carrots, and a mushroom ravioli. The crew assured us that both were delicious, in case they ran out of either one, but as a former vegetarian, I could hear their lack of understanding the consequences for certain passengers. I contemplated not being a part of the problem for those vegetarians aboard, but my desire to not eat food that I considered boring trumped my inclination to be nice, and I got the ravioli.

Yes, I know that I said that I hated mushrooms, but what I dislike is the texture of whole or sliced mushrooms, not the taste of them all mashed up.

There was a tiny salad, the portion of ravioli, water, which I did consume, and then a bunch of packages of various dry carbohydrates, which were left on the tray. I overheard half of an interaction between a flight attendant and someone in front of me, that went like this:

Person: [I technically did not hear what was said, but from the response, I can guess it was this] "What is this?"
Flight Attendant: Bread
Person: [Again, not technically heard, but assumed] Is there meat in it?
Flight Attendant: There isn't any meat in bread
Person: [Not heard, assumed] What is it?
Flight Attendant: [pausing for a second to find where he stored this information in his brain] It's like processed wheat and....

He trailed off since I guess the Person indicated that they understood. I'm sure that the person just had poor English skills, and probably realized what it was with the word 'wheat', but wasn't sure of the word 'bread'. Still, I knew that I just had to remember that, and share. Anyway, I ate, then they took the tray, things happened, we flew over Greenland, then into Canada. At two hours to land, the flight attendant came by with Customs cards and immigration forms, and first was handing out forms in Spanish, instead of English. She corrected that mistake, but handed the people in the seat in front of me forms in Chinese, by accident, and joked, "You mean you didn't know that you were supposed to learn Chinese before you got to America?"

They then fed us the second, smaller meal, which smelled delicious, but turned out to be a small, deep-dish cheese pizza (hey, I just realized that they must have served that item because we were landing in Chicago, and all it took was a few days and writing about it). I appreciated the appeal to all of the vegetarians, but I also laughed at the message this meal was sending. To me, it said, "Welcome to America, HERE ARE A BUNCH OF CARBS!" or, to be more explicit, "Welcome to America, THIS IS WHY WE ARE SO FAT!" I just ate the cheese and tomato sauce out of the pizza crust and the tiny package of grapes, ignoring the other various packages of shaped carbohydrates on the tray.

We saw a video about going through customs in America, and a Welcome to America video, showing people of various ages and races, all smiling and friendly. Our descent began over Michigan, then we flew over the south end of the lake, and I could see clear from the Michigan side, over Indiana, to Illinois. We flew north of the city, and I could see what looked like just a small clump of buildings, but it really was Chicago. I kept thinking of Richard Gere in that movie, explaining away a situation as "That's Chicago, baby." I'm not sure that I can express to you how much I love that city, and how it has nothing to do with the politics, and everything to do with the way I feel standing among some of the tallest buildings in the world - all in the middle of the American Midwest.

We landed, and it was a pretty jerky one, but we were on the ground and 20 minutes early to boot, at 3pm. After another endless taxi, we hooked up to the gate, and got off of the plane. I couldn't remember what the three steps were for customs, though I'm pretty sure that the first one wasn't "walk forever", but we did that before approaching two lines of people. A customs agent, or airport employee, verbally directed US Citizens and Green Card Holders to the left, and "esta" visa holders to the right. As is my wont, I examined the people, looking for something visual that might differentiate the two. I can't say that I was surprised, but I guess I was somewhat struck by the lack of difference in the groups. Both were the same random mix of human beings, mostly with skin tones of varying shades of beige, covering skeletons of most of the "types" that anthropologists have identified.

We rounded the corner of the line, I had a conversation with a mother and son of Georgian (the country) descent, and we finally got to the end of that line. We were then let into the second line, which wove around those things that they use to corral crowds like they have at, you know, customs. At one point, I could see the customs officers, and I noticed that, even though each cubicle-thing allowed for two workers, there was only one per section. I can only guess as to why they were half-staffing the customs line at O'Hare, but if you never leave the US to see the rest of the world, you'll never have to suffer that line. I couldn't even count the backs and forths that we went through, but we did get to the end of that line, then were ready for the third line!

This was the shortest line, with a couple groups ahead of me before I got to the customs person. He examined my passport, asked me a few questions, stamped it, and welcomed me home. I walked out into the baggage area, full, full, full of suitcases. Carousels were packed, and the bags from previous flights were stacked off to the side of some of them. I tracked down some kind of employee, and asked where the bags from my flight were (well, I didn't just say "my flight", but I don't want to type my exact flight information on this publicly available blog). He got me going in the right direction, and I got the specific location from another employee. The bags from my flight were still rounding a carousel, packed in as snuggly as possible, so I stood and waited, then spotted my light green case, grabbed it, and headed for the door.

I paused to survey the room, full of people's belongings, all stuffed into various cloth boxes and bags. No one there could tell you whose bags were whose, except for the owner of that bag. I guess that the expected value of the contents of any one case is significantly reduced by the possibility of encountering someone else's dirty underwear, and that helps keep, I don't know, everyone from deliberately taking someone else's luggage. I haven't heard of anyone losing their luggage from a flight and never getting it back. Keep that in mind, and get a little perspective during those few days when you wait for the airline to correct their mistake of routing your bags to the wrong city. And think about what this says about your fellow human beings, Calvin be damned.

At 4:45, according to when I called my mom, I finally left customs. After some confusion, a number of phone calls, and checking my work email, my mother finally arrived in her Ford Escape. We got a little turned around, but were finally on our way to Wisconsin. We stopped at one of my other favorite Chicago features - one of the Oasises, Lake Forest - which used to be just one giant fast food restaurant, but is now more like a food court with lots of choices, suspended over the interstate highway. When I was a kid, the Belvedere Oasis was the McDonald's, I think another one was a Hardee's, and that Lake Forest was actually a Wendy's, which we never went to because my family had no familiarity with the Wendy's chain, since there wasn't one in Rapids.

While Mom got gas, I walked over to the Oasis to see what they had. I got a medium coffee at Starbucks, then decided to get two pieces of Original Recipe dark meat chicken at KFC. I found Mom, and she went off to get her own food, then we went to the gas station so she could get a beverage, and we were off, on our way to home. I told stories, and listened to Mom's stories, then we got into Milwaukee and arrived at my sister's place. Mom had used this trip to get me to also pick up her expensive, but quality Adirondack chairs, and they were in the back of the SUV. We had to leave one at my sister's place, however, in order to make room for my sister to sit in the vehicle. We parked near her house, unloaded things, and brought a chair into her house. After talking for a little while with her roommate, and playing with the kitties, Mom, Sister, and I really set out for home. My throat became parched from all of the great conversation, from my own stories, their stories, and sharing information from documentaries, like the BBC's Lost Kingdoms of Africa.

When we were by Menasha, Dad called, and, at the same time, Sister indicated that she was a little lost. Mom and Sister were attempting to figure out where we were, and how we could get to where we wanted to be. At the same time, Dad was in my ear, wondering where we were, but Sister told me, several times, "don't say that," as I attempted to give Dad information that would directly answer his direct question. Eventually, Sister said "we're an hour and a half from home," I relayed the message to Dad, who said that he thought he would still be awake when we got home, but I was dubious. This happened some time after 9pm.

We continued the conversation throughout the rest of the trip, sailing through Stevens Point, and began the final, and most harrowing part of the trip, for me, at least. This part was all of the unlit county highways, leading to the state highway that leads to my parents' driveway. At any time during this segment (except for the part through the village, where there were lights and the speed limit was 25), a roughly 100 or 200 (I think) pound hoofed mammal's eyes would reflect the headlights, and it would dart into the path of our vehicle. The last time that this happened to me was in 2007, in a rental car, on the way down to Milwaukee, in the outskirts of Wisconsin Rapids. I saw the deer, applied the brakes, and swerved, just in time to look into the eyes of the terrified doe as she scrambled away with her life. We did not repeat anything like that during our drive home, arrived after 11pm, safe and sound, and found that Dad had gone to bed.

We talked a little more, I took out a few souvenirs, and gave Mom some of her gifts, changed for bed, then retreated upstairs, to my old room, to finally end Day 12.

Summer 2012 - Day 11

Alternate title: On how I went to Brick Lane and wanted to EAT ALL THE THINGS

I awoke today, and Friend made me a delicious breakfast. We then went out to get coffee at a nearby cafe, with a very cute waiter who sounded slightly like Roy from the IT Crowd, but I assume that he was Scottish. After drinking the coffee, Friend and I went to procure Scottish souvenirs. I had neglected to bring all of my cash, and couldn't buy all of the little things that I wanted, but with a 5 Pound note from Friend, I got the most important things.

Friend and I then returned to his place, probably talked, then I packed up my things for our trip to a cafe and the train station for my 1:30 train back to London. We had a delicious lunch at this one place, and I have this memory of talking about cranes, but that might not be accurate. I do talk about cranes a lot, actually, but I digress. After we ate and paid the bill, with me using up the last of my [#$*(&#ing] Scottish money [4 hour train ride north of London, in the same country, and they have different money, ><], I requested my suitcase from a waiter. I described it as green and hard, and he remarked, "oh, just like me in the morning". We then left and headed down to the train station, perhaps taking photographs along the way.

I recognized the station from the day before, when I sat back to eat my tikka masala Subway sub by a concrete structure. I went up to the post box, put a stamp on the post card, addressed it to Roommate, wrote a note to him about the buildings in Edinburgh, and dropped it in the box. Friend and I walked over to my train, then said our goodbyes.

I got on the train and settled into a much quieter car. I opted to listen to Morrissey on the train ride to London, and took a long time to figure out why I was sitting on the same side of the train as I was on the ride up, but still looking out on the same scenery. Then I realized that I had been facing backward on the ride up, but was facing forward on the ride down. I alternately sat in the seat, and stood in an alcove for the ride, not doing much at all.

[Kings Cross station and return to hostel]

[Train and walk to Brick Lane]

[Brick Lane yumminess, but lack of souvenirs. The bus back to hostel]

I was angry when I got back to the hostel, not because of anything that happened out on the streets, but because my new roommates were asleep, with the lights off, at like 10pm, and I was not yet tired. I went down to the lounge to hang out with the others in the hostel, and I spent my time trying to control my internal rage at these people for daring to exist in my vicinity. It wasn't their fault that they were sitting next to the angry panda, after all. Then, I finally went to bed, to end day 11.

Summer 2012 - Day 10

I had a Scottish Breakfast today, with black pudding, a tattie scone, haggis, sliced sausage, sausage, bacon (or the Brittish version), beans, a bread thing, tomatoes, hashbrowns, an egg, and some coffee.

The haggis and sliced sausage were gross, but the black pudding was delicious.

We then tried to go to a antique store, but it turned out to be closed. I was very amused by the Office Hours sign in the window as my father has the same one outside his office.

My dad has the exact same business hours.

I got a few other shots of Edinburgh.

Today was the day of the photo scavenger hunt, and my team included two 'strylans, which was key to our victory in the end, even though we got photos of fewer things. See, there were extra points for Australians in the photo, and all of our photos had at least one Australian.

Instructions and the map that my friend drew for me.

I saw lots of Edinburgh, and got caught in the rain at the end. Then we all looked at the photos, and went to another dorm area and had tacos. Later, they broke out Settlers of Catan. I wanted to play, but Friend told me not to. Later, I realized how right he was, and no longer felt that I was "being instructed not to play".

Summer 2012 - Day 9

Today, was a good day for stories. I got up early, but then went back to sleep and got up later. I discovered that some of my toiletries were missing, and figured that the Australian, who had just moved to a different room, had mistakenly assumed they were left by previous people, and took them. Then I accidentally blamed the French girls for taking them when I temporarily forgot that I had moved the remaining toiletries to another location. But I fixed this error, and left a note for the Australian.

The missing toiletry debacle really shook me, and it was like 9:30, so I arranged for a cab to the Kings Cross station, instead of taking the tube. The cab got to the hostel faster than I was expecting, but I was more or less ready to go. The cabbie had a non-British accent, and I found out that he was from Portugal.

At the train station, I got my ticket, then found some food, and navigated my way to the train. Then I got on the train, and was relieved to see that it was a Quiet car. I settled into my seat, and some bloke sat next to me. I attempted to give the evil eye to some guys who were being loud, consumed my consumables, and watched as my seatmate ordered 4 cans of Stella Artois from the drink cart for our 4.5 hour trip, starting at 10am.

I sat and wrote as we made our way up the east side of the island, and got more and more irritated by the loud guys in the seats ahead of me. I contemplated how I would confront them, then got up and enacted my plan with one set. Those guys were pretty receptive, but then someone told me that another set of guys were the real problem, so I asked them the same questions

Me: Can you read?
Guy: Yes
Me: [pointing to the Quiet Car sign] Can you read this to me?
Guy: This is a Quiet Car

The other guys were apologetic when we got to this point, but these guys doubled down and attempted to distract me from the issue at hand by asking me where I was going. Other people on the car got up to defend me, and indicate that I wasn't the only person irritated with their loud jokes and constant laughing. We got to a point where I was comfortable sitting back down, since the point had been made. I quickly identified these guys as common bullies, whose mothers' must have been unable to teach them some shame. They kept making comments about the encounter, and saying things like, "you can't do that on this car," but they were significantly quieter. I contemplated getting up and asking them if their mothers' had attempted to teach them some shame, but decided that no more theatrics were necessary.

After my seatmate's 2nd or 3rd beer, he started talking to me about stuff, and asked me where I was going. I was berated for my American accent, and learned that it is not Edinburough, it is Edinburgh, which is still not that easy to say properly with an American accent (and it makes me feel like a pompous twit).

He also talked about how we say aluminium wrong, and I tried to point out how Americans simplified the language in the early 20th century, and we actually removed that last i, too create Aluminum, but he was having none of it. We also discussed british television shows, and he didn't think too highly of the shows I watched - Peep Show, Dr. Who, as examples - but then got into American shows he liked. When he said that he liked Two and a Half Men, I realized that his opinions about television were completely irrelevant to me. I continued to smile and nod, to the best of my ability, and learned that my seatmate was in the British Army. He had hung out with some Navy Seals in the US once, and discovered that the Navy guys had been given a card with the following warning on it for hanging out with British soldiers: Do not drink, do not gamble, you will lose. My seatmate loved that they had this card, and I found it amusing too. The long and short is that British Military personnel can drink American Military personnel under the table. I just hope that the British NHS is good at treating liver disease.

As we got closer to Scotland, I moved to a different seat to have a better view of the water, took some videos, and braced myself for motion sickness that was being brought on, in part, due to lack of nutrients. My seatmate went and got himself a 5th beer as well, since the train was about 40 minutes late. There were also like 500 million people on the train, which is partially why the Quiet car was so chaotic. Eventually, we pulled into the Edinburgh station, and I got off the train, making sure not to make eye contact with the bullies as I walked past them.

I exited the train, and hoped that Friend would be at the station to meet me. Soon enough, I heard a familiar voice call my name, and hugged my friend.

Friend guided me through the crowded cobblestone streets of Edinburgh - during Festival time. Along the way, Friend told me that back in the 12th or 13th century, some disease worked its way through Edinburgh. Rather than cart off all of the bodies, the great people of the town decided to just build new buildings on top of all the bodies, and this is why Edinburgh cannot have an underground subway system. After several blocks, we got to a restaurant that served mussels. It wasn't the restaurant recommended by my seatmate on the train, and there was a wait, but the prospect of continuing to walk around to find another eating place, with my full purse and suitcase, was so overwhelming. Eventually, we had a seat, and I ordered a three course meal, with a goat cheese salad as a starter, a curried dish with mussels and other seafoods, and a dessert of some kind. The food was delicious, and we had great conversation. I learned, from Friend, that the real risk from the astronauts that went to the moon was not from moon germs, but from moon dust. Apparently, the dust is made of very fine, sharp particulates, and breathing them in would tear up one's lungs and KILL YOU. So, I guess, thank goodness for that modified Airstream Mobile Quarantine Unit, after all. Oh, I also had a bite of Friend's haggis, which wasn't so bad.

After eating, we went to Friend's dorm building, and I dropped off my things. We sat around for a while, and maybe I showered, before getting ready to leave. After a last minute pants-changing, we were off to meet with Friend's friends, for a pub crawl. We went to this yuppy Scottish pub, and stood around and talked for a while, until Friend decided that we had been there long enough, so we left. Then we went to one of the University buildings that was now part of the art festival, and toured some installations. Then we walked through the festival, and went to another school building for food. I got a Greek salad, and we talked

After that, Friend took me on a tour of the computer labs at his school, including a trip to the 8th floor to see Edinburgh at night.

Later, we sat down at some computers. I checked my mail and my facebook, then Friend showed me the thing that he had been working on all year. It was a program that analysed the emotions of a piece of writing, and we put the text from Day 7 into the little engine. It found many emotions, like anger, fear, joy, and other things that I cannot remember. We wrapped up, and had to get going to see the 11pm showing of Briefs, which I first thought was just a drag show, but later realized was an honest-to-goodness Vaudeville show! It was all levels of epicness, words would not do it justice.

After the show, Friend and I returned to the room, and we went to bed, which is where Day 9 ends.

Summer 2012 - Day 8

Alternate title: How my mother ruined Stonehenge for me

I got up early enough today, for my 8:10 pickup outside the McDonald's on Baker street. I woke my Australian roommate, and when she said "have a nice day" as she left for the showers, I realized that it was time to go, so I packed up things and went downstairs. The Hostel worker told me to take the Bakerloo line, and I did. But I could not see a McDonalds on Baker, so I wandered down the street and asked another clerk to point me in the right direction, which he did.

I got breakfast at McDonalds, but coffee at Costa, next door, so as to spread my money around. After eating my breakfast, I was happy to feel my irrational anger fade away, and I no longer just hated anyone who was simply walking sort-of near me. I waited for the Anderson Tours bus, and waited, and then it was 8:10, and I still waited. I think the bus arrived at like 8:15, and I restrained myself from yelling "YOU'RE LATE!" in my most obnoxious [my surname] voice. I got on the bus, and we were off to pick up more people. We were 10 minutes early to the next stop, and the other people were not there, even though the documents with the booking said "arrive 10 minutes early". I had arrived like a bajillion minutes early, myself - ok, more like 20, but it felt like a long time - but wasn't terribly concerned.

The other people on the bus had, apparently, asked if we were stopping anywhere for breakfast and coffee, and the tour guide allowed them to get out and go to a store nearby, but to much annoyance. She came back and asked me if I needed to go get breakfast, and when I told her that I already had breakfast. This earned me the moniker, that day, of "The Prepared One". Eventually, we were off to get someone else, and I thought we would be able to stop so I could get water (I wasn't THAT prepared, I guess), but we didn't.

Then we were off, finally, to Stonehenge. I began taking video of what I saw outside the bus as we neared the ruins, and all I could see was cows and sheep. Then I perchanced to look to the other side of the bus, and there it was! A big circle of rocks, some piled on each other, and a big swarm of humans with their visual recording devices.

We got off the bus and were told that we had an hour, which is really all you need. I accidentally walked right by the audio tours pick-up station (again, an overestimation of my ability to know what I'm supposed to do and underestimation of my tendency to wander in any random direction), but went back and alerted the staff that they "may need better signage," cuz I walked right by.

I went back to the henge, which, in modern archaeological terms means "circle of ruins or something", and in Ye Oldee English means "hanging". I listened to some parts of the audio tour, but I began to get annoyed with assumptions that thousands of ancient peoples worked really, really hard to dig some pretty shallow (IMO) ditches, and prop up a bunch of stones. I stopped listening to the audio tour, went far away from the other people, and made a video of the ruins with my cynical commentary over it. Then I went up to the ruins and made a proper, non-cynical video. I then listened to audio tour number 5, which prompted a second, and possibly funnier cynical video, wherein I impersonate the woman on the audio tour.

My main point, with these cynical videos, was that when you plan which "wonders of the world" or ruins to see, make Stonehenge number 1, and go to Machu Picu MUCH LATER. You will be a lot more impressed with Stonehenge as a result. I mean, I know that it is like 5000 years old, and the first, lasting achievement of people from the British Isles, or something like that, but I was reminded of the ruins of the old pig barn across from the cow barn at my grandparents' farm.

But I saw it, and got some great photos - it is, nevertheless, a very photogenic old ruin - and picked up my souvenirs. Then I got some food, and stopped at the stand outside the parking lot, by my bus, where a woman was selling strawberries, cherries, and raspberries. I was happy to share my own family history of selling fruits, and hopefully, she remembered the website name and can find us. I relayed tales of picking raspberries as a [partially terrified] child, and, when she asked if that meant that I was sick of them now, I told her that no, the taste reminded me of home, and the better memories of the farm. I got some raspberries, and a photo of the stand, and our bus left.

We were off to Bath, or Bah-th, as the English say. We passed by the biggest pig farm in the UK, and I took some video footage and noted that the English countryside looked like Wisconsin, because it does. Then I entertained myself by indulging my narcissism and watching my own videos.

The Roman Baths were pretty cool.

On top of the Roman Baths.

The Abbey as seen from the top of the Roman Baths.

A fuse blew while I was trying to buy my souvenirs and tribute for my host in Edinburgh. This was the second time, in the UK and during my entire trip, that I was present when someone plugged something in, and a fuse blew. Then I went to the Bath Abbey and rested in the pews, admiring the handiwork of medieval architects, and wrote some commentary on the flyer that the clergy gave me when I entered. I walked around the church, taking care to not step on any of the engraved markers on the floor, so that I did not contribute to their deterioration. I lamented my inability to buy anything at the gift shop because I didn't have luggage space and I didn't want to really give the church any more money. I had given them slightly more than the suggested donation to enter the abbey, but I do appreciate that they take care of the place, and completely recognize their need for money in order to do that.

After the Abbey, I considered going to see the Jane Austin Experience, even though I only know the Wishbone versions of Jane Austin novels, and have the distinct feeling that I would hate reading them - I just really like playing pretend, and like people that like it too. However, my concern that I would get completely lost in Bath trumped any desire to go hang out with people in costumes. Instead, I decided to sit in the square between the Abbey and the Baths and write post cards to my parents. I also ate the sandwich that I had purchased at Stonehenge, and it was great.

After that, my next goal was to find a post box, so that the post cards to my parents had Bath postmarks on them. The women that I sat next to in the square were not able to give me directions to a post box that I could remember, so I went to some information stand/tourism shop. They told me that the post box was on the other side of the Roman Baths. I left the shop and headed in that direction, but when I got there, I could not see a red post box, so I wandered a little bit, then asked the security guard at the exit from the Roman Baths gift shop if he knew where the post box was. He was able to point it out to me, so I walked over to it, dropped my post cards in, and felt utterly triumphant.

At this point, it was like 3pm, and I had one more hour in Bath, but wanted to make sure that I did not get lost. I walked around the Abbey a little bit and got a few photos.

I also came across a Christmas store, and went in to look at the sparkly, Christmasy things for a little while. After finding the pick-up spot, and standing around, looking at things for a bit, I saw a Moroccan restaurant and decided to stop there for some hummus and pita bread. It was very delicious, and just the right amount and kind of food for that time of day. I went to their restrooms just before 4, paid my bill, and went to the bus. The tour guide asked me if I had used the bathrooms, and when I said yes, she said "oh, you're the prepared one, I shouldn't have had to ask". I did some writing on the bus until we started to move, but eventually decided to listen to Morrissey and Smiths songs for the rest of the trip.

There was terrible traffic getting into London, apparently, and I was prepared to get off the bus at Earl's Station, or Court, or whatever. I also chatted with the tour guide, who told me about a London magazine for the New Zealander community, called TNT. They had meet-ups in London, it seems. I also did get a photo of the painted sign seen below (or not yet pictured), and was glad that they underlined the word 'not', because I totally would have littered without that addition.

At the station, I found my way to the appropriate train, the Piccadilly line, to Cockfosters. However, instead of getting off at Green Park, to get the Victoria line to Oxford Circus, I decided to get off at Leichester Square or Circus, because the tour guide said that it was the "red carpet" area of London. There were many fancily dressed ladies that got off at that stop too, and I noticed that it was also near Chinatown. After getting caught in a human traffic jam while getting out of the station, I discovered that I still had no idea where I was and where Chinatown was. Luckily, there are maps on the street corners, so I was able to find my way to Chinatown.

I found a restaurant, where they seated me very quickly. For some reason, every time that I go to a Chinese restaurant or order take out, I read the menu like it is the first time I've ever seen a Chinese Restaurant Menu. This is mainly because, in my experience, Chinese food items can vary from restaurant to restaurant, and will often include unlisted ingredients that I might hate. I settled on pork dumplings and sweet and sour pork, since that was predictable. They served me pretty quickly, but then let me sit at the table and write for a long time before I requested the bill. I paid, left, and began the walk back to the hostel. People were out at bars, since it was Friday night, and I thought about whether or not I wanted to be with them. I decided that no, I did not want to be at a bar, because I had been out all day, didn't like drinking, and was exhausted.

Getting back to my hostel, and preparing for the next day were the ends to Day 8.