After walking across a foot bridge, I was delighted to meet up with my roommate and her visiting brother, Tim. I received an earlier invite to take a ride on the 'London Eye' with them. I was happy to oblige because a) I hadn't been on it yet and b) My roommates parents offered to pay my way! The 'Eye' is situated on the banks of the Thames River. It's basically a HUGE ferris wheel, that rotates in a full circle, which takes you on a 20 minute aerial view of downtown London. We decided to go for our ride at night, which turned out to be an amazing spectacle. After standing in a line reminiscent of a Disneyland ride (but with half the wait time), we were ready to board our pod-like cabin and take our flight. As we slowly moved around, going higher and higher into the frosty London air, the entire post card picture of the London sky line lit up in our 360 degree view. The Houses of Parliament, Big Ben, and Westminster Abbey looked close enough to touch. I gazed out the window toward the Tate Britain and modern and the national theater (where I saw 'Much ado about nothing' a few days earlier). I took in the magnificence of St. Paul's Cathedral, once the tallest building in England, with its arched dome and steeple that seemed to reach toward the stars. Buckingham Palace seemed much smaller from way up there. The palace was almost lost in the tightly clustered museums, shops, and flats. These buildings have seen war, fires, riots, and such a rapid progression in time that leaves old and new, modern and majestic sharing the same crowded lanes and alleys. Being up there, sharing this experience with people I enjoy, new friends to be cherished, gave me a renewed sense of pride and humbleness. This girl from Tacoma, Washington was living a life and seeing a parts of the world that many people may never live to see or experience. It felt good to see a city from different eyes.

When my roommates and I arrived in Ireland, it was midnight and raining. Our cab ride from the airport to our luxurious Travelodge Inn, was made even more enjoyable by our first Irishmen experience. Our cabbie (I didn’t catch his name) was a kindhearted guy, who asked us questions about America and explained that, yes, the Irish are the biggest drinkers in Europe. Boy, we had no idea what we were in for that weekend.

The following morning, it was out of the Travelodge and on the Huband House B & B. After a hour long bus ride into downtown Dublin (morning rush hour is TERRIBLE there), we found ourselves smack dab in the thick of things.

There was green. EVERYWHERE.

There were people. EVERYWHERE. And yes, some of those people were drinking at 9 in the morning. But the amazing thing about the Irish is that they are extremely helpful and courteous. As we got off the bus, tourist map fully extended, we were stopped by a friendly Irishwoman who offered to walk with us all the way to the street where our B & B was located. I could hardly believe it!

She was a charming, happy woman with dark hair, light skin and dark eyes. I was half expecting to see an island full of red heads, but to my surprise, these folks were few and far between.

Our new Irish friend helped us navigate the busy streets of Dublin and took us on a short cut through Trinity College. This 15th century school is the Alma Matter for literary greats like Joyce, Wilde and Yeats. It was one of the most beautiful campuses I had ever seen. It sort of made you feel like you were someone majestic and important, stepping along the cobblestone walkways.

When we finally made it to our street and said good-bye to our friend, we were all smitten with our new country.

Our B & B, owned by David (a smiling young Northern European man with a cat), was a god send after spending the night in the Travelodge. We had the sunny and warm attic room at the top of the stairs which I nicknamed ‘the Anne Frank Annex’. But then quickly took it back, because I forgot one of my roomies is a Jew.. oops.

The first day was spent walking around the city, some light shopping and exploring Trinity College. We walked back to the campus and took a tour of ‘The Book of Kells’, the ancient artful book interpretations of early Celtic Christianity. They were stunning. The best part was touring the old Trinity College Library. Picture what the Harvard or Yale libraries must look like: Dark wood, tall arched ceilings, wall to wall books from roof to floor, marble busts of great men like Aristotle, Shakespeare, and Darwin. This is what the library looked like. It was incredible.

When in Ireland, do what they do, right?

The next day, we bought a cheesy tourist hop-on, hop-off all day bus ticket and rode all over the place.
The Dublin Castle, St. Patrick’s Cathedral, and of course the Guinness Storehouse (with a free pint at the end of every tour!)

Dublin Castle

St. Patrick's Cathedral

Free Pints

On the bus tour we noticed that all the doors in the city are painted in exciting and vibrant shades of purples, reds, blues, greens. Why are the doors so colorful, you might be wondering?

When Queen Victoria’s husband died, a royal decree was sent throughout the United kingdom (which Ireland was still apart of at the time). The decree stipulated that all the doors in these cities be painted black to mourn the late royal. The Irish, being ever spiteful and rebellious, ignored the royal decree and painted their doors every color but black. To this day, the doors remain a colorful reminder of their disobedience.

If I could, I would go back to Ireland in a second. This is my favorite place by far. And as me and my roomies said a sad goodbye to our little green island, we smiled at the prospect of coming back someday.

Today, our class of 35 was instructed to meet each other at 2 different museums (Winston Churchill museum and the Imperial War Museum) for class. Although our professor, Martin, was out of town everyone showed up. No one played hooky. We were separated into three groups last class meeting: WWI, WWII, and Post-WW conflicts. I was assigned to the WWI group. I felt pretty confident about being assigned to either of the WW groups because I have fairly regular diet of History Channel documentaries and numerous PBS wartime mini series. I have to admit, looks of the Winston Churchill Museum were very deceiving. Literally a whole in the wall, but walk inside and it’s a different story. The museum chronicles the life of the Premier and the era of ‘Churchill’ in English history. What an incredibly interesting man! Armed with my dorky, Rick Steves'-style audio guide, I learned that Churchill was more than a WWII politician. Churchill was a hobby Painter, creating over 500 oil paint canvases and some were labeled with his pseudonym, ‘David Winter’. Churchill was a soldier in WWI and a POW. Churchill was from British Nobility, his cousin and closest confidant was the Duke of Marlboro. He was also a fierce advocate for socio-economic equality, pushing for changes in minimum wages, laws to enforce shoddy working conditions, and creating a sufficient pension for Britain’s elderly. Churchill was also a devoted and loving husband and father of 4 daughters. He had an extremely interesting life which was chronicled in this amazing museum. I left learning more about a man that I never had the opportunity to see, hear, or meet.

The second museum was the Imperial War Museum. Yes… It is as menacing as it sounds. Two HUGE naval war guns protrude from the entrance, but they are trumped by the magnificence of an actual piece of the Berlin Wall.

It was amazing to think this wall once separated fellow countrymen and women, because of objecting views of ideology.

Inside the museum, there were war planes suspended by ropes, tanks, and a few small ships.
The two special exhibits were the Holocaust memorial and the ‘Weapons of Mass Communication’, an exhibition of wartime propaganda posters. The 'Weapons' Exhibt was especially interesting to me, a future journalist, and it just reaffirms all my ideas that the media being a powerful force of persuasion. The Holocaust exhibit was a powerful testimony to the evil of humanity and what happens when blinding ignorance is accepted and allowed to lead society.

War is a very scary, fascinating, powerful subject and event that shapes the course of our history and it's effects will continue to be felt even after the last bombs are dropped.

In London, you don't have to go very far to loose yourself. Lazy afternoons, wandering aimlessly on the tube, you might find yourself in the thick of 'Little Italy', with its flowered patios and cafe sippers.
Even just going for a walk can whisk you away to some secret, unexplored alley or decades old garden, with its beautifully manicured lawns, a very typical English style. To lose myself was a very powerful driving force in motivating me to venture across the misty Atlantic. I’m sure this is the reason why we all travel, to leave pieces of our former selves behind and be born anew into a someone better, more culturally diverse.
There is one building in London, where people all over the world come to find something, learn something, and take something, perhaps just memories, and absorb it into their being. This place is the British Museum.

The UK has a no-holds-bared type of building scheme. Everything is grand. Every building is huge. Everything is very Roman-esque. And this museum is no exception.
The latest exhibit is a grand display of China’s Terracotta Soldier army.

Thousands of plaster men unearthed by common country farmers in the Chinese countryside more than a century ago. And the Brit museum has ‘em. (for a limited time)
Or do you fancy Greek statues?
What about looking at the gold infused details of 4th century Tibetan monastic temple doors? (These are gorgeous by the way)

This museum encompasses all the treasures of the world and carefully arranges them on 3 polished marble floors.
In the adventurous spirit of loosing yourself, this place takes the cake.
You could easily spend the entire day, or several days for that matter, travelling from the coasts of Alaska and its tribes, to the ritualistic tribes of Africa, up to the mighty empires of the old Persia, then observe the traditions and artwork of the Japanese.

Having taken several trips to the museum already, I am happy to report that I have jet-setted around the world (and have literaly gotten lost in the huge freaking building) and didn't have to spend a dime to do it.

The Chinese New Year Celebration is the largest outside of China. I believe it. Every year, thousands of people come together to celebrate one of China's oldest holiday, in one of Europe's oldest cities. This year, my roommates and I became part of the action and adventure. We woke up early to scope out the best seats. When we arrived in Trafalgar Square, there were vendors selling trinket, kick-knacks, and toys that depicted the celebratory animal: Year of the Rat. Children as well as adults, ran around with little paper dragons. Lamp posts and sidewalks were bathed in red. Paper Lanterns hung from the sky and would light the way for nighttime celebrations.

We were amazed to see how fast the crowd grew! Suddenly we realized that we were in the middle of a crowd of at least 1000 people. They were all there to see the same thing as us: The dragon dancers’ parade. We only caught a glimpse of the dragon dancers, as we decided to beat the crowd to lunch in nearby Chinatown.

When I asked a local London woman why se decided to come out to day, she said because festivals like these are important. She said they broaden horizons and cultural understanding. As I sat and pondered this advice over a plate of hot fried noodles, I realized that it made a lot of sense. There is something magical about exploring different cultures. And on that afternoon, the magic of the East touched us all.

On our last day in Scotland, our group was made honorary M.S.Ps. An MSP is short for Member of Scottish Parliament. Yes, I know.. you’re very jealous right now.
Our tour of the brand spanking-new parliament building was very informative and interesting. Our charming and ruggedly good-looking tour guide, Gary, took us all around the building and explained how the cogs on the Scottish parliament machine rotated. The Scottish parliament actually voted itself out of existence in many years ago. Gary told us that the Scots feel that the old parliament sold itself for English gold. It is only recently that the Scots felt the need to regain a sense of national identity and joined together again in its own parliamentary assembly.

The new building for the Scottish Parliament was beautifully modern. It was designed by an architect from Catalina- Not Spain. Gary informed us that the architect was very adamant on his emphasis of this fact. It’s similar to the Scots and their clear emphasis on the fact they are NOT English.
What I remember as the most distinctive quality of the building was that everything was open. There were windows and light everywhere. Nothing could be hidden. There were no dark corners or hidden hallways. It was a constant reminder that the people could see everything, therefore MSPs should have nothing to hide. When I left the building, I felt a great sense of pride in the Scots. It stirred up memories of another not-so-distant country and their struggle to reclaim independance and a national identity all their own.

Scotland is windy. I'm not just talking about a refreshing breeze that flaps your hair like a sexy runway model. I'm not talking about the brisk wisps of fresh air that kiss your face and calm your senses. Scotland's winds charge down from the mountain tops, like some barbarian horse-backed army and it pummels you. When our large group of 35 or so Americans exited the underground train station, we nearly toppled over like dominos! The smallest travelers clung to classmates and peers for dear life; fearful that they might be carried off like the scraps of paper we'd seen strewed about the street. After a chilling walk (against the wind) to the hostel, I was pooped. It was only 10 o’clock in the morning, and we still had some pretty ambitious plans ahead of us. Martin, our professor informed us wind burnt and battered folks, that we would be climbing up a mountain to see a castle.
March on, gang!

When we arrived to the Scotland castle it was a sight to behold. A beautifully fortified fortress literally carved out of the side of the Scottish highlands. Just magnificent. These castles are incredibly interesting. There is so much to see and explore. I like to imagine myself, a Scottish lady-in-waiting to her majesty Mary, Queen of Scots. I love to touch the ancient bricks that held this living time machine together. They feel smooth, cold, moist and mossy. Then you stand on the top of one of the monumental towers and just take it all in. I could see the entire city of Edinburgh from my spot, perched high like an eagle. It was really incredible.

After exploring the castle for a while, the entire gang took a trek back down the mountain, to our next sight, St.Giles Church.

This church is part of the Church of Scotland, which falls under the Presbyterian umbrella. There are no Bishops. There is no real church hierarchy. The ancient Scots believed that the word of God is for the people, and they should be able to read it, write it, and understand it in their own, individual way. This was called Calvinism. This is still how many people throughout the UK worship. We learned in the 15 and 16 centuries, a protestant reformation was sweeping the land, wiping away any traces of Catholicism. Many churches, like St. Guiles were adorned with breathtaking statues, mosaics, stained glass, and frescos. During the Reformation period, many of this art was destroyed, painted over or burned. The protestants thought people didn’t need these forms to worship God. They shouldn’t be worshiping a statue or a stained glass window piece. They should be reading and worshiping God. The stained glass we saw in St. Guiles church (which was HUGE by the way), was replaced during a more peaceful 18th century. Although it is not the original pieces of glass, they were still absolutely beautiful. They depicted all kinds of biblical stories and the lives of great Scottish heroes. When the sun shone through the windows during our tour, the stone floor went a blaze in brilliant blues, greens, reds, purples. It made the hollow, empty church seem warmer and more intimate.

There is something vastly different about Scotland. It seems locked away in a different time, a slower time. A time of princes and queens. Ancient secrets that have been lost in time and legends that will live forever. It is truly a jewel in the crown of the United Kingdom and at the same time, land all its own.

The British tube system is an intricate tangle of color-coded madness and chaos. It can leave the occasional backpacker or lost tourist google-eyed and dizzy. The longer I live here, the more adapted I become. I like to think I have this tube thing just about mastered.

Metropolitian line to Bakerloo.
Bakerloo to Central line.
Central line to Picadilly line.
Picadilly to Russell Street station.
My usual hour and a half commute to work. It may seem like some alien language, but it's really quite easy.
Like most people, I leave for work during the dreaded ‘rush hour’. Thousands of people packed onto about 10 lines headed all over London. Fighting the crowd and navigating the stations is completely exhausting and overwhelming. At 8 in the morning, it’s tough!
The hardest part about the entire process is trying to squeeze to fill every inch of space in these compact cars. There are so many people using the system at the same time, many people are forced to stand in EXTREAMLY close quarters with their neighbors.
Let’s get cozy people!

That's just one of the little joys of riding. Personal bubbles aside, I like riding the cars with so many business-suited, high-heeled, scarf-wrapped, newspaper-wielding complete strangers.
It’s comforting in a weird way.
In the age of heightened technology, rampant individualism, and lack of human interaction, the tube gives me something to share with my fellow people, a common goal and purpose, if only for a few short stops.

Names for things are different in the UK…

Lou= bathroom
Bisket= cookie
Tube= subway trains

Try asking for a peanut butter and 'jelly' sandwich and you could end up with 'Jell-o' gelatin where your fruit preservatives should be.
Having mastered the Tube, the crowds, and the landmarks, I seemed to prematurely declare myself a newly minted Londoner. Little did I know, no one can declare themselves ‘Londoner’ until they had some fish and chips.
Shortly after realizing this, a few classmates and I went to the local pub, to see what all the hype was about.
The fish was crisp and flaky. The chips were golden and delicious. The salad helped sooth the guilt of such a cholesterol-laden feast. I must say, it was positively SPLENDED! Having sampled a meal, that for British is equivalent to Americans and their hamburgers, I feel more confident to call myself a ‘Londoner’.
And yes. Chips are fries.

My visit to the British Library has been perhaps one of my favorite days so far. I am finding myslef wanting to go off a lot more alone, just taking my time exploring the city on my time. One of my most recent trips alone was to the world famous British Library. Like everything in London, it was HUGE. In it are kept some of the world's most famous artifacts.. yada, yada, yada. Most of these artifacts were literary marvels and acheivements. Lost of religious texts,like the Gutenberg Bible, one of the first handwritten Qurans, and several 4th century Buhddist scrolls. These things were kept in AMAZING shape for being so old. I could clearly see the Latin or early English writing on them. I saw lots of first drafts of some of the most famous texts, Like Virginia Woolf's 'Mrs. Dalloway' and Lewis Carroll's 'Alice in Wonderland'. I also saw the library's most prized possession too, the manga carta. There were 4 documents but 3 were destroyed in a fire (geez these Brits have a lot os fires!). The one on desplay was so old and damaged that I couldn't read any of the text. It was amazing to see the first attempts to awknowledge civil rights. This was the charter that really started it all for struggling people. It was truly a treasure to see, even if I couldn't read it.

Let me start by saying 'wow'.

I have been to cities. I love cities. I thrive in cities. I'm a bona fide city girl. But my God.. This is no city. London is a virtual wonderland of culture and prosperity. It is 'Oz'. It is a hub attracting people from all over the world with a pulsating vibrancy, like mosquitoes. I stood amidst a thick fog of Japanese tourists with my mouth down to my chest and my eyes glossed over like a child on Christmas. I was in the center of the world, Piccadilly Circus. I could barely breathe. It was hard taking it all in.

One could stand there for a life time and never fully appreciate in the sheer, utter magnificence of the place. TV billboards were plastered onto the sides of 2-year-old high rises. Turn around and BAM, your hit in the face by the grandeur of a 1000-year-old cathedral. It was hard to fathom that in this very pavilion, Sir Winston Churchill could have stopped to adjust his argyle sock, or some wayward royal tightened his Burberry necktie before crossing the traffic-laden streets. Suddenly, in the middle of trying to both navigate and admire, with life whizzing by me on every direction, the only question I could think to ask was, ‘Where are the elephants?’

A 3am bus ride to the airport, flying out in a hellish rain storm in a New York connecting flight and 7 hours on a Boeing 777, I find myself in London, England. The bone chilling, rip-your-skin-off-your-face wind and cold makes me feel like I'm back in Washington. That should take no getting used to. Waking up from my final REM cycle at 130 in the morning and not getting back to sleep until 7am.. that's a different story. I'm finding that the UK is a exciting and vibrant mix of old and new. Walking down the street, one might find a new high rise condo in the works, then turn the corner and see a house that's as old as the Royal family. The English people are very interesting. They are peppering of everything from China to India to North Africa. It is exciting and refreshing to see so much diversity. So far, the people have been nothing but cordial, delightful, and always happy to help a lost Yankee like myself. It used to be said that the sun never set on the English empire. I am finding that with everything there is to explore, see, expereince, and enjoy, I'll need to find my sunglasses and soak it all in.