Well, after a long bout of travelling, I'm finally in the UK. It actually wasn't too bad; I realized halfway through that it's not usual for it to take me about the same time to get to Colorado. Despite having hopped on planes for faraway places multiple times, the few days leading up to a trip always make me nervous. I know it and I ignore it and it bugs me, but it happens every time. I have that why the hell am I flying 5000 miles to wander around a city of 10,000,000 people all by myself?" moment. Once I get on the plane and have a blast the entire trip.

The UK Border is helpfully proclaimed by a giant sign and some tens-a-barriers in the airport. I had a momentary scare that I wasn't cool enough to make it to the other side of said barriers. Immigrations officials are often quite nice and ask innocent questions in hopes that you'll reveal more about your plans in the country. At least that's my experience. However, when I handed my passport and entry card to the official he looked at it and said (insert drawn-out English accent here), "Now tell me what exactly you are doing in the UK for TWENTY-TWO DAYS?" His speech was so punctuated it almost sounded like there was a period after every word. Did he think I was some kind of miscreant? I gave him my itinerary, which apparently was disappointingly satisfactory. He stamped my passport, quite grumpily I might add, and I went on my way.

I ended up taking the most expensive cab ride of my life from Heathrow to my hotel. My parents always nag me to take a cab instead of other public transport, and had even given me money to do so (because I don't) - but I really wanted to take the train in. I love trains. We don't use them enough in the US. They're nifty.

Anyway, upon retrieving my bags I discovered that the zipper on my duffel had burst open. I fiddled with it and got it closed again, only to have it pop apart as soon as I picked it up. That really won't work for changing trains in crowded stations by myself in London. I had visions of trying to "Mind the gap" and ending up with my underwear scattered all over the Tube... No, that won't do.

So I took my parents' advice and hopped in a London cab, which I must say are the snazziest I've ever seen. I was in a new generation LTI cab. It was so nice I've recommended *Iamidaho get one for Yellowstone. Heck, we could start a trend. *Nzeman, you in? =Dalberti? I would love to see the national parks in a London cab!

It was quite nice to see a bit of the city and remind myself about that whole left-side-of-the-road dealy before I'm a pedestrian trying to cross streets. Heh. It's cool how quickly that instinct comes back.

I'm in the City of Westminster. The hotel totally works - cheap and great location. I'm in love with this tiny, tiny room. Minuscule even by European standards; the ceiling is higher than the room is wide. There is a huge upside to this: I can't make a mess because there's no room to. There is literally not enough floor space. Of course it's a little tragic to have to put hangars in sideways to get the closet door to close, but I sure got a good chuckle out of it.

Upon disembarking the exorbitantly expensive cab, I dropped my bags off and intentionally got myself lost. When I've got the time to do that (and I know the neighborhood is safe) it's such a great way to discover little hidden gems. I found the nearby main drag with restaurants, shops, and a pharmacy. Then I found the nearest Underground station, and eventually a couple not-so-near ones. I ended up wandering Notting Hill, which I knew was Notting Hill because all of a sudden there were Maseratis, Aston Martins, and other ridiculously fancy cars. Saw some shops there. I like walking around and looking at stuff.

There are a few beautiful little churches nearby. I love old churches. I love seeing reverence and awe and sanctity translated into architecture, even if I don't necessarily believe in the institutions behind them. A couple were obviously quite old; one had burned up most of its facade and had black bricks extending 2/3 of the way up the building. I came across another red brick building with beautiful stained glass and a big, gorgeous rose window. Wow. Then I look at the sign - it's a synagogue! Cool!

I got myself sufficiently lost that I had only a vague idea of which direction to head to get back to my hotel. Upon deciding I probably should go lay down and get some sleep I discovered all these streets are way too similar. Turn left at the row of Victorian townhouses with white columns? What?

And the accents... Oh, the accents. I'm beside myself with glee.

Now I'm studying the money so I can pay for things without looking too stupid. I already hate the two pound coin. It's kind of small, and it's worth ~$3.20. It's way too easy to spend/lose coins!

Tomorrow I'm going to put some serious miles on my...feet. Between that and the tube I'm in great shape. I kind of wish I had my bike! However, I'm quite fortunate enough to be close enough that I can walk to Westminster Abbey. I almost can't believe I can go see where Charles Darwin and Isaac Newton are buried. And Mary Queen of Scots. And Geoffrey Chaucer, David Livingston, geologist Charles Lyell, William Gladstone, Lord Kelvin, Charles Dickens, Thomas Hardy (minus his heart), Georg Friedrich Handel, abolitionist William Wilberforce, and so many others. Although Alexander Pope is not ("To one who would not be buried in Westminster Abbey").

Abbey Road Studios are around here somewhere. So is Buckingham Palace, Piccadilly Circus, and Hyde Park. Baker Street isn't too far (the fictional home of the fictional Sherlock Holmes). I'm a huge Sherlock Holmes fan. His address is 221b Baker Street, which didn't actually exist. Conan Doyle made it up. However, so many people went looking for it that the city eventually renumbered the street. Maybe I'll even pop over to Fenchurch Street Station, after which I named my bird in a roundabout sort of way.

All these places and people I've been reading about my entire life. London is so iconic. And I'm here.

Anyway, this is long and rambling, but I'm so excited! In a very tired, jetlagged sort of way. Hooray!

PS - Lari still has the password to my account. How long before she posts another journal? I give her a week, or however long it takes me to get myself in a pickle that she can relate in a humorous manner. So probably less than a week.