After a frantic morning (curse my lack of time-keeping!), Andrew, Carolyn, Ben, Kaitlyn, Liz, Nikki and I went a-waffling at the nearest mall. There are stands for organic fruit smoothies, gelato, and artisan bread (which seem European enough) but the Baby Gap we passed was just depressing. I declined waffles this morning and didn't regret it; they were Belgian and sticky and smothered in chocolate to be sure, but a few hours later, everyone was groaning about craving another. It all reminded me of Pretzel Day on the Office.
One would think that if Americans traveled in packs, the brainpower would guarantee our never getting lost. But no; it turned into a terribly ineloquent democracy of who-thinks-we-should-go-this-way? and asking random people for directions. Liz is pro at that, but the locals here seem about as clueless as the rest of us. But Nikki's golden vision of the intrepid Portobello Road gleamed before us all, and she would not be stopped for minor details like being lost.
Location: Bedknobs and Broomsticks
Honestly, I think I saw the film once when I was a little girl. But Portobello Road was a menagerie of booths and specialty shops--one looked like a factory for Singer sewing machines, and the one next door made giant cupcakes. There were handbags, scarves, fruit stands, raw fish (though less than in Seattle), homemade jewelry ("All items reduced to five pounds"), carved Buddhas and first edition Bibles, records, photographs, African quilts and Indian saris, novelty t-shirts, secondhand shoes, glinting silverware and china sets, handworked leather, bruschetta, sweet crepes--it was nuts.
Within the first thirty seconds, I'd lost everyone and was lucky enough to bump into Kaitlyn and Liz again, who weaving slowly down the lane and photographing the booths. I thought it pertinent for us to stick together; Kaitlyn stood in line for a pay-toilet (go figure! Brilliant idea, though) and Liz was content to look at earrings across the way. We walked for what felt like a solid mile down the stretch of shops, glad that it was downhill and that we weren't really there to buy anything. But by noon, we were sore and starving and at a loss as to which way to get back to our street. It took an hour of cutting through sidestreets and asking directions before we finally stumped up the stairs to the flat, where fish and chips, water, mail and naptime was waiting for us all.
Saturday Night Boredom
Typical of college kids on every continent, we found ourselves sitting around the stairs with hours of freedom before us and absolutely NO idea what to do. Happily Nikki declared she was starving and started asking each professor where to go eat. The mob of us split, depending on who wanted dinner and who needed to buy detergent.
Nine or ten of us ended up in Nando's. Considering its popularity, it seems to be the Cafe Rio of London--after eight, the lines spill out the door. It's a bright yellow joint, with mood lighting, Brazilian tuneage, bar stools, tropical plants, and plenty of square tables to push together. Navigating Nando's includes being seated, ordering at the front, and getting your own drinks and silverware. I think I prefer this less-invasive method; at least, several couples enjoyed their solitude in nearby corners. The menu boasts Peri Peri chicken, mint mashed peas, spicy rice, and scrumptious little custard tarts called "Naughty Natas". That was just the beginning; I held the restaurant's napkin out for everyone to read: For the bits your tongue can't reach.
Nicole laughed so hard.
Honestly, I think I saw the film once when I was a little girl. But Portobello Road was a menagerie of booths and specialty shops--one looked like a factory for Singer sewing machines, and the one next door made giant cupcakes. There were handbags, scarves, fruit stands, raw fish (though less than in Seattle), homemade jewelry ("All items reduced to five pounds"), carved Buddhas and first edition Bibles, records, photographs, African quilts and Indian saris, novelty t-shirts, secondhand shoes, glinting silverware and china sets, handworked leather, bruschetta, sweet crepes--it was nuts.
Within the first thirty seconds, I'd lost everyone and was lucky enough to bump into Kaitlyn and Liz again, who weaving slowly down the lane and photographing the booths. I thought it pertinent for us to stick together; Kaitlyn stood in line for a pay-toilet (go figure! Brilliant idea, though) and Liz was content to look at earrings across the way. We walked for what felt like a solid mile down the stretch of shops, glad that it was downhill and that we weren't really there to buy anything. But by noon, we were sore and starving and at a loss as to which way to get back to our street. It took an hour of cutting through sidestreets and asking directions before we finally stumped up the stairs to the flat, where fish and chips, water, mail and naptime was waiting for us all.
Saturday Night Boredom
Typical of college kids on every continent, we found ourselves sitting around the stairs with hours of freedom before us and absolutely NO idea what to do. Happily Nikki declared she was starving and started asking each professor where to go eat. The mob of us split, depending on who wanted dinner and who needed to buy detergent.
Nine or ten of us ended up in Nando's. Considering its popularity, it seems to be the Cafe Rio of London--after eight, the lines spill out the door. It's a bright yellow joint, with mood lighting, Brazilian tuneage, bar stools, tropical plants, and plenty of square tables to push together. Navigating Nando's includes being seated, ordering at the front, and getting your own drinks and silverware. I think I prefer this less-invasive method; at least, several couples enjoyed their solitude in nearby corners. The menu boasts Peri Peri chicken, mint mashed peas, spicy rice, and scrumptious little custard tarts called "Naughty Natas". That was just the beginning; I held the restaurant's napkin out for everyone to read: For the bits your tongue can't reach.
Nicole laughed so hard.
But Nando's was insufficient to fill the entire evening. It was dark when we disembarked the Tube on Tower Road; stretched out before us was a bridge built over old ruins, a green moat, a wall, and the Tower of London. My mouth fell open. As of yet, I hadn't registered that we were really in Europe. But here was bona fide evidence! It wasn't a tower, per se--more an expanse of castles guarded by buttresses. The moldy stones looked like petrified elephant skin, the windows empty like gaps in an old man's smile. While the others were already taking pictures, Andrew said that the Tower was built in 1075 A.D., just nine years after France invaded and nearly a thousand years old. We all piled in front of the wall and took dorky pictures; I told anyone who would listen stories of the two Princes and Mary Queen of Scots and Elizabeth I and other famous people who were held captive.
Naturally seeing the Tower meant we had to see the Tower Bridge. It's a little known fact that London Bridge is no longer in existence, but the song does have it right--in the seventies they decided to replace the fallen down bridge with a new version that looks like an entrance to a Disneyland ride. The Thames glowed under the brilliant streetlamps and the flash of our cameras; what with posing, trying to avoid traffic, and just gazing off at the London Eye and Big Ben, it took a solid hour to actually cross Tower Bridge. At least no tugboats passed underneath (surprise!) A lot of us girls got acquainted tonight, even bonded--there's nothing like the tender feelings that develop when helping another climb something to take an utterly American photograph.
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