Jour 84, 31 March: Musée Rodin to the steps in 'Midnight in Paris'

Hôtel Apollon Montparnasse, Jour de 84. Musée Rodin to the steps in Midnight in Paris

As part of our non-morning ritual, we got up late and enjoyed our brunch of assorted pastries from a nearby patisserie. Despite our list of four things for today, things did not go as planned like yesterday.

      Our first destination was the Musée Rodin, where the famous ‘The Thinker’ statue resides. Both of us took pensive poses in front of it, trying to remain accurate to the actually awkward pose. His right elbow rests on his left knee. We sat down in the back of the house (which is the museum, closed for the day; on the garden was opened) and enjoyed the garden with our fantastically amazing paines (or bread): pain de chocolat, croissant beurre (with butter), croissant du jambon (ham), et le pain de framboises (raspberries).

      As we departed through the gift store, we realized from a small miniature model that we had not seen the famous ‘The Lovers’ statue, the two figures wrapping their arms around each other. We rushed back to the garden and scanned it all, but had to come to the conclusion that it was probably inside the house museum. Though I disappointed, Katya reassured me, ‘You know, we don’t need to find them. We’ll just be them.’ She made me smile at that.

       Our second destination was a shop, a well-known macaron shop known as Ladurée and there were supposedly several in Paris, one on a street near the Musée Rodin, but after winding up near Luxembourg gardens, we had to give up for the sake of saving time for other things. Katya really wanted to go.

Opera House

      Our third stop, from the metro this time, was the Opera house, but tickets had only been sold between the hours of 10am-12:30pm, so we missed out on going inside. We still enjoyed watching the crowds of people on the steps, taking pictures of the names of famous composers on the front side of it, and imitating pigeons, which we did frequently. Head-bobbling cuteness.

      After our early afternoon frustrations and disappointments, the day brightened up once we arrived at Sacre-couer in Montmatre where we shopped for Katya’s friends and treated ourselves to another street-side baguette lunch. We sat on the high, steep grass leading up the cathedral and ate three macarons we had bought as well. Our silent walk through the Sacre-coeur was nice, bringing back spatial memories for me. I think I went here with my school group back in 2007.

Dans les Landes

      After a horrendous wait for the public bathroom, we got an English tourist to tell us the way to Moulin Rouge and we made it outside it, taking pictures and then making our unhurried way to a proper dinner to celebrate our anniversary a little early.

      Dans les Landes was just opening when we arrived with our 7 o’clock reservations. I felt awkward at first since we were the first customers there and the French apparently eat later in the evening. I quickly got over it and we settled down in our table near the back and shared tapas, clinked wine glasses, split a dessert of small vanilla balls dipped in caramel cream and we talked and made the dinner last two hours. Since the celebration was for our anniversary, we got to discuss our initial thoughts and impressions of each other before anything serious or committal was on the horizon. It was both amusing and fun.

Me, Katya, Jake

      After dinner, we just made it to the Pantheon to meet up with Katya’s high school friend (orchestra friend) Jake, who is an American studying at a Parisian university for his college experience. He studies musicology and plays violin, like Katya. We went to a bar his friend works at and enjoyed ourselves to a few enchantments. I had French beer and Katya raspberry vodka. Then we had this amazing vodka caramel that melted in our mouths, no chaser needed.

      We had to go after a little under two hours, parting from Jake and his three American friends who also study at his university. There is something about knowing someone in a foreign place that allows one to shed off the tourist skin and feel more a part of the atmosphere. We quickly stopped where Jake pointed out were the steps in Midnight in Paris and took pictures of each other.

  

      Then the metro ride home was short and we were back at the hotel. Even if it wasn’t on this metro, I want to mention that we were constantly part of the subway’s audience for metro musicians, as they played an exotic instrument like an accordion or simply sang stridently to a stereo box they carried around on wheels. After a stop, they tended to hop on the next car over. It was another good day.

Jour 83, 30 March: Un Jour de Triomphe

Hôtel Apollon Montparnasse, Jour de 83. Un Jour de Triomphe (Day of Triumph): 7 Spectacular Sites

The night was late, the morning too. We finally rolled out of the hotel and despite really starting the day at noon, we had seven destinations for the day mapped out and we succeeded in visiting each one:

1.     Jardin du Luxembourg

2.     Quartier Latin

3.     Cathédral Notre-Dame de Paris

4.     The Louvre

5.     Tuileries Garden

6.     Avenue des Champs-Elyéese

7.     Arc de Triomphe

1.   The Luxembourg Gardens were the best way to begin the day, despite my disagreement with Katya that seeing a park first didn’t seem productive. In fact, once we were there, seeing the centre fountain and the people in chairs that lined the pond, all under the noontime glaze of a beautiful sunny day, it was definitely worthy of being our first stop. As happened in most of these places, the atmosphere affected the topic of our conversation—as we rested in chairs with a view of an ordinary tennis match in a court amidst the trees and shrubbery, we discussed how Paris does not have the touristy feel that London has in its landmark area near the London Eye. Here, Paris is spread out in its famous sites, and most are incorporated into Parisian life, like this garden. I also expressed how she has gotten me into wanting to play tennis and watching it.

The Pantheon

      Our way to the Latin Quarter took us up to the steps of the Pantheon, a building emboldened by its marble pillars, triangular top, and its sheer epic height. After quick pictures, we decided against paying to go in and we walked on.

 

2. The Latin Quarter was lost on us, in the sense that we never knew if we were in it or just around it. But our streetside baguette sandwiches were tear-droppingly amazing. We strolled with them across a bridge and into the park area beside the Cathédral de Notre-Dame de Paris, resting on the edge of what seemed like a sandbox. I was tempted but we did not play in the sand.

3. Once inside the Cathédral Notre-Dame, I found the colour-changing modes on my new camera, taking a black-and-white photo of the crucified Jesus on the wall to our right walking in. Katya and I both lit a votive candle for loved ones and continued through the devotional mansion, talking in hushed tones of my past and the Catholic faith I was brought up in. It is not truly a point of clash between us, neither of us devoutly religious, but she wanted to know more, if Catholicism still influenced me, etc. In some ways, I replied.

      We walked over another bridge, since the cathedral is located on essentially an island, and in the middle was a street musician. As we rested on a bench watching him, I wrote this down:

The bridges are veins, circulating cars across cement. A man in a brown hat plays a one-man band, acoustic guitar of metal, twang on the bar chords, combined cymbal-tambourine percussion with his foot, harmonica resting on his neck. The song was from ‘Brother, Where Art Thou’, in English, making me forget I was in Paris for a moment.

      Deaf petitioners pass, we shake our heads—sad to say no, but tight on money. Finally, we head on to the Louvre.’

      On our way, I called out to Katya to stop, and she thanked me for it. There was a pet store full of puppies and bunnies and guinea pigs, and she gleefully looked at them, though her glee mixed in with sadness at seeing their caged state. She would rather they go free. But still be around to pet.

4. The Louvre. I went to Paris back in 2007 with a group of classmates, a history teacher (though bearing the surname ‘Mr. English’), and a French teacher from my high school and just like back then, the grand impression I get every time I see the Mona Lisa is ‘wow, it’s so…small.’ This time around I had a second impression: ‘you know, once you get past the face, there is a landscape behind her.’

      Katya and I ended with Mona, or La Gioconda, while we started with Greek and Roman statues. I got a picture of Katya doing a fish face (after at least ten takes) in front of a random stone bowl. I don’t know why I was so fixed on this. She took a picture of Poseidon, and later on, she commented on the way kings seemed to pose lying down in such a seductive fashion (a playboy pose, if you will). She mocked the pose in mimicry, as I went on to imitate another statue.

      We made it onto the Egyptians, in which this great dialogue took place: (>> = me, << = she)

>> I think I need a nap.

<< Aww.

>> Wait, slap me.

<< *confused look* What?

>> It will wake me up.

<< I’ve never actually slapped anyone before… *pats my cheek*

>> No, harder.

<< You want me to really slap you?

*I nod.* *She slaps me.*

>> That was good.

*I hold up my hand.* * Katya cowers in fear.*

>> No, high five.

<< Oh! *high five*

>> I’m awake now.

….The Egyptians were cool too. And the painted ceilings in the European painting exhibits. And good old Mona.

5. I had never known of a gallery of shops within the Louvre until today, where Katya and I decided to share tea and a croissant. After this, we walked into the Tularies Gardens. Just like the Luxembourg garden, there was a fountain surrounded by chairs. This time, at the late hour of 6:30, they were empty. Katya told me how there are mini-sail boats that one poked around the pond with a stick and in the middle of the afternoon, there are all these boats floating across the water. We were sad to miss it, but we both had to pee horrendously at this point. Even running a little made it worse.

 

6. We finally walked into the famous shopping street Avenue des Champs Elyéese, where we browsed around without buying and then ate a proper restaurant. We clinked wine glasses, full of rosé, and treated ourselves to a starter and main course each, with the occasional plate-swapping.

      Before making it to the Arc, we got a picture of us a little away from the Arc, and I remember one of us saying: ‘Yes! We just asked a French person to take our picture! In English!’

7. We danced under the Arc de Triomphe at the close of the evening. At first I was embarrassed but I quickly got over my self-consciousness and enjoyed the waltzing to the song or two Katya sang to me. We talked of how we would remember this for a long time. There is something about dancing under the Arc that transformed the site into a romantic haven under the starlight.

      Our second night in Paris: breathtakingly beautiful.

Jour 82, 29 March: Lovers in Paris

Hôtel Apollon Montparnasse, Jour 82. Lovers in Paris

      The journey to Paris was not romantic in its beginning, unfortunately: 5:45am, sleep-deprived and panicked about the late bus, a girl gave us a taxi number, at train station 10 minutes early thanks to an efficient driver, Norwich-London Liverpool St. train became a sleep train (Katya on my shoulder, then vice versa once one of our necks needed a break).

      We were so happy that the East Anglia Express took only from 8-9:44 that we dilly-dallied a little on our way through the Underground. We took a few grains of pictures to make up a little for the beach of potential photo albums that we lost on our first days in London. At the Eurostar train station, aka St. Pancras International, we decided to get on the train early.

Katya and I at Liverpool Street Station, London.

St Pancras International, London

      Or so we thought. The check-in was like a mini-airport security: through the conveyor belt of luggage, the metal detector, and the passport stamp. We were barely on time—yes, ten to fifteen minutes to spare, but the train is a mechanical centipede, or whatever a twenty-part insect would be, and it took another five minutes just to walk down the length of the train to our coach 3. A train official greeted us and we hopped on. We were on our way to Paris.

      We spent the ride watching the Sandra Bullock and Hugh Grant movie, ‘Two Weeks Notice’, and upon getting off the train, we were home free at Gare du Nord train station. A British couple overheard our English and asked us if we were just arriving. We said we were. They said they were just leaving, so they offered us their two tickets for the last day of 3-day metro passes. We thanked them, and proceeded to buy two 3-day metro passes starting tomorrow til Sunday. Considering how much we used the metro, it was more than worth 44€ total (btw, the € euro sign goes after the amount, or between the euros and euro cents, i.e. 7€90 = €7.90).

      After our initial disorientation with the metro, we grew to like it later on, that is, after our other disorientation over not knowing where our hotel was. After a quick call in mostly French, Katya pointed to a nearby street and we made it.

      More on Katya speaking French: this saved us. I’m not kidding. So many times: restaurants, asking directions, and other everyday things, Katya pulled us through with the rudimentary French she learned in her elementary school years. Even pronouncing things was a godsend. As a visual learner, I was disoriented by the odd French rule of not pronouncing any of the endings of words with consonants. It took me three days to finally say ‘paines’ (word for bread) and remember the inflection. When I spoke French, it was to say ‘Parley-vouz anglais?’ (Do you speak English?).

      After the early disappointment of small accommodations at this hotel, we made the most of it, dropped our bags down, and headed out to enjoy the remaining light of the day in Paris. Our metro stop was Pernety, on a road lined with food and clothing shops. We made a huge circle, stopping to buy our first baguette, and hearing children at a nearby playground speaking French to each other. Katya remarked how there’s something about a child speaking a different language than yours that is impressive, since s/he knows more than you in that tongue.

At one point, the Eiffel Tower sparkled with lights
and it made for a good end to our first night in Paris.

      We found a place to eat almost at the end of this circular adventure, a block away from the hotel. The food I don’t remember—but Katya got a sandwich, I got—oh wait, I remember, gnocchi. The food was not fancy, but we could tell we were in Paris just by the food—the quality, the taste so rich it melted in my mouth.

      Post-dinner, we did not call it a night and make an early start on the morrow—we made the most of our first-day excitement and jumped on the metro headed for the Eiffel Tower. Sitting on the expansive grassy fields beneath the glittering night lights of the Eiffel Tower, we shared a nutella crepe and held hands. We gave each other the knowing look of how amazing it was that we were here, in one of the most romantic cities in the world, two and a half weeks before our one-year anniversary of being together.

      This was our first night in Paris together.

Day 81, 28 March: City Centre, Spongecake Fight (and Essays)

Norfolk Terrace, Day 81. City Centre, Spongecake Fight (and Essays)

A nice sleep was followed by a breakfast of eggs and toast. Afterwards, Katya and I headed off to the library, where Katya could print off her biology readings and I could continue the revision process for the Pip essay (then later, Shelley).

At Norwich City Centre

      Unlike the stickiness of staying in my room to revise yesterday, I appreciated moving about campus with Katya—unfortunately, I never got a chance to give her an extensive tour of campus, but we managed to spend two hours at the Norwich city centre, 4 to 6 in the afternoon. I bought a sleek black camera, the exact brand and number as my old one but British style. As is our nature as ‘foodies’, we found a pasty shop (still not sure how it differs from a ‘pastry’ shop) and had a good time sitting down to eat our meat-bread combinations in the courtyard facing Primark, a store similar to Marshalls in America. We had wandered in the store for Katya, but no flowy-style shirt was to her liking.  Upstairs we took pictures of ourselves in hipster glasses, and then left. We bought chocolate ice cream as we walked out of the ‘House of Fraser’ shopping centre.

Katya's last name is similar to
'Fraser', so I took this picture.

      I felt guilty—but as is my academic nature of perseverance, I knew I needed to spend three to four more hours in editing both my essays, revising citations in the Harvard reference method which the school apparently uses, and doing a last read-through before electronically submitting them a little under 24 hours before the Thursday midnight deadline. SWT-Pip essay…file received. SWT-Shelley essay…file received.

      It’s odd to think that not once did my words appear in print, as a tangible copy, just like it’s odd that more money is contained in a 2” by 3” (or smaller) plastic card than in one’s hand as bills. Civilized reality relies more on cyber-facilitated symbolism with the years. 5,000 songs compressed in megabyte storage. A work station reduced to a lap-held computer.

BRAINS...statue!

     I worked in the laundry room and then in the kitchen as Katya cooked—I wanted to finish the revisions, and I forgot to help out with the meal. But Katya understood and the pasta and meat sauce turned out amazing.

      I went back to write in my room. About an hour or two in, Katya came in to inform me that Dan and Jen had made a sponge cake. It was urgent to get to the kitchen before it was all gone. I complied and fortunately, the cake had not been touched yet. Forks and Vinnie’s spoon at the ready, we attacked it. Then we stole bits off each other’s forks, one hand-off went through three people before I made the bold interception. Katya even more boldly took my next bite. It was almost as if a cloud one would see in cartoons over a dusty fight scene had taken place—once the cake was gone, the cloud cleared and Vinnie triumphantly held up his spoon. My fork had somehow gotten jabbed into the head of the spoon.

      We all departed to bed, except me who unfortunately still had an hour to go for editing and then I had to pack for three weeks of traveling. I kept Katya up, who had finished packing much earlier, but this was the last work day for me in a while. Tomorrow: Paris.

We're just...funny.

Day 80, 27 March: A Norwich Tuesday with Katya

Norfolk Terrace, Day 80. A Norwich Tuesday with Katya

       After a refreshing non-morning of sleeping in, I took an hour to begin the slightly nerve-wracking revision of my two essays, worth 50% of each class, with two days to spare before the midnight online-submission deadline. Katya then informed me that Marie, Marie’s future roommate, Jen, and Steff were about to trek around the lake. I joined, glad for a break, and we ended up at the horse stables and feed the ponies, which is an activity I had yet to do on UEA campus.

      We pulled branches from trees, and slowly but surely the ponies (not horses) came to us and unsheathed their teeth to chomp on the fiber-clad sticks. Then came the bunnies, which are Katya’s favourite rodent. Yes, they were adorable, but Katya was much more adorable as she gleefully tried to capture a picture of a bunny in the sunlight (since then bunnies mainly hid in the shade). Afterwards, the walk took us around a beautiful loop within the lake loop, one I’ve never been on before. The murky pond water clashed with the beautiful blue sky reflected in its glassy surface. It was a beautiful day—one I finally enjoyed outside and I have Katya to thank for it, and my flatmates.

      Upon return, Katya suggested we have a picnic, and though I knew I had 35 minutes before class, we made peanut butter and jam sandwiches (jelly not a British thing, I guess) and fetched apples and chips and walked through the kitchen window out onto the terrace under the afternoon sun. 15-minute picnic, still worth it.

Feeding the Ponies

      My penultimate creative writing class was disorienting at first, me feeling bad for having to leave Katya in the piano practice rooms and also making myself late. Writing in a bad mood doesn’t work for me, so the very act of writing the beginning of a short story in medias res forced me into productive creativity. My first line was the same I wrote at the London hotel on Sunday evening, when I was looking at the desk in front of me at the time: ‘The pearls were still on the dresser.’

      Afterwards, Katya and I played in the practice room for a little bit, then bought an onion and headed back to cook a brilliant pasta (and microwave pizza) for dinner. Tonight we danced at the LCR. I introduced Katya to the wonderfulness of cider, the blackcurrant one called ‘Snakebite’, and I must say, the empty blank in my dancing nights at clubs was finally filled by Katya. And I loved it.

Fashion Disasters!

      Oh yeah, the theme of the night was 'fashion disasters'. While Katya had a side ponytail and pink top, I definitely wore her panda vest (vest = American tank top) and received compliments on it from an Aussie guy twice at the LCR. As for Katya, while I drank water from the fountain near the bar, it took about five seconds for a guy to come up and ask if she was single. I’d say we tie for being hit on, but that might be just me. We walked back after a fun night, enchanted.

Overlooking the Lake and Norfolk Terrace

[Temporary note: Due to finite amount of time with Katya, most of this week’s blog will be written at a later date.]

Day 79, 26 March: In Search of a Grassy Knoll and the Camera Crisis

Holiday Inn Express, North Acton, London, Day 79. In Search of a Grassy Knoll and the Camera Crisis

      Unfortunately, the joint titles for this entry made the day both extremely amazing and somewhat miserable, and the misery came second.

      Upon checking out and leaving our bags at the hotel for the day, we made the happy discovery that the North Acton Tube station was back and working, making our nightly departure plans easier than we had hoped.

      Our first stop today was where we left off yesterday, Westminster Abbey. We braced the expensive £16 entry per person, and though at first hesitated, we picked up free audio guides to explain the various chapels and tombs and tributes and statues, Henry VI here, Mary Queen of Scots there, Henry VII and his entire dedication and repose in the front of the cathedral. Just as we were growing tired of the royal treatment of English kings and queens past, we stumbled into Poet’s Corner. Charles Dickens, Thomas Harding, and Rudyard Kipling were all next to each other as adjacent plaque floor tiles. A statue of Shakespeare posing with a visible farewell passage from Prospero in The Tempest on a parchment was there, between wall tributes to Jane Austen and the three Brontё sisters. On the opposing wall was a statue of Handel with parchment depicting a religious hymn trailing down from his quill. We made our way to the nave, spotted old composers that Katya recognized, found tributes to Isaac Newton and Darwin, stopped for one brief look at the centre plaque for the unknown soldier, and then we were done.

      Our whole day was lined along the Thames, the day bright and sunny. We made it to London Bridge and from there, we finally found the Thames walkway that lines the river. We couldn’t find a grassy knoll (one of our inside jokes/experiences derived from the nice sunny Sunday afternoons on the Memorial  Glade on Berkeley’s campus back home). Ingeniously, we used the bread and jam provided for breakfast plus the peanut butter we bought last night and made PB&J sandwiches this morning before we left. This was our way to have an inexpensive lunch outside, facing the Thames, watching and imitating pigeons nearby. One stayed in the shade forever. We called it ‘The Lazy Pigeon’.

      Soon we moved on, after lying down in the sun for awhile, and we made it down to the outside of the Tower of London, the impressive ramparts glowing yellowish grey on the stone in the sunlight. We shared an ice cream called a ‘Bunny ears’, basically a cone with two Cadbury chocolate sticks sticking out of it. Walking over Tower Bridge was exciting—seeing yet another angle of a city gradually becoming a little bit more familiar with time.  

      Finally, yes! We found one! A grassy knoll! On the other side of Tower Bridge. We walked over and lay down for another comfortable amount of time, smiling and happy being together. I positioned the camera in the grass and we got really cute photos of us with the Tower Bridge in the background of this beautiful, sunny day.

      We realized that we still wanted to see maybe the Globe Theatre and Covent Gardens before we called it a day, but neither plan worked out. We scratched the latter out once we realized how low on time we were, and upon successfully walking past three bridges, including Tower Bridge, we arrived at a recently closed Globe Theatre entrance. I was partially upset, but we moved on, walking nearby over the Millennium Bridge, a bridge devoted to pedestrians and shaped with a modern architectural resonance.

      Other than a quick stop at another grassy knoll outside St. Paul’s Cathedral, dotted with dandelions and soothingly flowing with a waterfall at one end, with again the result of a cute camera-in-grass series of pictures of us, we made our way to the Underground at St. Paul’s and headed back to the hotel.

      Along the way, the worst thing on this trip happened, apart from Katya losing her iPod the first day: we tried seeing how many pictures we had taken, and so we went to formatting, but upon trying a button (which we later duplicated and pinpointed where this happened so we don’t do it again), the worst possible scenario occurred: the image count: 0. We lost all our pictures. Every single one. Gone.

      The quick baggage pick-up at the hotel, the Underground to Liverpool Street Station, waiting for our train and eating dinner, all these events were now spoiled by the dark cloud of misery. All we had done, all we had seen, gone. Without any way to prove what we did. How beautiful the day was, or how cute we looked, or the funny faces, or ‘The Lazy Pigeon’, or the dirty brown water of the Thames revealed in the noon light of day, or the high-up Eye of London pictures of us with Big Ben down far below, or the goofy pictures of us on weird anchors, or the bizarre and narrow alleyways of pockets of London near the Thames, or the pictures from the boat cruise, or the ones of us at Trafalgar Square.

      I tried comforting Katya, and eventually food helped both of us, but we were still sad about this shadow that just kicked up dust in our memories’ eyes, in the camera’s eyes.

      The 8:30 train to Norwich finally came. We were again present with five minutes to spare, but in our defence, the platform number didn’t come on the overhead digital departure display, the one looming large in the centre of the Liverpool Street rail way station, until fifteen minutes before our departure.

      I worked a little on my second essay, the Dickens one, on the train, revising a bit of the beginning, and Katya read more of Les Misérables on her dad’s iPad. We cheered each other up about the camera scenario, and finally felt much better about it. We still have Norwich and Paris to take pictures together, after all.

      Once in Norwich, we caught the 25 train and made it to my flat at Norfolk Terrace.

      A tipsy Marie was the first to meet Katya, and Marie’s roommate Laura (Lithuanian) helped calm her down. It was amusing and endearing. The rest of the flat was in Jen’s room and a lot of them came out to meet her, Stephen, Steff (Jen’s boyfriend, honorary flatmate of course), Jen, Dan, Laura, and Charlie.

      A majority of them headed to the kitchen, where we played five rounds of the card game called Yaniv, and Katya was glad to meet them and that I was happy to introduce her to them. It was really a good setting, despite the rumbles from flats nearby on this Monday night of uproarious enchantments (college life of course).

      Katya and I came back to my room and ate a few of the Kobasic’s chocolate from my hometown, Kobasic’s being a local family-owned chocolate factory/store near my house. So amazing. Salted caramel chocolates…it feels a little like home. At the moment, Katya is sleeping like an angel on my pillow.

      Overall the first part of the trip was beautiful. The initial adjustment to our old habits with each other took us by surprise but the surprise went away quickly. Despite the weight we feel about losing the pictures, there is no way we can forget what happened there, in frankly one of the most expensive cities in the world but also one of the most exciting.  

Day 78, 25 March: Unrushed Activities of London

Holiday Inn Express in North Acton, London, Day 78. Unrushed Activities of London

     

      Despite the late start, the free breakfast provided downstairs ran til 11, so we made it with a comfortable hour margin before it closed. Scrambled eggs, beans, apples, cereal, sausage, sunflower butter (not recommended), tea (white tea is weird), peach yogurt—so much, all amazing.

      Our first stop of the day was to the Marble Arch, a place I want to say is mentioned in the popular song by Leonard Cohen, ‘Hallelujah’. It was one of those songs that I liked to sing when I was younger, but the religious connotations never really phased me. Katya and I took turns taking pictures at the Arch, which is literally just a big arch.

      New Bond Street was our next direction, going down and seeing the store displays and somewhat empty streets. Throughout this part of the day, a motif arose in the recurrence of this singing ice-cream-esque truck, tinted a quaint baby blue. I retraced my steps from the last London trip until we finally found what I wanted to show Katya: Burlington Arcade—not an actual arcade, but an indoor archway-hallway-ish mall (row of stores, really). We finally found Piccadilly Circus, which is not a circus by the way but a media-screen corner followed by rows and rows of stores on an oblique intersection.

      Trafalgar Square was one of the highlights for the early afternoon, lying down by the soothing fountains and gazing at the sign with the Olympic countdown of 5 hours and 100 something days until the opening ceremony. Lunch was at a Spaghetti—not World, too kid-ish, but something—and the food was inevitably expensive but still, it’s London. M&M World was a two-minute experience, and we kept walking.

      Throughout all this walking activity, with the constant pressure of knowing we had until 4:45 to get over to the London Eye for the boat cruise around the Thames, we did not rush. We did back it, though again with five minutes to spare. The ticket guy who checked our reservation held the boat for us. On our way there we had stopped to hear a few songs from this four-guy hipster guitar-dominant band, but somehow we underestimated walking time in general.

      Once on the boat cruise, which was extremely windy, we enjoyed the nice 40-minute experience of seeing the attractions and features of London from the water, seeing and going under many bridges. I was surprised at the flatness of the actual ‘London Bridge’—more of a pragmatic than entertaining feature of the city. These lion statues, as pointed out at some point, marked the divide between London city and Greater London, apparently two different jurisdictions and thus two mayors run London. Odd to think: London is really two cities. (Tale of Two Cities takes on a whole new meaning.)

      Our next part of our two-amusement ticket was on the London Eye, a gigantic, energy-efficient (it’s what the builders pride themselves with) Ferris Wheel on the water of the Thames. One revolution is thirty-minutes, in which we got dozens of photos of us and each of us with the background of the Big Ben and the London beyond.

      We headed to Westminster Abbey at the now close of the sunny day, and found it closed, so we headed to a tavern nearby for a pub meal. One Underground trip later and we were back at the hotel, tired from the day but happy we covered so much.

Day 77, 24 March: Reunion

Holiday Inn Express in North Acton, London, Day 77. Reunion

      After the sleep-deprived mess and disorientation of a 6:15am start to a morning devoted to traveling, I finally told the bus driver I was not going to the airport (which wasn’t even a stop) but to the rail station. Bus, train halfway, bus a bit, train to finish off the journey to Liverpool Street Station in London, then Tube to Heathrow airport (Zone 1 to Zone 6).

      Katya called as I was in Terminal 1. My fantasy of being the one to greet her did not match reality identically, about which I was ashamedly disappointed for a second. But then…

      I saw her. She was sitting down. People moved in front of me, blocking her from my sight and making me do a double-take. It was her.

      I ran, overstuffed backpack and all. The ‘hi’ and the hug were simultaneous, but whereas the ‘hi’ lasted a second, the hug five minutes. Finally, we disengaged, looked at each other. It was unreal. Here was finally the proof that we had been waiting for someone for these three months, here was the person we loved right in front of us. We timidly held hands, almost not knowing how to, as if relearning our old ways together. The first kiss in three months too.

      After thirty minutes that felt like a minute, we got up and located where Dominion Theatre was to see the musical we had gotten tickets for, the modern Queens musical ‘We Will Rock You’ (by Ben Elton; the musical was not made by Queen). We made our way through the Underground to Tottenham Court—with five minutes to spare. Not even in a hurry, though.

      The musical was exhilarating. Despite the male protagonist’s wimpiness, the female lead (‘Scaramouche’) was a hit, teasing ‘Galileo Figaro’ with dead pan sarcasm. There were a cappella fragments of ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ throughout the show, beautiful stand-alone moments in which Galileo suddenly knows a line of it without knowing how or why, and later it is revealed that he is the dreamer to bring live music back to this future world where only computer recordings and mixes exist (on purpose; only one guitar was not destroyed by the government).

      After this, we headed to the hotel down the Tube’s Central line, but our stop turned out to be under construction. Luckily, there were replacement buses to and from White City, and we got to the hotel easily enough. Spacious accommodations greeted us there, I took a nap, and we went to The Real Greek restaurant back in White City, a romantic meal for two, before calling it a good first night together, the first night in so long.

Day 76, 23 March: 76 Days of Waiting for Tomorrow

N______ _______, Day 76. 76 Days of Waiting for Tomorrow

      Long-distance relationships.      Like many people (well, the few) I know who’ve been in this situation, I honestly did not think that I’d ever be in a long-distance relationship. Strangely, now that I think about it, Katya and I have unfortunately had half our relationship in one: 6 months (3 last summer, with occasional weekend trips; 3 right now) and 6 months together at the same uni. (I’m rounding up. Our one-year anniversary is technically April 18…wow, it feels so weird to say that. In a good way.)

      Somehow, we’ve made it work. At times, there’s a numbness in which I know there’s someone out there who misses me and I miss her too, but it’s a phantom, a memory. I forget what it feels like to kiss. To hold her in my arms. I forgot her phone number, but thankfully not the memory of her voice. The few skypes a week and daily emails in the morning and evening help to an extent. And the pictures of her. And us.

      But finally the relationship will be more than a memory. Today was the day we were able to say ‘see you tomorrow’. She’s currently flying over somewhere in the middle of the US, maybe reached the Atlantic, but with the time zone change, I can’t begin to guess. But she’s on her way.

      Today, after the last Romanticism seminar (which Stef slept through), I knew that I had to keep to my promise and finish the first drafts of my two essays before Katya’s arrival. The essays are due next Thursday. It took me a week and a half to narrow down my research for the Shelley paper. Yesterday for the Dickens paper, it took me an hour. Last week and Wednesday, I spent more than fifteen hours writing on Shelley. For Dickens, I started this morning with a partially formed introduction and in 6 and a half hours, I had a draft of 2250 words (oops, should be 2000, but it’s a draft). As much as I want to change from procrastinating, the pressure stimulates me, gives me rhythm. Luckily, I felt pressure to finish the drafts early.

      I also did something I haven’t done in a while. After consulting my tutor on the Dickens paper this morning, I went to my room, turned on meditative music, and slept for an hour and a half. But it was half-sleeping. Half-meditating—meditateeping (met-a-teeping)? My breathing fell into a protracted rhythm, unusual when I sleep, and upon getting up, I was as refreshed as if I had gotten all the 8 hours of sleep I should’ve gotten last night.

      Today was another sunny day, crowds of people in front of the ziggurat terraces (Norfolk and Suffolk) and in the square at the heart of campus life. I again did not participate. I’m inclined to work first, play later if I can help it. Or rather, I can’t help but do it that way usually. Guilt. It gets to me.

      But I really plan to be more social (I mean at uni—yes, I went to Dublin last weekend). And this is where I give a shout-out to Liam, who I haven’t seen in awhile. But that should change soon. Along with Stef, Helen, and that whole house (with the narrow stairway). And Abs, Jasmine, their friends. And my flatmates. On another note, which I forgot to mention this week, both Marie and Stephen have returned to the flat as of last Saturday and this past Monday respectively. Broken arm and (formerly) deathly ill, in a relationship together too.

      Now before signing off, if you scan through the past days of blog entries, excluding the Dublin ones, you’ll find a pattern: each day a letter has been removed from my traditional location-day blog opening format, ‘Norfolk Terrace’. It was a countdown. Tomorrow is _______ _______. Not Norfolk Terrace, London.

      3 Days in London. 2 Days in Norwich. 4 Days in Paris.

      With Katya.

Day 75, 22 March: British-American Slang Translations

No_____ _______, Day 75. British-American Slang Translations

            [For the list, skip to the bottom. Otherwise, read on:]

            Yesterday’s entry, or rather this morning’s, was forgotten last night in the mist of the late-hour bedtime. I was sickly, torn over the estranged ending of my first essay and wondering what the twat I was going to do for my second one. All the while knowing that I have until Friday night to finish solid drafts of both.

            The day proved to be sunny, in sky and spirit. The morning seminar for 19^th Century was the last one, focused on Conrad’s Heart of Darkness. I remember a moment, looking at a passage being discussed: ‘I was looking down at the sounding-pole…when I saw my poleman give up the business suddenly, and stretch himself flat on the deck, without even taking the trouble to haul the pole in’ and suddenly it dawned on me that the unnamed narrator—narrating Marlow’s description (the double narration of Conrad for ya)—was depicting the poleman’s death. I felt a profound sense of ‘readerly’ distrust in the narrative voice(s), which led to the tutor disagreeing on that note, but nevertheless, I was engaged at that point on.

            The last Romanticism lecture was on Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, and despite a dull beginning with the historical context, I perked up at the talk of gender differences in Romantic writings: the male (Wordsworth, Percy Shelley, etc.) appealing to utopian ideals for the people vs. the female (Mary Shelley, etc.) appealing to domestic family unity for the people.

            The rest of the day went smoothly. It was nice talking to Stef and James after Romanticism—helped me realize that others were struggling with these overlapping essay deadlines too. I managed to find three literary criticisms on bildungsroman genre in Charles Dickens’ Great Expectations within an hour. In the laundry room this evening, I got down a detailed outline. Dinner in-between was steak sandwich, chicken pasta, and broccoli. Midnight skype with my girlfriend Katya was refreshing.   

            Now for an interesting literary fact that sprang up randomly in my research today and the topic of this entry (in consideration of Katya’s upcoming arrival in London this weekend), a list of British-American slang translations.

Interesting fact: James Joyce received a letter similar to that which Pip in Dickens’ Great Expectations did. (For reference, Pip comes into a gentlemanly fortune in the novel from news written in a letter to his appointed guardian Mr. Jaggers, and given to him.) Joyce’s letter read:

Dear Sir,

We are instructed to write to you on behalf of an admirer of your writing, who desires to be anonymous, to say that we are forwarding you…a total of £200, which we hope you will accept without any enquiry as to the source of the gift’.

[It turns out it was the famous and successful ‘talent discoverer’ of famous 20^th century writers T.S. Eliot, Robert Frost, Ernest Hemingway—and James Joyce, among others: Ezra Pound.]

            Now for the list of slang translations:

[British] = [American]

hiya = hey

you all right? = how are you?

it's okay = you're welcome (at least Jen used it this way)

petrol = gas

plaster = band-aid

fizzy drink = soda

the letter ‘x’ (on an IM/text) = the smiley face :)

‘zed’ = ‘zee’ (as in, the letter)

‘ ’ = “ ” (so quoting something is ‘this’ not “this”)

purse = (female) wallet

handbag = purse

trolley = shopping cart

hob = stovetop

telly/TV = TV

vest = tank top

waistcoast = vest

trainers = sneakers

pavement = sidewalk

jumper = sweater

trousers = pants

pants = underwear/underpants

fanny = [female front sexual organ]

flat = apartment

pudding = general dessert

[To give Stef an honorable mention for helping me finish the list, here is our dialogue:

Me: ‘Is cake also general dessert?’ Stef: ‘No, not everything is cake, only cake. (That will be my greatest quote ever.)’]

parcel = package

post = mail

shopping centre = mall

hoover = vacuum

wardrobe = closet

power socket/plug = outlet/plug

chocolate/sweets = candy (British don’t say ‘candy’ apparently…)

football = soccer

American football = football

twat = idiot

posh = rich

For the sake of sleeping, I will end the list there. If more come up, I shall post ‘em. Night. xx