Thanksgiving in London – an American holiday spent with our former colonial landlords. Unfortunately, the Brits don’t ever celebrate this day; no large feasts with family, no Turkey bowls or Turkey trots, no crazy shopping frenzies, and no arrogant reverence of the time when our ancestors laid claim to our land by driving away its native inhabitants. But alas, Thanksgiving in Stuttgart would have felt no different, and the holidays allowed me to extend my stay.
The capital of the United Kingdom was the only place during this three month Eurostay where I have visited before. In every other city it was and will be a completely new adventure, coming into contact with everything for the very first time. That feeling still found me though, as my memory of my childhood vacation has faded to all but a small collection of fleeting images. It did not matter how much I remembered, as London makes it very easy for an American to get acquainted. No language barrier (besides navigating through the British accent) and a similar pop culture made it easy to get around and converse with the locals.
I flew in on RyanAir, the Scotland-based budget airline that plays theFung-Wah of the European sky. Like riding on the low-fare Chinese transport between Boston & New York, RyanAir gives you what you pay for: nothing more than a seat and very harsh restrictions on your carry-on. But luckily, unlike the Fung-Wah, you don’t have to worry about the plane randomly bursting into flames or breaking down midflight. Traveler beware: make sure you follow RyanAir’s carry-on guidelines stringently. This means weighing your carry-on before you go, and making sure its within the specified dimensions. RyanAir does not make any exceptions. While my backpack just made it into the small cubby they provide to verify your carry-on doesn’t surpass their size constraints, it was 0.80kg over the 10kg limit. Despite my protest, there was no tolerance, and I was forced to find a way to lessen the weight. Fortunately I did not have to throw anything away; instead, I wore every article of clothing I packed. Sorry, no one got off a picture, but if you need a way to visualize, think of the little brother of ‘A Christmas Story’ in his puffy red snowsuit.
After finally making it through security wearing my entire wardrobe, I stripped down to my original attire and waited to board. I made it past gate security only after showing the passport checker three forms of ID. Apparently I didn’t look anything like my passport picture. This makes a bit of sense considering the picture was taken five years ago and I was currently on the last few days of growing my Novembeard (No Shave November is a ritual that I’ve been turning into a lifetime annual tradition). Hearing horror stories at Heathrow, I was dreading trying to make it through their security looking like I just came out of Al Queda Training School.
While waiting for the flight, a Philippino girl around my age sat down next to me with Eat Pray Love in her hand. Since books always make the easiest icebreakers, I used the opportunity to open up a conversation. She introduced herself as Winnie and told me she was on her way to spend a week with some friends she met on an exchange program. Winnie and I would end up talking the entire way to London, eventually seeing each other off on the Underground on our way to our destinations. I wish I knew then that it was the last time I will have seen her before returning to the States.
I made it to my hostel in Waterloo, called The Walrus, just as the clock hit midnight. The hostel administrators and barkeeps were closing up for the night, but one of them, Alex, still took the time to give me a full orientation of the place. Alex would end up giving me the same warm hospitality I received from Karel in Bruxelles. This was a little unexpected and very appreciated considering The Walrus is one of the more larger and popular hostels in London. Even with its size, Alex still made me feel like I was the most important guest there.
When I got into my room I was pleased to find that, for the first time, my only bunkmate was still awake. At last, I could settle down in my room without having to tiptoe around sleeping travelers. My bunkmate was a Berliner on a short travel stint seeing various football games around the country. For whatever reason, I made up a story about coming from the States just for Thanksgiving weekend and made no mention of my true purpose in Europe. Not sure why, since he ended up being a really good guy… but if he ever finds out, I hope he does not take it personally. I would not see much of him for the rest of the weekend.
In the morning, the Walrus offered some corn flakes, bread & spread, tea, coffee, and cookies for breakfast. Not elaborate, but more than sufficient. I met one of the other hostel administrators, Freddie Tyson-Brown, who I would end up growing quite fond of throughout my stay. Freddie is a down-to-earth artist & musician that plays in Henry’s Phonograph when he’s not at the hostel. I hope they find their way to the States!
I made my way to Hyde Park to embark on my fifth Sandeman tour. My tour guide, Nathan, was one of the liveliest Sandeman tour guides that have showed me their city. A skinny, bouncy, cheery British native, he told his stories in a way that made me want to hear only a Briton tell me every story for the rest of my life. He wasn’t the first from the UK that had this ability –a former VP for the student group NUSTAND that I was a part of in college told the stories of genocide and crimes against humanity in a way that inevitably captivated, moved, and influenced all who listened. For that reason, Nathan reminded me much of Jamie, and kept my nostalgia slightly elevated during the three hour tour.
We hit up most of the major sightseeing landmarks on our trip, including Buckingham Palace to see the Changing of the Guards, Big Ben, and ending at Westminster Abbey. Nathan finished the tour with the story of Guy Fawkes, the legendary revolutionary that inspired the movie V for Vendetta. As usual, throughout the tour, I had made acquaintances with many of the other travelers. I was no longer worried about the possibility of spending Thanksgiving by myself; all I had to do was convince one of the others to let me tag along with them. Out of all my options, I obviously chose a very attractive Australian who had recently transplanted into the city. That lapse of logic quickly resulted in regret – within an hour of hanging out with her she had found a way to bail. Now I was lost in the city with little hope of finding a Thanksgiving companion. In my defense, that was the first time this had happened… usually when I tag along, it becomes a day or weekend ordeal.
With only a few hours between the bailout and my upcoming plans to see We Will Rock You in the West End, I didn’t have much choice but to go back to the hostel and relax for a little while. I didn’t mind this, it had been rare on my travels to find some downtime. After clearing my mind and having a drink with Alex and Freddie, I made my way to the West End, leaving just enough time for a Thanksgiving dinner. On my way out of the Underground, I saw an ad for a south Indian restaurant in the heart of London’s theatre district. Without any family around, I figured this was the best way to feel a little closer to my usual Thanksgiving experience. I had some chaat, a mysore sada dosa, and some ras malai for dessert, accompanied by a pint of Kingfisher beer. The restaurant was steps away from the Dominion Theatre.
A statue of Freddie Mercury towered over the sidewalk, and the bustling crowd surrounding the doors indicated a sold out show. Inside, I waited anxiously for the production to begin. We Will Rock You is a musical that features all of Queen’s greatest hits, tied together by a futuristic plot about the death and resurrection of music. My love for Queen can be attributed most to my dad, and Wayne’s World (sadly and proudly, the first rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody I ever witnessed was Mike Myer’s car-sing-along). Over the past few years of listening to this band, it has become increasingly clear that Freddie Mercury may be one of the greatest singers of our time. I was looking forward to taking part in a celebration of one of the greatest bands of all time.
If you plan to see this play, expect an amazing production and vocal talent. It takes nothing less than incredible skill to pull off a Queen song without some sort of bastardization, and these actors did not disappoint. The plot itself was a bit of a stretch; it resembles more of a sci-fi than traditional theatre. It is still very entertaining, and does its job in reminding everyone in the audience why they fell in love with Queen. As the band will always remind me of my father, it was a nice way to end Thanksgiving feeling slightly more connected with my family back at home.
After the play, I headed for The Champion, a small pub recommended to me by Freddie and featuring exclusively Samuel Smith beer. Unfortunately I only had time for one of their brews – apparently bars in London close early. Last call came at 23:00 and I was out on the street again looking for a place to keep the night going. I found one more, but it was nothing to speak of and I left once again in search for a great London night. Someone on the street recommended a club nearby, whose name I now forget. It had no cover, and I walked down into a packed basement filled with Londoners dancing to some impromptu hip hop karaoke. Good for a while, but it soon got old and I headed back for the hostel.
Since it was past midnight, the bar on the first floor was closed, and I was forced to use my key to enter. While I was struggling to find the right door and keyhole, I heard someone chuckling in the background. I looked behind me and saw a pretty girl standing outside with a cigarette. On cue, I stayed for a bit and struck up a conversation. Inés would end up telling me that she had just moved to London from Paris less than a week prior, and was looking for work. My impression of the French had changed instantly in that moment. She ate most of my chips (that’s French Fries for you Americans), and then we said goodnight. I had hoped that it would not be the last time I saw her.
The next morning, I met up with one of my good DC friends, Luca. He was in town for Thanksgiving visiting family (he is a London native that spent the past several years in the States). It was great being able to meet up with him; he would be the only familiar face I would see throughout the holiday. We rendezvoused at the headquarters of The Economist. Nothing about the complex was built for tourists, and Luca and I may have been some of the only people to make any sort of effort to visit there. But, the Economist helped me discover a strong interest in staying abreast with world affairs. I respect the publication immensely, and depend on it daily. For me, it would have been a tragedy had I not seen firsthand where it all happens.
We walked from the Economist to the British Museum and marveled at the endless amounts of stolen treasure. No, not bitter, I just find it interesting that the British still take pride in conquering nearly all of the world’s major cultures and housing some of their most valuable artifacts as a constant reminder. Still, I was a bit disappointed when they had only one half of a room dedicated to the Indians. We did see the Rosetta Stone, and the famous Japanese painting The Great Wave. What I liked best about the British museum was that it was free, or at least most of it was. We had to skip The Book of the Dead since neither of us wanted to shell out 12€.
From the British museum, we took a doubledecker down by the Science and Natural History museums. Before going in, we stopped in at a Pret to get a quick bite. Luca saw me off at the Natural History museum and I made my way through, recognizing the similarity of the experience I had when visiting the Smithsonian’s counterpart.
The Science museum came next, and I felt the experience was somewhere between that of the Museum of Science and the Deutsches Museum. Not as vast as the Deutsches, but still a bit more diverse than the one found in Boston. One of the exhibits, the Listening Post, portrayed a culture that has spawned from the rise, spread, and integration of the internet into our social fabric. It was a series of small screens displaying green text in a large grid. When the screens changed, the screens made a noise much like the traditional timetables found in an old train station. The exhibit had seven versions, each depicting certain excerpts of real time conversations from chat rooms all over the internet. The messages were being sent as we read them, and since the participants were completely unaware of the monitoring, the exhibit offered a completely candid and uninhibited snapshot of our society’s alternate persona. It was disappointing yet fascinating all at the same time.
Without much time before concert doors, I headed back to the hostel for a pre-show drink. This time I was seeing Jónsi live at the Hammersmith Apollo. Jónsi is an offshoot of the soon-to-be-legendary Sigur Rós, one of the best acts to ever come out of Iceland. The lead singer, Jón “Jónsi” Þór Birgisson, took the opportunity to launch a solo project while his bandmates took some time off for their new families. This gave him the chance to explore a playful and uplifting side of music that is often missed in Sigur Rós’ music. Unexpectedly, his work caught wind like rapid fire, and his international tour has been selling out in cities all over the world. I’ve seen Jónsi once before, in New York, and the experience surprisingly paralleled that of a Sigur Rós show. I was hoping for something similar, if not better, at his London concert. Though it was not the same as seeing him for the first time, it still left me leaving with a smile that I thought would never fade. At the very least, Birgisson had not lost the ability to tap into the hearts of their fans and to take a hold of their emotions. If you get a chance to see his new outfit, or even Sigur Rós should they ever tour again, I would highly recommend it.
Instead of going on a search again for a good night follow-up, I headed back to the hostel and saw Inés once again on an outside table having a beer and a cigarette. Alex was kind enough to pour me a beer-on-the-hostel, and I sat with Inés for sometime as we drank and she smoked. She was listening to her iPod, to what I’d soon come to find was Ratatat. I was pleased to hear that she knew this band, and we got into talking music. What a refreshing feeling! It had been a while since I connected with someone over music. Inés and I talked for a good while after, ending up carrying our conversation to the staircase. Just as a moment was transpiring, Alex found us and brought along with him the dreaded awkward silence that led both of us to our own beds. I would not see Inés again after this.
For my last day in London, I had a few specific goals: to climb to the top of the London Bridge monument, to see the place where one of the greatest albums of all time was produced, and to finally see the first half of the ending chapter of one of the greatest stories of all time. I climbed the 311 steps to the top of the monument, the steps arranged in a narrow column that spun me around in dozens of circles. At the top, I was able to get a 360 view of the city. From that point, London looked like any other city I’ve seen. It unfortunately did not have the same panoramic identity as I had seen during my other trips.
My next stop was St. John’s Wood. Steps away from this Underground station sits arguably one of the most famous streets in the entire world – Abbey Road. Yes, I made the cliché pilgrimage to the globally recognized sidewalk that was featured in the cover of one of the most celebrated Beatles albums of their career. And yes, after seeing all of the other tourists do it, I crossed it myself. Turns out, that junction is a busy throughway for London locals. To be able to cross that street and get a picture takes a bit of Frogger skills. While most others had the benefit of a companion to take turns in getting a snapshot of the crosswalk cross, I really had no option other than to approach a complete stranger and hope that they knew enough about cameras to take one of me. To my surprise, a complete stranger ended up approaching me! He was a kid my age that had bought a Polaroid and sat in the cold taking pictures of people as they crossed for the low price of 5£. I haggled him down to 3£, and off we went to take the classic picture. He did a pretty damn good job, despite the Polaroid quality. I think this will be one of my more treasured photos.
To end my day, I went to the Odeon theatre in Camden to see Part I of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. I was a little skeptical considering this same director completely made a disaster of the Sixth, but optimistic since this chapter was split into two installments. My optimism paid off, and I left the movie having enjoyed his interpretation of the book. My only gripe, which my cousin pointed out, was that they glossed over the death of Harry’s most valuable friend. I won’t spoil it for those of you who (shamefully) haven’t read the book or seen the latest movie, but for you true Harry Potter fans, you’ll know exactly what I’m talking about.
I can’t remember the last time I went to a movie by myself, but I have to say I think I’ll do it more often. I see movies at home on my own all the time, and the only difference between that and the movie theatre is that I pay more to get a much better viewing experience. Why not, right? Gotta love the societal norms imposed on us in high school.
The movie unexpectedly had about 30 minutes of previews, which made it end a lot later than I had expected. It was an issue since I only had about 20 minutes to get into the city center to catch the Stansted Express back to the airport. I made it with two minutes to spare. I did make it home without any problems, and made the drive back from Karlsruhe in the region’s first bad snow storm.
Over the past three days, London became one of my more favored European cities, along with Praha, Firenze, Amsterdam, and Berlin. It had bits of the American culture I missed while in Germany, but enough of its own flavor and history to keep everything just as exciting. The city itself gave me a sense of a nice mix of Boston and New York. It was an urban giant like New York, yet kept the intimate feel of Boston. A part of me continues to flirt with the idea that someday I may come back to London for a lot longer than just a weekend.
