The Last of London

After two and a half weeks feigning as a fully fledged Londoner, strutting through Waterloo Train Station like I owned the place as soon as my first day, I am preparing to finally head to The Continent on Friday morning, beginning in Denmark. I am especially excited to touch down in Copenhagen because I will finally get to see one of my favourite people alive, Mie/Moo-Moo who spent eleven months as an Aussie in 2011/2012. It has been a good two years since we have seen each other, and now Mie can finally show me her country and culture. Before I jet out though I would like to write one last post covering the remainder of my time in the United Kingdom, including my visits to Brighton, Camden Markets and Oxford and also my experience riding (do you 'ride' a giant wheel?) the iconic London Eye. 

Saturday just gone was Brighton day. I was joined by my two friends from home, Taylah and Lucy, as well as a fellow travel blogger friend of mine, Kara (http://kara-writes.blogspot.com.au/), who hails from Melbourne. I personally did not really have much of a pre-conceived idea of Brighton aside from the globally recognised Brighton Pier, and was pleasantly thrilled upon further exploration of the seaside town. I think all four of us were a bit taken aback by the massive pebbles that make up the beach front, all being so accustomed to Aussie sandy beaches. The Brits did not seem bothered one bit, and seem to have even less beach shame than even the drunkest bogan on Australia Day, with one shrivelled old woman sunbathing all topless and nonchalant like it ain't nobody's business. I guess that's feminism! Due to all four of us being die hard 'clean-eaters' (note sarcasm) we made a beeline for the pier... And the ice-cream. Though a soft serve cone was notably more expensive than one you can get at good old Maccas for 50c, we all conceded that we were paying for the experience of eating an ice-cream on Brighton Pier on a scorching hot twenty five degree (Celsius!) English summer day. 

Brighton was filled with a plethora of zany street performers - from 'Bonzo the Dog' (my personal favourite) to multiple women claiming to be world class psychics (there was certainly too many of them for this to be remotely so) and a street Frank Sinatra - if you've been to Brighton then you've seen it all. Another highlight of the day was the triple story sex shop, which my dear friend dragged us all into and where we all showed what classy and mature young ladies we really are... Yeah...

What surprised me about Brighton though was The Lanes, packed with vintage jewellery stores, a gourmet chocolate shop, tea rooms and pokey little clothing shops, twisting and turning around the little town like a vascular network, ensuring the survival of Brighton's hippy heart. For a fashionable traveller with money to spend, Brighton is a must see. If I were not a backpacker with a heavy backpack to cart around the world (and extremely feeble core and back muscles), and had I also been smart enough to reload my traveller's card with money prior to the weekend (two business days is just not good enough for money to move in 2014!) then I would have switched to Carrie Bradshaw mode in a heartbeat. But alas, I can only vow to one day return and shop my shallow little heart to happiness.

On the train home from London that afternoon, Taylah, Lucy and I were sitting together, gas-bagging about something annoying and insignificant when we were joined by a fellow commuter who sat across from Lucy and I, next to Taylah. Admittedly I at first thought that this lady appeared kind of snobbish. She was very beautiful and glamorous, toting a Burberry coat and wearing some expensive looking necklaces. I would also now like to issue a formal statement to declare just how very, very wrong I was... For once. The lady actually began to interact with us after I loudly proclaimed how hungry I was, and how I was going to demolish a bowl of "weetbix, banana and dates" for dinner, apologising for eating her roll in front of us. Lucy soon had her laughing again when she innocently confused a 'barrister' with a 'barista'. 

I liked the woman instantly; mostly just because she had enough useless celebrity information to hold a conversation as me. As the conversation flowed we asked the lady a few questions about her day, and she explained that she was feeling frazzled because she had just come from a shocking day at work, and that our silly youthful banter came as a useful relief. The woman went on to explain that she was an intervention therapist; she was born in Ireland, had lived in London for seventeen years and now resides in Switzerland, but travels to London frequently for work. For some reason all of us got an unexplainable vibe from her, something about the way she spoke and carried herself left us all feeling touched and inspired, especially after hearing her parting words to us as she alighted the train. She bid us farewell by saying (this is paraphrased) something along the lines of "have a wonderful life, be happy, (turning to me specifically) and you have good skin." At this point, the girls say that my face dropped. I asked her how she knew about my current insecurities about my skin and my appearance (wah, wah, wah, I know... But this is my personal blog, so whatever), for I did not recall mentioning anything. To this she responded with "I just knew". I am still blown away whenever I think of this and I honestly think that this encounter will be one that I cherish for the rest of my life. It really was one of those 'this is why I am travelling' moments, proving that there really are beautiful people in this world. 

On Sunday I ventured into Camden Town to visit the Camden Markets; a London must-see. These markets reminded me of Bali, just times a few thousand. The streets were packed with tourists and locals alike, keenly perusing stalls of jewellery, clothes, knick-knacks and a multitude of ethnic food options. The smells in the air were indescribable. I am still kicking myself for eating a huge breakfast just before I left because I was too full to sample anything. Even more reason to return to London though I suppose. I was totally enthralled by the extent of the market, and instantly knew that I would cover it in one of my typically long-winded blog posts. Hence, I was getting very snap happy. This state of bliss was rudely brought to a holt however when I took a photo of a shirtless, dirty looking hippy on the street, brandishing an enormous arrowed sign pointing to 'cheap tattoo and piercing' removals. I took a picture of him, thinking that his look only contributed to the overall totally random atmosphere of the place, only to have him yell "what the f*ck are you doing? you stupid f*cking idiot!", reminding me that as enamouring and completely juxtaposed to the city centre the markets were, I was still definitely in London. This also proved that some people out there maybe aren't so beautiful.  

Sunday evening Lucy and I decided to tick the ultimate tourist box by experiencing the London Eye. Though it does cost £20, and you have to share your capsule with other idiots who want to take selfies (who probably think you're an idiot taking selfies), the view from the Eye is unparalleled. It has been well-documented (by me) that I am plagued with a crippling fear of heights. I once screamed my way off of a children's ride at the Perth Royal Show when I was eight. Definitely one of my finer moments. However, I did vow to myself that upon pursuing my very own 'Eat, Pray, Love'-esque (so far it's been pretty much solely 'Eat, Eat, Eat') adventure I would push myself to face my fears... also the ticket was non-refundable. Though I did initially experience a mild panic, I soon began to calm (kind of), and tentatively tip-toed towards the viewing windows, where I gripped the railing tighter than my high-waisted skinny jeans currently do my stomach, taking in the glowing sun setting over the majestic London. There certainly is a reason as to why millions insist on experiencing the Eye whilst they are in London. It was unforgettable. 

Yesterday (Tuesday) I visited the holy grail of educational institutions with Kara: the prestigious Oxford University. The campus simply put is just majestic. Everything about the place is totally grand, completely unrivalled in history, knowledge and unfathomable alumni, including Oscar Wilde, C.S Lewis and Aldous Huxley. Standing inside the buildings of the campus is just mind-blowing, considering that those exact buildings helped to nurture and develop some of history's most revered minds. The Bodleian Library (which could not be photographed  as it is still a functioning library) literally made my jaw drop; the books stored in that library hold some of the most important information known to mankind, all written in Latin of course, just to make the information privy only to even a more precise few. I could only dream of being able to study at such an illustrious institution: as Australians typically only can study a postgraduate course there, unless they have the financial prowess to fund their entire bachelor degree (I do not). 

Overall, Oxford - the university and the shire - was stunning, and I had a fantastic day. My experience was ruined however on the bus ride back to London, where I managed to spew (I think due to food poisoning), largely missing the plastic bag that I luckily had from purchasing an Oxford University jumper and getting vomit on my prized Spice Girls t-shirt and vintage denim skirt. To make matters worse I had no tissues and just two sips of water remaining, so I had to suffer the rest of the bus ride reeking of chunder, whilst every passenger passed me to get off of the bus. Awesome.

The vomit ordeal was one of those travel moments that nobody actually warns you about: sitting on a bus covered in your own chuck up, without having your mum at the other end to give you vegemite on crackers and soak your clothes truly makes you feel like a grown up... and makes for a good story line when I write my own sitcom. 

London Baby!

To all of my beloved, devoted readers - yes I am talking to you mum and whoever else you convince to read my amateur travel blog - I have returned to the blogosphere after an extended temporary laziness hiatus. I have no real excuse for not keeping everybody up to date with my latest adventures, I'm really just a lazy shit. Yes I have been very busy out and about in London (a city for which I cannot express my adoration) but I am certain that Tina Fey is much busier, yet she still finds time to contribute comedically to a variety of projects. Seeing as I am actually unemployed (or 'funemployed' as I much prefer to describe it to those who question my [albeit questionable] life choices), and I actually wish to be a professional writer some day I think it is due time I picked up my game. As I type this post on my trusty iPad I am sitting on a makeshift couch (two dodgy mattresses assembled against each other), sipping a frozen berry daiquiri straight from the bag and waiting for my friend's German housemate to shower so we can watch Vampire Diaries together - clearly living the London high life. The point that I am trying to make here with my lukewarm sense of humour is that my evening hours are not really otherwise occupied. Evidently you can take an anti-social, television devout gal out of the confines of her dimly lit bedroom with its wall-mounted television and endless supply of DVDs but you can't take the anti-social, television devout characteristics out of a gal; even when she is in bloomin' London.

My favourite London Bus so far.

The Changing of the Guard at Buckingham Palace.

Thus far I have actually seen quite a lot of London, partially due to my curiosity and partially due to me getting lost whilst on foot, usually searching for a Starbucks so I can grab my grande skinny coffee frappuccino. I should have been born American. Inevitably, getting lost generally results in one unintentionally stumbling across some pretty rad places. Already I have explored Westminster, Covent Garden, Leicester Square, Trafalgar Square, Piccadilly Circus, Soho, South Bank and Hackney to name just a few. I have also spotted a number of Monopoly Map locations (which one of my friend's housemates has actually marked out on a map of London, what a genius) including Fleet Street, Pall Mall, Bond Street and Oxford Street. Soho is a favourite of mine; the streets are lined with incredible multi-storey vintage shops, selling actual designer threads at affordable prices. I have seen the likes of Chanel, Moschino, Dolce and Gabbana, Valentino and Jimmy Choo; all spanning various eras and trends in the one shop. Soho is also the health conscious foodie's dream come true. Come lunch hour Soho's eclectic little lanes are jam packed with British yuppies investing in the latest trend in over-priced super-food. Vegetarians, vegans, pescatarians, or whatever the hell the self-proclaimed Instagram health and fitness experts are calling themselves these days would truly have a health-hashtag-gasm at the delectable choices on offer. I personally am non of the above, as whilst I am an avid foodie and am concerned about my personal health and fitness I can not lie to you all: I love to destroy a juicy medium rare steak, and I can't think of a greater breakfast than one that involves eggs and cheese. However I am more than willing to sample absolutely anything, having already devoured some vegetarian falafel (divine) and am eyeing of a little restaurant called 'Hummus Bro'. Yet another piece of irrelevant information for you: I have a really strange affinity for chickpeas and therefore anything chickpea related. Just the thought of hummus brings me to my happy place; that happy place being a gourmet buffet where I get to where trackie dacks, watch Friends/Will & Grace/ 30 Rock/Parks and Recreation all day, every day and have perfect hair.

Some falafel that I ate. I know the picture is not fabulous but I think that in this case the crapper it looks the better it tastes. 

A delectable salad box I had from a place called 'Beatroot' in Soho. Despite the price (healthy people seem to always be rich) I will certainly eat from there again. 

Another place which I found to be rather thrilling was Leicester Square, somewhere I first discovered as it was getting dark one evening. That place really embodies the 'big city/bright lights' perception of London that I had prior to my arrival. Everywhere I turned there was an enormous sign advertising a plethora of performances and musicals which are currently in town, all of which I wish I was able to see. Off the top of my head I know that Matilda is currently showing, as well as 1984, Les Miserables, Mamma Mia, Thriller, Billy Elliot and The Lion King. I was also devastated to find out that Chelsea Handler will be in town just days after I jet off to Copenhagen. Aside from the fact that my inner gay teenage boy is filled with exuberance regarding the endless variety of stage shows that London has to offer, my inner fat Monica nearly had an aneurism when she happened to stumble across MnM world, which is exactly as it sounds, only one thousand times better. You may have seen the photos on tumblr (don't lie, we all have all reblogged it at one point in time) of walls covered in MnMs in colours and options beyond your wildest dreams. For some reason though that evening I had decided that I was putting myself on one of my 'health kicks' and hence did not buy one thing from any of the tempting four stories. Mind that this is coming from the girl who is currently eating some Ben and Jerry's 'Half Baked' icecream mixed with salty and sweet popcorn... Can anyone say fitspo? It was on sale at Tesco for £2.24, what was a girl to do? Leave it there? Absurd! Never fear though folks, MnM world and I shall meet again.

"Mama's home."

Being the typical tourist/history aficionado that I am (or claim to be) I have visited several of London's world famous calling cards including: Buckingham Palace (well I stood outside) St Paul's Cathedral, Westminster Abbey, and The Tower of London. Perhaps I am too young (I hate to use my own age against myself) or have not yet had the chance to really realise that I am where I am when visiting such locations because I feel like I should be filled with some kind of enlightening feeling but mostly I just feel hungry. I had to remind myself that Princess Diana (whom I hold in the highest regard, a truly remarkable and virtuous lady who I can only wish to emulate) was married at St Paul's and buried and Westminster Abbey. All reigning members of the British Monarchy are crowned at Westminster Abbey, whilst Will and Kate were recently married there and I have had the privilege of walking such hallowed ground. It sounds so cliche but really the only word to describe such a sensation is 'surreal'; completely and absolutely surreal. 

Due to the holiness of both St Paul's Cathedral and Westminster Abbey it is requested of visitors to not take photographs... But I am a rule breaker and did manage to score a few sneaky snaps, even though only one from Westminster Abbey was half decent. I really did have to cease my insistent snapping though when an elderly volunteer came sprinting across the hall, frantically demanding that I put my camera away at once. It is times like these that I wish I was Thomas Foster so that I could pull the 'I don't speak English' card. Alas, everybody will have to endeavour to visit the Abbey for themselves in their lifetime. It really was just exquisite. The architecture of the Abbey (and also Parliament Square, which is it is adjacent to) is just mesmerising, hence the global recognition. Although Westminster Abbey is extremely sacrosanct, I felt an overwhelming sense of the power and pride of the British Monarchy rather than the presence of The Lord. The history of the Abbey spans over one thousand years, with Benedictine monks arriving at the site in the middle of the tenth century. The present church was built in 1245 by Henry III, and still serves it's religious purpose for Londoners today. Westminster Abbey houses some of the world's most impressive paintings, priceless artefacts, pavements, textiles and stained glass, with at least an example of one everywhere that the eye can see. The Abbey also separates into several smaller chapels, each built by and devoted to various members of British royalty, too many to list with far too many grisly tales of tragedy and treachery to comprehend. I certainly would like to spend some time learning more about the history of the building itself and the fascinating people associated.

The inside of Westminster Abbey.

Parliament Square and Big Ben shown when walking across The River Thames. 

Despite me considering myself to be largely agnostic it would be naive of me to wholly dismiss the possibility and legitimacy of the Christian faith after being inside of St Paul's Cathedral. I was raised by very openminded parents and grandparents, and though I was baptised and attended a private Lutheran school I never have been told what to believe in, nor to believe anything without a shadow of a doubt. I have always been encouraged to think freely and consider all possibilities, and whilst I do think I abide by the guidelines of Christianity I do not yet know if I believe in The Lord and his omnipotence. In saying that I am very curious about people and the world in general and am at a point in life where I am striving to learn as much as I possibly can about humankind: past, present and future. Of course it goes without saying that Christianity has shaped human history like no other creed - explaining my keen interest to visit the Cathedral, built entirely in reverence to God. 

There has actually been a church at the site since the 6th century, though the current structure is believed to be the fourth or fifth, others having been destroyed by over-zealous royalty and fire. I was left speechless by the ornate stained glass windows, decadent mosaics, magnificent ceiling paintings, divine marble flooring, twinkling chandeliers, golden tapestry, countless religious inscriptions and formidable statues. Though the whole experience felt very Da Vinci Code-esque, especially when I climbed three sets of stairs (528 in total - 85 metres above ground) - the final set being steep, spiral steps made of corrugated iron, it really made it clear how to many the transcendence of God is unquestionable.

St Paul's Cathedral from the front.

Part of the roof. Sadly my photos from the inside are limited - you're not supposed to take them!

London from above.

The dome structure makes St Paul's instantly recognisable. 

If you have made it this far into the post I am going to reward you with some pictures of me being an awkward turtle at Abbey Road earlier this evening. I decided that because I had some time to kill I may as well jump on the Underground and take a few quick snaps of the World's most recognisable zebra crossing, which is literally just a zebra crossing found in St John's Wood in London's outskirts. It was quite comical to watch tourists darting across the road, most mimicking The Beatle's side on stride, to have their picture taken whilst locals in cars had to stop, shaking their heads in frustration and impatience at these idiot tourists. 

What do I do? Stand here? Smile? Be an awkward turtle?

Action shot.

"... Climbed a Mountain and I Turned Around."

This post is just a quick one to share some of the jaw-dropping photographs that I managed to capture on Saturday just gone of Loch Tay, Glen Coe and the Scottish Highlands, Oban and Loch Lomond.

The Highlands to me represent the 'real Scotland', the capturing, enchanting, rugged and formidable landscape that bred tough tribesmen and women, conditioned for survival. These stunning views completely polarise what a tourist is treated to in Glasgow: drunks, junkies and nightclubs full of sweet Scottish lads, who only want a quick squeeze of your ass. The scenic panoramas were the backgrounds to some of history's most bloodthirsty and brutal tales of betrayal, death and animalistic brutality. The surrounds and summit of Glen Coe itself in fact were the sites of one particularly notorious blood-spill in 1692: aptly named The Massacre of Glen Coe. Tragically, 38 members of the Macdonald tribe were slain by the Campbells over a delayed pledge of allegiance to the new monarchy, with another 40 subsequently dying from exposure following the destruction of their homes. 

Puzzlingly, at the peak of the mountain legend has it that not one bird will fly over the area, which many Scots know as 'The Valley of Silence/Weeping/Tears', named so due to the eerie feeling of desolation and complete silence that many feel upon reaching the top of the famed mountain. 

Nowadays the area is a hugely popular tourist attraction, with a chairlift conveniently transporting tourists eager for an incredible panoramic view of the Highlands to the top. Although I am scared of heights, I decided that it was a time to push myself, to become a better me and jump on that chairlift. This decision was also swayed by the fact that my auntie and uncle had driven me all that way on their Saturday and also because they had actually paid for me to get my ass on the lift. Though it was nerve-wracking at first, I soon felt at ease, even relaxed enough to swivel my head ever so slightly for a more sweeping view of my ascent. Once at the top, I was thrilled, eagerly climbing another miniature summit which sat atop of the mountain (I should note that climbing up is a lot simpler than climbing down. And that one should never wear white converse and mom jeans whilst trampling around on a sludgy mountain). Further on in the distance I saw some mountain tops still speckled with snow (I, coming from sunny Perth, have never seen real life snow) and a seemingly all encompassing view of Scotland. At this point I would like to note that the temptation to break into a rendition of 'Landslide' by Stevie Nicks was pressing ("...climbed a mountain and I turned around"), however I did not want to ruin the moment for myself with the sound of my own voice, which somehow can jump from shrill to manly, and to any other undesirable point in between, often at an uncontrollable decibel. 

Standing up there makes being a part of humanity seem so trivial - I felt that as human beings nothing we will ever amount to in our short life really counts for anything. Such spectacles of Mother Nature were there long before us and will most certainly outlive us, making whatever we create in (give or take) 100 years seem minuscule. I say so not to diminish our glories, but to remind all that perspective is pivotal - we can still do wonderful things in this world but we cannot forget that we are just a glitch on the spectrum of the universe, which I will not even try to comprehend with my insufficient mind and words. Such a truth should not be depressing however, but refreshing; as whilst our achievements may not ever seem like much, nor will our failures and shortcomings - of which our lives seem to be largely consumed by thoughts of.

At the conclusion of my travels I will endeavour to compose a highlights list (I decided that just then), of which reaching to top of Glen Coe will certainly be included.

Loch Tay.

Admittedly I required just a bit of liquid courage to conquer the summit.

The chairlift was great until it paused unexpectedly on the descent, leaving my auntie and I, both petrified of heights, swinging haphazardly at the steepest point. 

Encapsulating views from the top. Impossible to do justice.

Mind the crappy photograph but it only reinforces just how high we were - 3000ft above sea level.

Oban.

Shadows creeping over Loch Lomond.

Creepy me at Loch Lomond.