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.