After waking up on Sunday morning to wet hair and 12 people snoring (3 had left around 5:30 that morning waking me up with them), I got dressed and went down to breakfast, which was hot and humid as everywhere else in the building. Funny, though, because the rest of London was neither hot nor humid.
Meeting up with everyone else, we all made our way down to the Tower of London and Tower Bridge, first making our way across London Bridge which is not Tower Bridge? Who'da thunk. The view from it was gorgeous, though, so I suppose it was worth it.
We did come across The Monument (actual name)
and a pub called The Walrus and the Carpenter, which made me really, really happy. Finally coming out of the London backroads at the Tower, I gazed in awe at the crumbling fortress.
Tickets were £17.Totally worth it. I learned about the entire history of the Tower from the time it was build to its current use via the Yeoman-guided tour. He was a funny little man and told his tale quite well. After his tour ended, roughly one hour later, I walked around the inside of the fortress and made my way to the former barracks which have been converted to the tower that holds the crown jewels. I won't say I wasn't impressed, but fine jewelry is much more interesting on a movie screen than in real life. Personal opinion.
Next I went into the White Tower, saw the chapel from which the bishop was drug and then beheaded during the Peasant's Revolt, thereby becoming the first executed victim in the Tower of London. The self-guided tour then wound its way through three or more floors of the White Tower, all completely filled with King Henry VIII's armor collection--personal armor, gifted armor, and armor for every one of his noble steeds. Ridiculous.
Eager to get onto Tower Bridge, I then left to find the others whom I had left at the Starbucks across the street. None of them was willing to pay to see the Tower. Unfortunate, because I thought it was so incredibly interesting.
We met up once more and they claimed their plan of action was to visit Harrod's (one of the largest and most expensive malls in the world, if not the superlative of both) and then make their way to Abbey Road. Having no desire to see expensive shoes and watches and Foosball tables, and having already seen Abbey Road, I opted out and chose instead to cross over Tower Bridge and then start the hunt for the Invisible Children Europe offices on Tooley Street.
Success! They were in what looked to be a little studio loft apartment--in truth, it might have been at one point, but this was just lovely. The Under-18 party was going on when I arrived because they were unable to attend the event the next night due to venue requirements. So I got to meet a few of the diehard IC Europe fans! We watched GO, which they'd never seen before. After a photoshoot, we went to have a picnic on Potters Fields, which was gorgeous weather and really homey. Something nice to do after nonstop traveling.
Mike and I had a really good conversation ranging from toys he wants to buy (saw a passing bicycle with 2 wheels in front and only 1 in back), to where he's going to live in the fall (currently nowhere), to being a Roadie, to cultural differences between Europe and America. I forgot how much I miss that guy. He was always so busy at Mizzou that I think the last time I saw him was our screening on March 17th, and before that probably not since at least December. It was great to catch up with him.
I'd promised to meet back with Lizzi, Nicole, and Brandon at 6pm so we could all go get dinner, so I left Tooley Street and my new IC family just as they were headed back into the offices.
Dinner was great! We found a little pub owned by a Mediterranean-looking man and had some fantastic non-English food. English food truly is as awful as you're told, so stay away from it at all costs. Afterwards, we went back to the hostel, where we dropped off Brandon, and Lizzi, Nicole and I made our way to Carnaby Street to check out the Sunday nightlife in London.
Sundays are typically gay nights at the bars, so we bypassed a particularly boistrous one that had middle-aged men spilling out the door. They started singing just after we'd passed, which made Lizzi nearly turn around to go back. However, we continued on our way looking for someplace to pop in. Mind, it was about 9:45 at this point.
We find Shakespeare's Head not far from the first pub, but much quieter. At 10:30, they rang out for last call. So early! That's the thing about Europe. People seem to enjoy their sleep. Still a bit shocking to us Americans who are used to beginning the night at around 10 or 11...
We finished our last round and went back toward that first pub, which was still singing karaoke obnoxiously, and went inside. No clue why, but now I can say that I've been inside a gay British pub. Cheers!
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