Here's an excruciatingly detailed account of my trip to England, May 16th through the 24th, 2005. This is comprised of journals written on my laptop as I traveled, combined with emails sent to Christine and Mom. Undoubtedly there will be some references you won't understand, but overall it should be readable to anyone who knows me. If you'd be reading a novel now, consider this to be one. Or feel free just to skim if you like.
So throughout the weekend, I was working on all of this. The maps and hotels and everything England related I got done on Saturday. I finished up the study preparation Sunday. So today, Monday, I needed to organize all my various messes and leave the place in great shape, get together all the academic things I'd need to bring, and of course pack. In addition, I did a (lame) track workout at CURF, lifted weights, and got a haircut, plus picked up traveler's checks at the bank.
The cab was scheduled to pick me up at 5:30, and I was hoping to be able to film an intro to Nikki's birthday party skits before that. It was amazing how I dotted every i and crossed every t-even printing up GAP's intro to the Table of Marks-before 5:00, and it helped having the skits as a goal. But I needed to eat, and Christine was busy getting all the stuff off the laptop that she'd need so I could take it, and so my skit plan didn't materialize. But having the laptop meant I'd be able to journal in much more detail, as you can see.
The cabbie came, we said goodbye, and I was off to O'Hare airport. I went to the International check in for the first time, and actually used my passport for the first time--I hadn't even signed it yet! I got through security and to my gate with over a half an hour before boarding. I called Christine, Mom & Dad, and left a message for Anna about skits for Nikki's party. I was trying to figure out how I'd sleep. Christine gave me Melatonin that I took Saturday and Sunday night to shift my disastrous sleep schedule up 7 hours in the last 2 days. My plan was to take it early in the flight (which was 7 hours) and get 6 hours of sleep. But then what about the meal? I asked a flight attendant as I boarded when the meal would be served, and she said about an hour after takeoff.
(Back to present tense.) My seat is an aisle seat on the right side of the plane, so facing forward, I'm in position 6 looking left to right in the 2-3-2 format (like the NBA Finals.) The person next to me is female, and she seems shy and not interested in talking at all, which suits me just fine. (Though I guess this should not count as a connection in the 6 degrees of separation.) I read a bit about the Table of Marks and do a little journaling on the laptop (oh yeah, journaling at 35,000 feet), then we get beverages, so I've got to put away the laptop.
Before we got the beverages, I put my bookbag (I checked my big bag) in the overhead compartment, which is where a lot of stuff is, including the Melatonin sleep aid. Now with drinks and food (somehow they thought I was diabetic at first-stupid website), I couldn't get out of my seat, so I ate but afterward it was after 9:30, so I didn't want to take the melatonin because we'd be changing planes at 3:00 our time, less than 6 hours away. So after eating, I decided to sleep, and I do-for about an hour (if that). I wake up and Ocean's Twelve is on, so I continue to try to sleep, then listen to music, then try to reflect (on how this is my first trip overseas), still trying to sleep.
I reset my watch ahead 6 hours and try to sleep again, but I'm really not that comfortable, I try different positions, I keep looking at the movie, and I realize this isn't going to happen. The funny thing about heading east is that we saw the sun setting after 8:00 over Lake Michigan. Now it's been only 4 hours and here it is getting light again. (Of course, now it's after 6am.) So I decide that's it, I'm getting up and going to journal.
I get the laptop down, head to the bathroom and while I'm waiting I see the orange sky out of the left windows. It's awesome-I sooo wish I had a window seat. On my way back from the bathroom I walk slowly, crouching down to see the sunrise, and even see the sun! The sun rising over the Atlantic Ocean. Of course, I can't see the Atlantic Ocean because I'm hunched down looking past 5 columns of people out a little window at a side angle, but I know that's what we're over, and hey, there's the sun, rising. On our side it's not nearly as bright but you can look down and see the clouds. So I get back to my seat, get the laptop going, and here I am.
I've got a connecting flight from Glasgow to Birmingham. As we near Glasgow, I (being an ignorant American) am still not sure what part of the UK it's in, though I'm thinking and hoping it's Scotland. As I feel the elevation dropping, I hunt for my gum to help my ears, and after popping in a piece I look out the window. I can see the green countryside, and there is only an occasional sign of civilization. It appears we will be landing in a pasture. This is surprising considering the surrounding area of the airport we took off from. But as we're really close to landing, I see winding roads, and-yes!-they're driving on the left. Awesome, that's the first time I've ever seen that from above. (In St. Lucia on our honeymoon, we rode in a cab on the left side, which was much scarier than watching it peacefully from above.)
We land and taxi and I see an ad for the Royal Bank of Scotland. Yes!-I was hoping it was Scotland! Though I've been on this plane for over 7 hours at this point, I start to notice the accents around me. A British voice welcomes us to Glasgow over the speaker.
I exit the plane and enter the airport. I can already tell I'm in Europe, because it smells like smoke already. Sure enough, I see the smoking area by the baggage claim. Well, that's one thing that's better about the U.S. It's not totally clear where I'm supposed to go, but I follow a sign to Passports and follow people into a huge line-I mean, Queue. I'm not sure if I'm supposed to be here, because that British voice said something about not needing to do something if you're connecting to another flight in the UK. Maybe it was just baggage. I ask some people in line, and they're not sure, but the let me go ask and hold my place. No, I'm told that I do belong there in that line, and that's when I'm reminded of the British term. So I stand in line and listen to all the passports getting firmly stamped.
I get to the consulate, and she actually seems to almost grill me a little bit. I say I'm going for a conference, and she asks what conference. It doesn't feel like casual conversation, but it's strange because like as if she's going to keep me out of the UK. So I say the conference is about the "Cohomology of Groups." (Which is not the title, but it works for this purpose.) She says, "What about groups?" I just reply, "It's a math conference." She gets the rest of the details of my stay and then firmly gives my first stamp on my passport.
I wander toward where it seems the hallways lead, but really don't know where to go. I ask a couple who is wandering ahead of me, and they said that they are hoping it's ahead of us. It turns out we are on the right track, after a slight detour. It's strange-there are open spots in the airport where there's nobody at all-I don't remember this in U. S. airports. I ask a guy with a badge where to go, and he directs me in such a thick Scottish accent that I can barely understand it. I love it.
I head toward the American Airlines desk, make sure everything is OK, then step out of the airport for a few pictures. I head toward my gate and there are tons of little shops. I've got an hour and a half still, and I just feel like checking stuff out. Who knows when or if I'll ever be in Scotland again after 11am today. I see a UK adapter and, even though I realize it's probably overpriced since it's at the airport, I just want to buy it. It's only 4 pounds. I use a $20 traveler's check and get 5 pounds and change back. Cool. I ask for a receipt (in case I can get reimbursed for it), and the checker is very nice, and I love the accent. It just makes me smile. I suppose part of it could be Mike Myers' "Heed" in my head, but really I just think it's so cool to be in a foreign country with people who talk differently.
Another shop has newspapers, so I buy one with the 40 pence of change I have. It's got a great headline accompanying a photo of a whole bunch of people standing in a huge line 8 to 10 abreast: "Football fever? No, this is just the queue to see the dentist in Scotland." As I'm leaving this shop, I see that they have postcards, so I pick out 4 and go buy them, using my 5 pound note. I'm expecting over 3 pounds back, but they give me all change. I did notice that some of the coins were thicker. So I leave the store and look at the change and sure enough, a pound is a thick coin. Wow, this thing is worth 2 bucks.
I decide to get to my gate so I can start journaling all these things, and I enter the domestic flights section. It is really empty around here. As I walk, there are stretches where I see no people at all. Even when there are people, it just seems much more low-key than I was expecting. This whole section of airport has comfortable carpet. Right now I'm sitting at my gate typing, and there are only two other people at this gate. People occasionally walk past through the hallway, but there is nobody at all at the gate across from us. There are five people lounging in chairs in the hallway, drinking cokes, chatting, and just chilling.
Then there's the smoking room. It is a glass enclosure, just across the hallway, and there are eight people in there-oop, now make it nine-puffing away. But everything just seems more relaxed. When I first got here, there was only one guy sitting in the section, and nobody around. So when a lady with a badge walked by, I asked her if I was in the right spot. She checked my pass and then said that the plane won't be leaving from this gate but that it doesn't matter where I sit, because you can hear the announcements from anywhere. Then a minute later, she came back and said that I was in a good place, because boarding would be at the gate right across from us. It just has a small airport feel, even though it has jumbo jets coming in from all over the world.
The laptop runs out of battery, and after I save stuff I think to myself it's a good thing it did, because we're supposed to be flying in 10 minutes, so I should probably check and make sure I haven't missed anything. But I ask the lady in the row behind me if she's going to Birmingham, and she is, and she has an accent, so I figure I'm OK.
Finally we board and I get a window seat this time. I've got papers to look at in the laptop bag, so I put my bookbag in the overhead bin and try to situate the laptop bag on the floor in front of me, but it doesn't really fit anywhere very well. Now the lack of sleep is really catching up to me and I'm starting to get grumpy. So when the flight attendant asks me to put the laptop bag completely underneath the seat in front of me, I'm not so amused by the Scottish accent. So I grab a folder out of it and have her put the laptop bag in the overhead bin. This flight is only 45 minutes long, and I sleep a little, but this only serves to make me groggy.
The conference director gave good instructions, and I follow the signs toward trains, stopping off at Viva and getting a sandwich. Conveniently, I still have the Gatorade bottle that I filled up with water at home before leaving. It stayed on my bookbag the whole trip, and it's still full, so I don't need to buy a beverage. I realize that I don't need to buy their stupid imported water-I've got my own imported water!
After eating, I then find the stop for the free tram that goes to the train station. On my way there, I see a tram going, and it looks like something out of the future: little blue pods whipping around elevated tracks. The stop also looks futuristic, because it's completely enclosed in glass, with the glass doors opening when a tram is there. So it's not clear exactly where to stand, because it's tough to tell what panes of glass will be the ones that will open (of course, I'm still kind of groggy, too).
I turn and see a blue Jetsons-mobile taking off and heading away. I think, "Oh great, I missed it." But then I look up and see a big screen that says "Next Train 1:37." Before I've even registered what it means, the 1:37 changes to 1:30. Then 1:24… Wow, this is sweet. Sure enough, with about 30 seconds left in the countdown, here comes a tram, like a dog retrieving a stick. I get a picture of the countdown and the tram, hopefully it will turn out.
The ride to the rail station is really short, and at the rail station I'm able to buy tickets to get to the University today and to get to London on Saturday. I go down and wait a few minutes for the train. When it comes and we get on, there are several TV's in each car with news on. I have to transfer at the New Street station, which appears to be the hub of the Birmingham train system and as far as this train goes.
After seeing a little bit of the countryside, we get off at New Street, and this place is like O'Hare. There are multiple levels of platforms, TV screens with instructions, and people everywhere, scurrying about. Instead of color-coded train lines, it seems that any train could go to any platform. It may not be that random, but it seems that way to me. I ask a guy with a badge and he directs me to a screen that will let me know the platform I need. I get there, and the train comes right away-I should say straight away-and it's a short trip to the University.
I exit and look at the internet maps of campus, trying to figure out how to get to my hotel. There's another woman, apparently also from another country, trying to find the computer science building. We get outside of the station and ask some kid (probably an undergrad) who is distributing some sort of literature. It turns out the computer science building is the first building just a stone's throw from the train stop. But I have to cross most of the campus, and I'm again lugging all my stuff around.
I consider going to the nearby bus station, but somehow despite my fatigue I want to walk it. I am asked directions twice by people and obviously am not very helpful. I myself ask for directions again on the way, and after asking somebody in my situation first, I get someone who knows the campus. I'm told to cut across the running track, which is something I plan to use in a day or two. I wind my way around, as there's no direct street to get through campus.
I'm pretty sore and exhausted. Also, I have not one but two injured fingers on my left hand. My thumb still hurts a little from when I jammed it pretty bad playing basketball a week and half ago. And my middle finger is still tender from when I slammed my hand on the ground diving for a Frisbee on Friday. So my right hand is the only option for picking up the suitcase when I have to go up steps. Finally I get to Lucas House, part of the University's "Conference Park." It's now 2:30, so my journey of planes, trains, and automobiles-starting with the cab in Forest Park-has taken 15 hours. I stop and take a picture of my destination.
The room is baking hot, particularly the bathroom. I'm sweating a little bit already from the loaded-down walk, but now I really start to sweat. There is a radiator cranking in the bathroom, and it has our towels on it. A posted sign says CAUTION HEATED TOWEL RAIL. I fiddle with the window in the bathroom and find-aw yeah-that the whole big window swivels out, and refreshing cool air is readily available. When I push the window out, it rustles a tree branch. Looking out the window, we're basically in a tree here. It has a great spring smell.
The plan was that I'd take a nap, but after I unpack a little I think maybe it would be better not to. But the temptation is overwhelming, so I nap. Trying to get up from that nap is extremely difficult because let's face it, it's like 9am at home, way before my time to get up. Finally I do get up because I want dinner. The guy at the desk had told me that they serve dinner there, and just to give them some notice if I wanted to eat there. If I don't eat here, I'll have to walk across campus to some restaurants. It's almost 5:30, so I might end up having to do that. I check at the desk and they tell me to ask at the dining hall if there's room.
At the dining hall, the girl there says there is room "but they serve at 5:30," thinking that would be too early for me. The clock above us says 5:33, but it's a bit fast. So I go back to the desk and find that dinner is 17.50 pounds (about $35). Normally, I would have laughed and left. But on my $108 per diem, I figure it's a great way to eat now, without having to find something else, and also get some veggies. (Plus, they're going to put it on the hotel bill, so I might even get reimbursed for it separately from the per diem.) So I take it, and eat in the dining hall at a table by myself while the scheduled groups ate nearby. As if they knew me in advance, there was a whole pitcher of water at my table just for me. And of course, I end up needing a refill...of the pitcher.
It's a fancy meal, but it still feels like we're more in a dorm cafeteria instead of a hotel restaurant. Sort of in between I guess. I can't quite figure this place out; it's very clearly campus oriented-there are even lecture rooms on the first floor, yet they advertise to "bring a partner for a relaxing weekend" with special weekend rates. I guess it's trying to be a Conference Center by weekday, quaint getaway spot by weekend. Hmm.
The food is fine. I've heard not so good things about the food in England, from Roi describing how he's get to breakfast as late as possible and eat as much as possible so that he wouldn't need much the rest of the day, to Dean's great quote, "The food is good all over the world...until you get to England." But this meal seems like a catered meal would be in the states--no complaints.
One thing I noticed is that the bathroom near the lobby of the hotel has the lightest door I've ever seen in my life. When I go in, I completely slam it open accidentally. I can't believe how light it is, so I try some experiments. From the inside, I'm able to pull the door completely open using just my index finger on the handle. Then, from the outside, I try to push it open with my whole finger fixed except for one knuckle. I can't push it completely open, but I do open it far enough to stick my foot in the opening.
After eating, I go back to my room and call Christine. I never did figure out the calling card thing, and I can dial direct from my room for 65p (65 pence, which is $1.30) per minute. So even though that's expensive, I'm so well funded for this trip that I figure it's easier to do this and just make short calls. And from my room the call connects to home in Forest Park in just 5 seconds. Awesome.
After talking to her, I do some journaling. Now I'm very glad that I went ahead and bought that UK adapter at the airport because now I can journal right away and keep the laptop charged. If I hadn't gotten it then, there's no way I'd get it now, because I'm way too tired and a bit overwhelmed and where would I even go to get one? So that was a good call. I charge my cell phone, too. It's been off since I got on the plane, and will stay off until I land back in Chicago next Tuesday. I pack it away when it's done charging.
It's really staying light late-still pretty light even after 9. We must be in the western portion of the time zone, I guess. Wow, the light really lingers, too. Even after 10:00, you can still see light in the sky. It feels like it'll never get dark, like we're in Alaska-I guess we are further north, aren't we? Anyway, I need some big-time sleep and tomorrow the work starts, so I'm heading to bed a little after 10:00. I keep everything neat because Professor Smith will be arriving in the morning. Then the conference begins at 2, and I've got to fill in the crevices of time with getting as much help as I can from him and others at this conference. So that's it for the ultra-detail journaling, at least until I head to London. Brief summaries to follow. [Editor's warning: this did not turn out to be the case.]
The slight differences here in Britain are fun, except for this one. I love the little cars with the huge license plates, and it's still a thrill to see people driving on the left. Every time I see two cars pass, I envision a head-on collision. In the bathrooms at the math building, the latch on the stall actually has words to indicate if it's available. It says VACANT until you latch it, and then it says ENGAGED. It reminds me of the joke Rick Gibbons told at the College retreat when he was introducing Michael Quicke. Do you remember that? The funny thing is, now it is true: Jan IS engaged!!
Anyway, after I called you this morning (last night for you), I did some more journaling, including some catch-up journaling about River to River. So I've completely finished April now, which is cool. Then it was time for breakfast, so I put away the laptop for good, because I want to spend my extra time looking at math.
Breakfast was nice, but everyone there was dressed formally, and I was in my running pants, running long-sleeved T-shirt (the Chicago Marathon one that I got at Tremont last year), and just socks-no shoes. You know, it's a hotel breakfast, people come down in pajamas sometimes. Not here. Nobody said anything, but I felt like they looked at me funny. Maybe I was just being like you and reading in too much. I sat at a table by myself, just like at dinner last night. I sort of like it this way, so I don't have to make chit-chat. But maybe I'm being a bit antisocial. I'm sort of waiting for my advisor to introduce me, and then I'll be social.
The breakfast seems somewhat strange. They have ham that's hard-cooked like bacon, toast, croissants, tater-tot triangles, fried eggs that you can tell will run when you eat them (I didn't get one), baked beans, and half-tomatoes (I didn't get these either). I think there was some sausage, too. I'm not sure if this is the traditional English Breakfast, but fortunately they also have cereal and juice. I had a bowl of "Frosties" (with Tony the Tiger on the front), lots of juice-they had orange, apple, and I think one other (I had apple), some fruit, toast with jam, croissants, ham, and a couple tater tots. So there is a lot of stuff to eat, which is nice because I can pick and choose. I even tried an Australian cheese spread on my toast-it's not like cream cheese, it's more like Velveeta-and it worked. I also got a big bowl of what looked like pear slices in juice, but turned out to be something like grapefruit. I still ate 3 of them in order not to be too wasteful.
I started getting tired again after breakfast when I got back to the room, which was around 8:15. The meeting today didn't start until 2:00, so I had some time. I did write up 2 of the 8 pages from my last meeting with Prof. Smith, which is good, then I went back to bed about 9, thinking I'd sleep an hour and then get up and run. Wrong. I slept hard, and kept resetting my watch until 12:50! I was still tired, but had to get up at this point because I hadn't showered the whole trip yet, plus I needed lunch!
While the faucet is stupid, the shower is brilliant! It is the ideal design-the volume of water and the temperature of the water are completely separate knobs. The temperature knob even has a number on it, so you'd know exactly what to set it at if someone else had used it. And when it's just yourself, you get it set once and never adjust it again. Only turn the shower on and off with the other knob. I have never seen this before, but I've dreamed about it.
So I got all ready, and it was already 1:30, so it didn't look like I'd have time for lunch, but I knew I needed something. Fortunately, the hotel has lunch, too, so I just billed it to my room! That's 3 meals in a row at the hotel. It's a fancy meal, and I had to scarf down what I could and go. I did, and walked to the math building (1/2 mile away) pretty close to on time.
Prof. Smith was there in a suit, and he introduced me to several people, only a few of whose names I remember. But for some of them I've read their work, like Wilson, who is going to help me with the Table of Marks, and Curtis, who was one of the authors of the ATLAS (the huge blue book that is on my desk in the Den right now). Also there's a guy who I've seen at U of C talks here, and also Mark Ronan from UIC is here. And good news! It turns out that Prof. Smith has another room, so I have a room to myself! Woo-hoo!
Anyway, he gave a talk (which is why he was so dressed up), the third and final one today. During one of the previous talks, I saw him looking over his slides and taking notes. It made me feel good to think that such a high-level mathematician like him was doing the old high school maneuver of finishing one class's homework in another class. But, I was wrong. Instead, he was using another color to indicate to the audience what information from his talk was already addressed in the previous talk. So he was very much paying attention, and using the information from the previous talk to enhance his talk.
I was a bit weary during the second talk, still jetlagged I think. Fortunately, there was a coffee break before Prof. Smith's talk. I wanted to be sure I was awake for it, so I actually drank some coffee. I made it strong, and also loaded it up with cream and sugar. Then I was able to stay awake.
In Prof. Smith's talk, he discussed almost everything I've learned in the two years working with him in 15 minutes! Still, it felt good to follow a high-level talk for so long. Then he moved on to stuff that I don't really understand. :)
So we're about to head out to dinner now. More later!
OK, for some of the people Prof. Smith introduced me to...One guy (forgot his name) was his office mate at Oxford for the PhD. He talked about how they'd go to Higman's lecture and then spend hours afterward trying to figure out what he said. (Yeah, they were actually good students. I just went hope and moped. :)
Robert Wilson is the guy who's supposed to help me with the table of Marks. This guy is so goofy looking--he has a funny face and crooked teeth. I think a cartoon character of his likeness would be a huge hit. The conference organizer Chris Parker has a big bushy "salt & pepper" beard.
Anyway, after the talks, prof. Smith had Ina somethingorother (Korchagena?), a prof at U. Birmingham who also went to Oxford, introduce me to the "postgrads"--England's term for graduate students. It looks like I'm the only one at the conference not from the university here. So I met Rachel, Russell, Simon, Simon (there are 2), John, Murray, Ellie, Sophie, and some others I don't remember. Ina asked me, "I hope you drink beer," I guess because she's thinking it's a good way to socialize with the postgrads. I say, "I don't drink," and Prof. Smith adds, "He's an athlete." It's funny, I've gotten that assumption from a lot of people about why I don't drink. Really, athletics has nothing to do with it. Besides, if you go to a post-race party, you'll see a lot of "athletes" who violate that assumption!
At dinner, I was nice and didn't take the last spot at the last postgrad table. Instead, I sat with old, boring profs. Just kidding, they're not that bad. It was a typical fancy dinner, and people were going through a lot of wine. After dinner, when folks started to leave, I went to one of the postgrad tables and hung out.
The other grads were impressed when I discussed my per diem for this trip. They wanted me to buy beer with it, but fortunately the conversation shifted quickly. They said they needed to talk to their department to up the spending for student trips. I told them about the situation our department had with the grant. Murray said, man, I've ought to go to Chicago. I said, "but it's gotta be by May 31st!"
Also, when I asked Ellie for the pitcher of water, she couldn't understand what I was asking. After a couple of tries and me pointing, she realized, "Oh, Wah-uh."
After a while, we went downstairs to the bar. (Yes, there are 2 university-run bars on campus.) Some people were getting pretty sloshy at this point, including Robert Wilson. He was basically trashed, it appeared. He said to me, "I have no idea what Steve wanted me to talk to you about." When I said the Table of Marks, he said, "I don't know anything about it." Great. So much for such a productive trip. Hopefully it was just the alcohol talking. Or else, oh well, I'll just have fun and not do any work. :)
I got a picture of a few of the guys at the bar--my first time in an English Pub. I was offered alcohol so many times tonight, and just politely declined. I guess it's more of a way of life in Europe. (I'm reminded of Steve Hurder's comment that beer is "their Mama's milk" in Britain.) I even had a conversation about drinking with Russell, who said tonight was an exception for a weekday because of the conference, and that usually this would be reserved for weekends. So I can expect more of the same on Friday night. I'll buy a coke then. Tonight I tried but they didn't take traveler's checks so I just said never mind.
Tomorrow, however, I'm been invited to a comedy club with the postgrads. That should be fun-British humor! But before that, I am really looking forward to running--I haven't run at all yet. I usually like to run early in a visit to explore, so now I feel like I've been missing out. I still don't know anything about campus at all, except Lucas House (where I'm staying), Watson Hall (the math building), and the Staff House (where dinner was). Well, I do know where the track is. So anyway, I've got to get up early in the morning to run, otherwise there's no time. So I'd better get to bed. But hey, I've got the room to myself!
That's a wrap for today. --- I do call Christine and ask her if I should start sending the email updates to Mom, too. She thinks it's a good idea. (Thus Christine is no longer in second person in the journal.) She says goodnight to me and I get to bed before 1.
I feel great at first, and run toward campus. The route reminds me a little of the route at Green Lake from Montgomery-Shaw to the main area: a winding blacktop secluded by foliage. The difference is this stretch is shorter (less than half a mile), the cars fly by much faster, and of course they are driving on the left.
I get to campus, running routes I have walked before, and stretch just outside of the Recreation Center. A woman comes toward the entrance (keep in mind it's 6:30 am) and asks me, "Is this the new gym?" I reply in my very non-British flat accent, "I have no idea, I'm from the U.S." She says, "Oh, right," as if she new by my accent that I wasn't from here before I said it. One thing I'm trying to do is not say that I'm "American" or "from America," because that describes basically all the land in the Western Hemisphere. I think using that term to describe our country is very presumptuous and arrogant. Another good description that people use here is "The States."
I run all around campus and the nearby town. Last night Sophie told me about the path that runs along the canal right next to the train line, so I run a bit in both directions along it. Then back to the town, I negotiate my first "roundabout" and just run and look around. The campus is pretty large, and fairly spread out, with lots of little rolling hills around. It is not as old as I was expecting, in fact it wasn't established until 1901. Heck, of the schools I've attended, only UIC is younger. And unlike the general description at schools in the U.S., here they claim a precise shape of their main campus/lawn area: "University Square." (The funny thing is, "quadrangle" sounds more British!)
The song running through my head as I run is the chorus "Oh..you..look..so..beautiful" from "City of Blinding Lights" on U2's new album. I notice that when I read signs or names on buildings, I'm pronouncing them in my head with a British accent. It's to such an extent that when I see a nice mowed field, I think to myself, "Oh look, a pitch." I haven't even heard that word on this trip at all! I'm just in British mode and I know the term from that hilarious Nike ad from a couple of years ago (where the guy is running naked on the field--"extra man on the pitch").
I get back to Lucas House and take a look around outside. There's a nice garden area at the next building, and a pitch behind it. I stretch and do crunches and then head in to get breakfast. It's the exact same food again. Prof. Smith isn't there, but I sit with a couple of people I now recognize including Bob Oliver who spoke yesterday, and who Prof. Smith knows pretty well. I also realize that the people here yesterday (I see some of them today) are not with the math conference. So I'm glad I went ahead and followed my antisocial instincts yesterday.
Bob is now at the University of Paris, but he's from the U.S. ("the states"). In fact, he grew up in Maryland, not far from Rockville I learned. He's got big sandy hair and a bushy beard and has a terrific voice-I seriously think he could be in broadcasting. He sounds kind of like Bob Ross, but his voice projects very well in a smooth baritone. It makes his talks very low-key and easy to listen to. He's got a good sense of humor, too. The conversation I jump into is about the Channel tunnel. I learn that you can now get from London to Paris in 2 1/2 hours by train! Ah, if we only had that kind of public transportation in "the states."
During breakfast, Bob notices a packet of Marmite in the butter and jelly basket. I had noticed that yesterday, too, and didn't know what it was. He asks what it is, and from the description ("salty"), he asks, "So why do people eat it?" It's a great rebuttal. He wonders if people consider it healthy, but the Brits at our table say, no, people actually like it. I also notice that the brand of margarine is Flora, which I recognize as the title sponsor of the London Marathon. I ask if anybody knows if it's the same company, but I'm the only person who knows the title sponsor of the London Marathon. "So it's sponsored by butter," I say. Bob says "No-margarine." I take a packet home as a souvenir. (Bob: "A souvenir of the London Marathon.")
Anyway, after breakfast, I shower and head back to campus in the crisp morning air. I have to say, the weather forecasts looked awful but I actually enjoy this weather. Along the way I walk with John (a different John than I met yesterday, though I do remember seeing this one) who I thought was a postgrad here. It turns out he used to be here (so he knows several people), but now he's in London. We discuss which nations drive on the left.
I really appreciate the cool weather when we get to the lecture room, because it is baking hot. Chris the director says that he can't control the heat, but they don't shut it off until June. Whoo. Amazingly I've stayed awake during all the talks so far.
As for the talks, it is kind of neat that the topic of this conference is so specific that I actually do know something about all the terms that are brought up. I don't follow the reasoning, but at any given point of each lecture, I can at least consider what they are saying. This is a good feeling, because I'm used to being absolutely blown away in the first 5 minutes and spend the rest of the time hopelessly tracing the figures off the board.
I also notice that two of the guys from U. of Chicago who I have met at seminars--Glauberman (who invited me to be on their softball team) and Alperin--are cited multiple times each, in every lecture. These guys aren't here at this conference, but I can really see how prolific they are in my area.
After the three morning talks, I head with a group to the staff house for lunch. We get there and they all line up for the cafeteria, which I am less than excited about, especially since I can see a bunch of other eating establishments out the window. I don't have any pounds left, so I ask the cashier if they take traveler's checks. They don't, so it's my way out. I ask someone in my group where I can get cash and then go to the next building. At the bank there, they direct me to the American Express office down the hall where they will exchange for free (since I have AmEx traveler's checks). I turn in $80 for just under £41. (Does the pound symbol show up for you?) Then I go get some pizza at a place called "Avanti." I like Normal's version better.
I get to the first talk of the afternoon just a bit late, and the lights are off for a powerpoint presentation. It is traditional for the previous speaker to introduce the next speaker, but when I sit I see the previous speaker Geoffrey Robinson (who must have just introduced this speaker) bobbing his head back--already totally zonked. And he continued the whiplash--dropping his head back and bringing it forward for quite a long time.
Now I've seen profs fall asleep in talks before, but this is a huge guy with a big head. I struggled really hard not to laugh. He was just 2 rows in front of me and if I looked up at all, even looking as far in the other direction as possible, I could see his head bouncing in my peripheral vision. I was really afraid I would burst out uncontrollably. It was kind of like trying not to vomit, there's a moment where you really feel you're about to, and then it settles. Then the big gray ball drops again and you've got to focus not to explode. It reminds me of the French horn squeak at that orchestra concert at Parkside Elementary.
This keeps going for 30 full minutes continuously. Rare is the radio station that would provide such a long stretch of uninterrupted headbanging. Finally, he readjusts himself forward and sleeps the rest of the hour leaning forward on the desk so that his head nodding is more subtle. And this is a very well-respected mathematician...I know I'm in the right field!
At last I'm able to pay attention to the talk, but of course it's a bit late now. And it's the 4th lecture of the day, so I'm pretty much done. Bob Oliver gives the last talk, so I do get something out of it, but I spend most of my effort trying to avoid following Robinson's lead.
At last the day is done--whew, 5 lectures. I gather with the other postgrads in the common room before dinner. I learn a lot about the British coins, and some arcane political divisions. For example, there is an island in the English channel named Guernsey with only a few thousand people. Yet it has its own government and even mints its own money. Russell gave me a 20 pence Guernsey coin. It's technically not legal tender in England, but most people accept it because it is sized and shaped exactly like the official 20 pence piece. Bizarre.
One thing that I've found to be quite cool is the company that the University has providing its water coolers. The company is called AquAid, and it gives a significant portion of its proceeds-35 pence (70 cents) per 12 L bottle-to a charity called Lifeline, which helps develop clean water sources for developing countries in central Africa. This kind of company in the U.S. would make me much less opposed to bottled water.
On the way to dinner, I find out that it was Robert Curtis, not Robert Wilson who had the all-night gathering last night. But apparently it would not have been too out of character for Wilson to do such a thing, which is why Chris Parker had misinformation.
We go to a burger joint before heading to the comedy club. This is a cheap burger joint where you order at the counter and they bring your food out to you. Yet still, they serve wine. Bizarre. I ask for a cup of water at the bar, and for the second time this trip, they can't understand me. The lady smiles in a "I have no idea what you just said" kind of way. I try something like "wah-uh" and she gets it. I go back and tell the table, particularly Ellie, who had the same problem last night when I asked her for some. It's funny, because Gail at UIC (who is from New York) makes fun of the way I say "WAAATER." She'll get a kick out of this story.
Another thing I think is funny is when someone talks when I'm not looking, I can't tell who it is. It's like a twist on the old prejudice people have about immigrants or minorities: "All these Brits sound the same!" The accent still jumps out at me so much that I haven't learned to distinguish between different people with the accent.
They play good music at this place, including "Bad Day" by REM. Tom--a guy I just met, mentions he's going to the REM concert here in July. I tell him I've seen them twice in the U.S., trying to make a connection, but I think unintentionally one-upping him. Oh well.
I hear about how the VAT (Value Added Tax) is 17.5% added to almost everything in Britain except food. But for some reason biscuits are considered a luxury, so the tax applies to them but not to cake, for example. They tell me the story of a long, drawn-out trial of a biscuit company that successfully convinced the court that its products were chocolate covered cakes, not biscuits. Very pedantic. I say it's "Kinda like the O.J. trial," and they know the reference.
Then, for the first time in my life (this was confirmed with Mom), I ride on a double-decker bus! It is a very nice view, and feels way, way above the road, especially comparing to the little teeny cars next to us. We get to the comedy club, and a bunch of people I don't know (still don't) meet us, and we see the show. It has an MC, plus 3 acts. Of course, lots of foul language but it was quite good. The MC is Irish, the first two acts are British, and the headliner is a black guy from Atlanta. You could see the progression of their comedy, as the show got deeper and more unique as the night went on. I do think, though, that the second guy was my favorite, with most of his act about "stupid time-wasting things people say."
In between the acts I have conversations with John (the one I met last night, not the one I walked to campus with this morning) about British sports, and the comparisons to American sports. It's quite fascinating. I also learn that nobody says "water closet" anymore, though he said occasionally you'll see WC printed. But signs now generally say "Toilet." John says, "We tell it like it is."
We get back on the bus discuss more of the subtle differences between Britain and the U.S. It comes about when I try to gauge how expensive their gas is relative to ours, but there are too many conversions to make. Pounds to dollars, litres to gallons. And then I find out that the British gallon is different than the U.S. gallon! And shoe sizes are different, too, and stuff like that. Finally I'm told that this is my stop and I'm given directions for how to get back. Now I'm here, and really ready to crash.
I eat with John and a woman from the conference whose name I still don't know. We discuss the weather contrasts between Britain and the U.S., and the different natural disasters. Apparently tornadoes are very rare in Britain, so I tell them stories of our frequent tornadoes and tornado drills that I had to do as a kid. They tell me about the floods they have in Britain, that go up to and sometimes past the windows on cars. They leave as I'm finishing up, and then I hustle to campus for the first talk at 9:30. (Arriving several minutes before the start, for the record.)
When I walk into the room, it starts a 9 hour period where I forget that I'm in England. It's all about math. Today has got to be the day to meet with Wilson, if it happens at all. And when I walk into the room, I see him and we briefly make eye contact.
The room is warm again, but before the first talk someone opens a window. With the door to the lecture hall open, there is a very nice cross breeze. Ahhh. It blows Markus' papers. Ahhh. He gets up and shuts the door. Nooooo!
After the first talk, Prof. Smith comes over to me, again pushing me to get a meeting set up with him. He has mentioned it to me virtually every break during the conference. (Wilson didn't come in at all yesterday, and Prof. Smith had me write him an email.) But it's good that he does, because otherwise I'd feel sort of bad for badgering the poor guy, especially after what he told me Wednesday night. It seems he doesn't really want to help. But Prof. Smith's insistence makes me feel more like it's OK.
So right then we go up to the common room and I sit next to Wilson. He has gotten my email and I suggest (word for word from Prof. Smith) that we could meet sometime when he was going to skip a talk. He again indicates that he doesn't think he'll be very helpful, but he looks at the schedule and decides that he wants to go to the 11:00 and noon talks, but that the afternoon talks he's "not so interested in." This works great, because I agree. Prof. Smith's talk is the noon talk, and the one before it is pretty relevant. So we tentatively agree to meet in the afternoon.
In the room, there is a picture taken here titled "The Atlas, 10 years on." The Atlas of Finite Groups was a pillar in mathematics and completed in 1985. Then the Atlas of Brauer Characters was published a few years later. I have both of them on my desk in the den. This photo of the authors of the Atlas was taken in 1995 at a conference in Birmingham.
I get up to go look at it, in part to break the awkwardness sitting there next to Wilson, and in part to remind him why I'm badgering him. In the photo, The Atlas of Finite Groups authors have a copy of this volume on their laps, and the Atlas of Brauer Characters authors have this copy on their laps. There are only 7 authors total, and only two of them have BOTH volumes on their laps. One of them is Robert Wilson. So I return and say "That's pretty impressive; you have both volumes on your lap." He just humbly smiles with that cartoon grin.
During the 11:00 talk, I'm starting to think about how I really ought to brush up on stuff before meeting, but I'm really tired...I know, I'll go back to the hotel and nap, study, and grab lunch there. We have 90 minutes for lunch. I don't really pay much attention to this talk, because I start brushing up on stuff during it (and think about other things like this plan).
Next is Professor Smith's talk, his second one of the conference. The first one Wednesday was more general and abstract (there were many people from London who came only for Wednesday and are not in quite this specific field), but this one was essentially a description of my thesis problem. He cited all these articles that I've been reading (or trying to read), all these people I've heard about, and discussed all these ideas that I've been thinking about. It was really amazing to be sitting there completely absorbed and following everything he said. But I still took some notes, because there's always some things we've talked about a lot but I never quite understood.
So there I am, jotting notes, cross-referencing with notes I have in my folder, pulling out articles of his, just totally wrapped up in the talk and enjoying it. It was amazing to see these famous mathematicians around me asking questions to which I already knew some of the answers. Though I also started to get a little defensive, thinking "Wait a minute, don't tell THEM this problem, they might SOLVE it!" But in reality, it is pretty clear that they find it interesting but have plenty of other things to work on when they get home.
Then at the end of the talk, there's MY NAME on the bottom of the overhead. After all these people he's cited, he mentions aloud, as he has written, "My student Phil Grizzard is working on the Lefschetz Character of the Suzuki group."
I would have thought that my heart would be pounding, with nerves or excitement, but instead I just had this feeling of having a purpose and belonging, even in this high-level group. I knew right then that I wasn't going to be heading back to the hotel to get away and seclude myself. I know people will go to lunch and I should be going with them. The last talk before lunch is always the discussion on the way to lunch, and I don't want to miss it. I am as knowledgeable as anybody here other than Professor Smith on this ultra-specific topic.
So I join a group and join in the discussion on the way to the cafeteria. Of course the Lefschetz module topic fades pretty quickly, but it doesn't matter now to me. I've always liked hanging out with mathematicians and tolerated their talking about math. But now that is what I want to do. I'm with Professor Smith (I can call him Steve but I still don't), Radha, Marcus, Geoffrey Robinson (the sleeping guy), and Jesper, all tenured faculty. (By the way, I've heard so much about Jesper Grodal from Prof. Smith that I assumed he was a well-established quintagenarian. But the guy looks 27.)
On the way, Prof. Smith checks with me again to confirm that I'll be meeting with Wilson this afternoon. I tell him, "Yeah, I'd better try to keep an eye on him so he doesn't bolt." We figure he's in the cafeteria already. While we're in line, Prof. Smith mentions Wilson again, and I'm starting to think that his expectations are too high, so I say "He doesn't know the table of Marks that well...or at least he's not letting on." Prof. Smith says that maybe I can pick up some tricks, but already starts thinking about Klaus Lux (who is not here) who we might need to track down.
It's a nice lunch. It's great that the field is so specific and I've been around long enough that I can at least identify almost all the words that are used in conversation. It's a nice lunch, and Prof. Smith notices Wilson a couple tables over. He points him out to me and chuckles "He can run, but he can't hide." I reply, "I do think I could probably outrun him." One by one people leave, and I'm left with Jesper and Radha. They continue talking, and then Radha asks me if I know the connection between the Lefschetz module and the Steinberg module. It's nice to get respect, but...perhaps still a bit undeserved. I know we've talked about the Steinberg module and it has something to do with somethingorother, but I just reply "No, I don't. But I think Prof. Smith does."
Well, she tried. They go back to their "I can understand most of the words" conversation. Meanwhile, I see that Wilson is leaving his table. I'm not quite done eating, and I don't want to totally stalk him, so I sit and finish.
When we finish, I walk back toward Watson Hall (the Math Building) with Radha. She tells me her story, that she is originally from India, was there through undergrad, got her PhD at Ohio State ("I'm a Buckeye through and through"), did a postdoc at Oxford, and then got a tenure-track job at Ohio State. Also, Markus is her husband, but I like the way she says this: "You know Markus? We married. That's why I was eating fries of his plate." She and Markus came to Ohio State because they could both get tenure track jobs. But they are in the process of moving to England, as they've both been offered tenure-track jobs at the University of Aberdeen. Aberdeen has just recently decided to front some major money to launch a campaign to lure big-time researchers to the school. The school has not been known for its research, but it is right now successfully luring lots of quality people like Radha and Markus.
Now when we go back to Watson, I can't find Wilson. I ask several people if they've seen him, and one tells me, "He's in there," pointing to the lecture room. I go into the lecture room and there are 3 professors and a guitar. But none of the professors are Wilson. (Again, like the alleged late night party, I've been misinformed about Wilson's whereabouts. This guy is really a mystery man.) But it's pretty funny, there's Geoffrey Robinson jamming on a steel-string guitar. He really IS a headbanger! I get a picture.
Still, where's Wilson? I see Russell and ask him if Wilson still has an office, and he does, even though he works in London now. So I go to his office but he's not there. Great. Now it's right before the talk is supposed to start. What do I do? I go down to the entrance, peek into the lecture hall, but he's not there. I wait outside the door briefly, then head into the Lecture Hall. I go to Prof. Smith, who is standing, and sheepishly say, "I lost him."
Crikey, it's getting late!
I start to take a seat, but Prof. Smith instead suggests (insists?) that I wait outside the door until the talk has actually started. So I go out there and nobody's there at all. I read some things from the bulletin board and then I hear my name. It's Wilson! So we kind of awkwardly ask "Where do you want to meet?" So we go up to the empty common room.
I describe what I'm trying to do and show him my analogy for A_7, but explain that I was able to calculate it for A_7 because I can see how it works by playing with the elements and the geometry, since A_7 only has order 2520 (meaning it has 2520 elements). I explain that I'm unable to calculate Lefschetz for Suzuki because it's such a large group. (It has order over 400 billion, and that is not a joke. Look in the den.) But that's one reason why it's unsolved. By anybody. (Also because most people don't care, but that's beside the point.)
Wilson looks at the info I've printed out about the Table of Marks, which is what Prof. Smith thinks will help me solve it. But I can tell (especially now that he is actually helping me and not just using it as an excuse to avoid me) that when he says "This doesn't make any sense to me," that he really doesn't know anything about the Table of Marks. So I set it aside and we look at the problem as he would look at it himself.
With encouragement and occasional appropriate moments of silence from me, in not very long he is making serious progress. He thinks of using Induced Characters to solve it. This is a topic I remember really enjoying learning in Bhama's Representation Theory class.
But he just methodically writes down these characters and gets the problem to a point where he thinks the computer program GAP, which he does know how to use, can give us the rest of the info we need to solve it. (GAP was used heavily in making the Atlas. Both of the Atlases.)
So we head up to his office, and he starts putting stuff into GAP. I write down the commands as he goes so I'll be able to recreate it on my own. The program just gives a bunch of numbers at each step--you have to know what they mean and use them to know what to do next. But this guy is an author of BOTH atlases! So no problem for him. Before I know it, I'm writing down THE LEFSCHETZ CHARACTER OF SUZUKI!!!
Now this is only the first part of my thesis problem. You see, in the '80's, Group Theorists classified all the Finite Simple Groups. So it's pretty amazing, but we know ALL of them--that's why things like the Atlas can be made. There were many classes of groups known before, and the remaining ones that complete the set are called Sporadic groups. There are 26 Sporadic groups. So we know what they are--they've been identified--and now people are working on finding out more about them, about their structure. One thing to look at is the Lefschetz module. My hope is to be able to find a unifying theory about the Lefschetz modules of all sporadic groups. So there's quite a ways to go.
But still, before today only 14 Lefschetz modules of the sporadic groups were known. Now as I'm writing this down in his office, it's 15! For the first time, I'm involved in original mathematical research. This is crazy. We then check some things about the Brauer block that Prof. Smith thinks will lead to a unifying theory, and it checks out. I can't believe it, I've been shot ahead in my research to this point where I am actually checking conjectures! The methods I was trying would have taken generations to finish just this much. Plus I've been taught the process of how to do it, so my summer has been ignited with possibility.
And this whole thing is finished in less than 2 hours. THAT'S why Prof. Smith pushed me so hard to meet with this guy. He really is the man. And I'm just blown away, laughing, smiling, thanking him. And he's just sitting there like he's ready for more. So...I pull out the list and say, "How about the Conway 1 group?" We go through that process and get the Lefschetz module of it. Number 16, check! And the block thing checks out again.
Now it's about 5:00 and I'm not sure how far to push it. So I ask if I can try my hand at the keyboard and see if we can do O'Nan, which is relatively small. I'm really glad I did this, because it made me understand the process a lot better since I had to do it. But he walked me through it, slowly, and we got that one done too. Seventeen, check!
By this point it was 6:00 and his body language was not as eager as it had been. I collected my half-tree size pile of papers and thanked him again. I mentioned going to dinner, and he said he'd meet folks over at the pub in a little bit. I wanted to go for a run, so I went over to the Staff house (which is where the pub is) and asked where they'd be in 2 hours. I was drawn a map by Chris Parker with 3 possible restaurants listed on it, all southeast Asian diners. Prof. Smith asked me how it went, and I told him, letting him know that we didn't use the Table of Marks. I sort of downplayed the fact that his list of unknown Lefschetz modules in his talk a few hours ago has been changed. (That's pretty sweet!)
So I back toward Lucas House and I think to myself, "Doggone...I'm gonna get a PhD."
When I left his office, I had exhaled, "Well, sorry to waste your afternoon, but it was very productive for me!" He replied, "We had more fun than I'm sure we would have had in Lecture Hall A." That's one thing I love about academia. If I were a business stuck on a 6-year project with one year to go, and he were a consultant, then who knows how much money such a visit would have cost. But that's not what it's about in academia, at least not for these guys.
As I'm walking back, I'm reflecting on all this, and I realize that R.E.M.'s "Bad Day" is in my head, and has been for awhile. I finally recognize the irony in that song. In fact, next time I have a bad day, I'm going to come home and play that and feel much better. I get into my room, change, and head off to run. I come back and grab my camera, and then run all around town and campus taking pictures. The phase of not remembering I'm in England is over, I'm now fully back in tourist mode. The funny thing is "Bad Day" is still in my head, and here I am going everywhere and taking all kinds of pictures. (You'll get that if you know the song.)
Of course, with all the stopping for pix my run takes longer than usual. So by the time I stretch and do crunches, it's after 9. Boy, you can't tell by looking outside though. I get ready and walk to and through campus, using my hand-drawn map from Chris Parker. On the way, I see Wilson walking back away from campus. I ask him about dinner, and he said some people just left, and I might be able to catch them. I don't but the map is effective, and I find math people at the 3rd restaurant that I check, a Bangladeshi place. (Fortunately the other two were just one-room diners.)
There's only a group of 4, and when I arrive we all move to a bigger table. I'm a bit disappointed that more of the postgrads I've hung out with the last couple of nights like Rachel, Russell, and Murray are not here. I discover that there is a big group from the math conference in the back room, and though I'd probably rather be there, I'd be moving here soon anyway because the big table has already been here for an hour and a half, whereas these guys haven't ordered yet.
I'm sitting with both Johns, Chris, and Peter (whose names I don't learn until after dinner). Peter is a prof, and Chris is a postgrad. Chris, Burly John, and I start talking a bunch about football. The waitress comes, but I'm so caught up in conversation that I have no idea what I want to order.
Everyone else orders, but I have no clue, and I don't know what any of the main dishes are. On the back, I see steak. "Maybe I'll just get the steak." Burly John grimaces. I ask him "No?" He says, "Well, order what you want, but the back of the menu is English food." Of course, this is my first trip to England, so "English food" could still be a novelty for me. But I'm starting to realize that it's not necessarily true that English food is bad, but that it's just not unique for someone from the States. So John recommends the Chicken Karahi, which he convinces me is not too spicy.
After I order, Chris starts talking about baseball. He's a rare Brit to follow baseball, but he watches it on an obscure sports channel. He's a Red Sox fan, and he says, "but it's not what you think." His Dad used to take a lot of business trips to Boston, and Chris would sometimes be able to come along as a kid, so he started being a fan during the suffering years. He is a very knowledgeable fan. I tell him I'm a Cardinals fan, and we talk briefly about the World Series, and then of course spend longer talking about the ALCS. John inquires about the basic rules of baseball, and we fill him in a bit.
John tells me ("I can't believe I didn't mention it yesterday") that tomorrow is the FA Cup Final, which is England's equivalent to the Super Bowl. It's Arsenal (one of the clubs from London) vs. Manchester United. I don't know very much about football in England, but I know that Man U is where David Beckham became famous, and they just seem to me to be like the New York Yankees of England. So immediately I decide I'm going for Arsenal. John also is going for Arsenal, as he says it's his "favorite team that has a chance to win it all. No reason, really. I just like the way they play football." It turns out Arsenal is not exactly an underdog, they're more like the current New England Patriots. Still, I'm rooting for them.
John invites me to come and watch it with his friend at a pub in downtown Birmingham. The match is at 3:00, and the talks end at 2, and my train to London doesn't leave until 5:40. Talk about good timing. I had been thinking about running during that time, but now that I consider it, I have to check out of my hotel by 10am anyway, so I'd have no place to shower afterward. Plus, what a bonus to my England experience! So I agree to go with him after the talks. He is proctoring an exam, so he won't be at the talks, but he'll meet me right afterward. He does warn me, "I need to meet my friend at 2:30, so we'll have to go…" "Straight away," I finish.
John is really fun to talk with. When I mention how I had trouble not laughing at Geoffrey Robinson (the headbanger), John indicates how common it is for Robinson to do that and says, "I think he's developed the habit that anytime he's awakened suddenly, he starts clapping." That is hilarious. When I talk about how I'm amazed that it stays light so late in England, he reminisces about the long, late football games he would play as a boy. "Really, some of my best memories from childhood were playing football until it was too dark to see."
The food comes and the karahi is actually quite good. I have it over what I now think must have been "pilaf rice," because it sound like everyone was saying "pillow of rice." Then Chris Parker (the director of the conference) comes from the big table to say hi, but then people from the big table start leaving. He goes back, but then we see the mass exodus of math people, who wave goodbye, including Prof. Smith. I do notice that none of the postgrads were in that group either. Oh well, guess I'll never see them again.
Chris (Parker-there are too many same names!) comes back to join us and says, "I came to check on you, but they took it as their chance to go. [Since they aren't staying out late] I don't think they are real mathematicians!"
After we eat, London John starts to go on a tirade about various things. Now I haven't described London John too much, but he's is more of a stereotypical mathematician. He's actually not a postgrad as I had thought, but he's now I guess a tenure-track at Queen Mary U in London (the same school that Wilson is at now). Sometimes he will just start laughing to himself, even when nobody's saying anything at all. It could partially be the wine, but he also sometimes doesn't realize the tone and volume of his voice, like now.
He is upset about how hard it is to follow the math talks. He thinks people are intentionally making things sound too hard to make themselves seem smarter. He's not doing a good job of explaining this, because he repeatedly says, "People are using double vowel words." After the third or fourth time of hearing him make this claim, we start a guffaw about double-vowel words, such as "rice"-with that tricky 'silent vowel.' "Group"-ooh, there's back-to-back vowels! Chris Parker says, "OK, explain what you mean, using words with fewer than 2 vowels." I think Chris might have been trying to be serious, but he starts cracking up before the end of the sentence. It's just such a hilarious claim (I still am not exactly sure what he means by 'double vowel'), but it's not funny to John. He continues his tirade.
We manage to change the conversation and end dinner on a positive note. Chris Parker takes the bus and the rest of us head off together. On the way, we see loads of police cars. Right by us, there are police cars, sirens, lights, and even a couple paddy wagons. How Bizarre. I snap a picture. All of a sudden, 8 more police cars zoom past, and the police who were on the street and sidewalk begin to run to their cars, jump in, do a jerky U-turn and follow the other police cars. Burly John tells me that this sometimes happens because all the bars have to close at the same time, so people get into fights. Based on the reaction of others, this does seem to be an unusually large disturbance. Burly John says goodbye to the group and heads home in another direction.
So it's me, London John, Chris, and Peter. London John still has a lot to get off his chest. He is very bitter about not getting hired on at Birmingham, where he got his PhD. A lot of his venom is geared toward Geoffrey Robinson, the headbanger. The conversation continues even though Peter needs to go a different place than the rest of us (going to Lucas). So we stop on the corner where Peter will peel off and the discussion goes on. I really do respect Chris and Peter for truly hearing out John's complaints, because he's the kind of guy who most people would just blow off. Also, I guess they don't see him as much as they used to, so they are taking time with him now.
Meanwhile I listen, and also kind of look around because it's definitely an insider conversation. Eventually Peter goes his own way and the three of us head back, with mostly a fresh conversation. I try out my British accent and it works. "The clock towah is quite nice, really." They don't notice that I was putting it on, or at least they don't let on. As we walk, I'm asked about running, and I mention that I have an 8-year streak going of running a sub-5 minute mile, so my goal is to make it 9 years in a row this summer. Chris tells me a very interesting anecdote: Lance Armstrong's "goal in life" after retiring following this year's Tour de France is to run a sub-5 minute mile. That's pretty cool!
Finally I get to the hotel and journal for 3 hours. I don't get to bed until after 4, but it was worth it to get the big events of today recorded.
Just for fun, I try the marmite on a little portion of my toast. Man, that stuff is nasty. I mention Bob's comment about "Why do people eat it?" and Prof. Smith jokingly says it "Builds character." I also notice a packet called "Brown Sauce" and have to point out the ominous ambiguity of that label. London John tells of one even worse name at a restaurant that just had "sauce" as an option, with no further information divulged. Everyone leaves to go get checked out, and I finish up. When I get back to my room, it's almost 9:15 and I realize that there's no way I'm going to make the first talk at 9:30, because I have to get outta here. It's amazing how disorganized I can get in less than 4 days.
I check out just before 10 and London John is checking out then, too. We walk to campus, me hauling all my stuff. He may have stored his at the hotel for the day as most people do, but I've got to go right after the last talk. He takes me into the building on the side with the elevator, and we go to the common room, where I leave my stuff. I meet Charles Eaton, who I've heard of before, but hadn't met (I think he's a prof). It's almost time for the next talk, and Wilson comes into the room. I ask if the first talk is over. "I don't know, I skipped it," he shakes his head with a smile. "Thinking of skipping the next talk, too."
The first talk goes over time, and I get in for the second one. Today's talks seem a bit more topological and I have trouble paying attention. Maybe it's because these are the 12th, 13th, and 14th talks (out of 17) I've attended in the last 72 hours. This has to be the most lectures I've attended in such a small period of time since…well, high school! There's a break after the second talk, and I get a picture of myself, Radha, Murray, and Robert Wilson. It's nice to get a photo of lots of people, but I'm really glad I got myself with Wilson. The others were just bystanders.
Radha and Markus have a conversation with people in the common room about how poor the public transportation system is in the U.S. They talk about how Columbus (where Ohio State is) has over a million and a half people in the Metro area, but no rail system. They comment that Americans seem to prefer sitting in their cars and taking the effort of driving themselves across the country rather than just hopping on a train. As perhaps the only American (I mean, person from the U.S.) in the room at the time, I feel entitled to comment. "But you don't understand," I say, sounding serious, as heads turn toward me. "For Americans to take the train, that would mean being around other people." That gets a good laugh.
I go to the third talk, which is Jesper's. It's too advanced for me, but I wanted to see his talk because Prof. Smith holds him in such high regard. I'm not sure where he's from, but occasionally, on certain words, he sounds like somebody doing a bad Arnold Swarzenegger impression.
One last talk and then it's time for goodbyes. When it's done, I see John looking for me through the open door, so I know I gotta go. I exchange email addresses with Murray and London John. But now I'm thinking, because Chris Parker is giving instructions on how to get to his house for a barbecue, and some people are staying over there tonight, and Prof. Smith both has a car and is driving to London at 5:00. I just want to hang out with these people more, not in a lecture hall. The wheels in my head are spinning, and I think of moving my train ticket and staying over at Chris'-no, that would kill the whole day in London. What if I rode with Prof. Smith at 5:00? Then it would only be about an hour of hangout time, plus then I'd have to ride for 2+ hours with Prof. Smith and not get to experience the train ride that I've already paid for. Plus, then I'd miss the FA Cup. But what if I…
Finally, I realize that I've already had my cake and eaten it too on this trip. The FA cup is sprinkles, and now I'm angling for gold dishes! Besides, John has been waiting for me already and if I decide now that I'm not going to go, that's pretty rude. So I say my goodbyes quickly: "See you in a couple weeks," with a shrug to Prof. Smith. I run to the restroom and then up to catch Wilson, shake his hand and thank him again. I mention that I might email him questions and he seems to be enthusiastically expecting that. That's really the goodbye I wanted, and now I'm good to go.
I hustle out with John to the University train station. I make sure to move fast, even a bit ahead of him so he doesn't have to feel like he needs to go slow for me. I know what it's like when you want to make sure you don't miss the start of the big game. I still have only 13 pence of British money on me, so he buys my train ticket. As he buys it, we hear the train, so he tells me to go. I haul my bag down and then take my time getting it onto the train so he can make it. It turns out that I didn't really have to, because he turned on the afterburners to get on in time. The big guy showed some speed.
We go one stop and get off, then hurry to meet his friend. His friend is named Sandeep, and goes by Deep. He's an Indian guy with a turban, and John had mentioned to me that they were buddies from way back. There are pubs all over advertising the match, jammed with people and TV screens. But the one we go to is quite empty, and we pull up 3 chairs in front of a big screen TV, just before the match starts.
It is an excellent match, very aggressively played with lots of scoring opportunities, lots of shots on goal, but no actual goals. Man U has many opportunities to score, but Arsenal's defense and goalie continue to come through in the clutch. During the game we continue the fun discussion of sports, comparing salaries of the different sports and ages of players, etc. At halftime I decide that I really need to cash in these traveler's checks. I borrowed money from people I will never see again, plus I want to get some food here. John tells me where I'm likely to find a bunch of businesses where one of them might cash them in.
So I leave my stuff with them and head out. It's raining, but I scamper through downtown Birmingham. I reflect briefly on the fact that I am uncertainly darting around in the rain in a foreign country that I've never been in before, heading somewhere ambiguous, and I've left all my possessions with a guy I just met this week and his friend, both of whom I will likely never see again. Ah well, I'm a trusting person, and my life is better for it.
I ask a cop where to go and he points me in the right direction. Also, I'm asked directions by somebody again. I now have a theory about this. I think that when someone wants to ask directions, they are a bit shy about it, and they don't want to bug anybody. Someone focused on where they're going is too busy to be bothered. So they look for someone who seems to be not in a hurry, somewhat stalled. And that is exactly what people look like who don't know where they themselves are going.
I run past a giant outdoor TV at a plaza, and of course the match is on there. Even in the rain, there are several people standing and watching. There are also TV on in every restaurant and pub that I pass, so I can keep up a little and know that it's still scoreless. I get to the street that was described to me, and I head down it, finding every bank closed. Finally, there is a traveler's agency, and it does the job.
I hustle back (I should have counted this as running mileage) through the rain, taking a few pictures along the way, and the match is still scoreless. I order some food, and the match goes into extra time still scoreless. Extra time starts after 5, and it's 30 minutes with a break in the middle. I eat and watch until the break, then I've really got to get going, as I have less than 15 minutes to catch my 5:43 train at New Street. John pushes me a little bit, "I would really be going now." So I get his email address, thank him for the invitation, say bye to Deep, and head out with all my stuff.
I am really cutting this close. Fortunately, the train stop is not too far past where I just was to get money. Still, I've never been here before, and I'm gunning it closer than even locals would. Again I pass all the TVs, even the big screen, and the match is still scoreless. I scamper, occasionally running as best as I can this loaded down. My stupid roller suitcase falls over every time I go over a curb. As fits my personality, I stop for 7 seconds by a fountain to get a picture on the way.
I get to the mall area that has the station in it. As I enter, I ask a guard where my platform is. They direct me to the screen, which says 5:38, so I'm relieved that I have 5 minutes left. Unfortunately, the train I want has mechanical problems, so this trip is canceled. There's another train coming 10 minutes later that we can get on and we'll transfer at Nuneaton to London. That train comes and of course it's packed now, with essentially 2 trains worth of people. So I have to stand all the way there, which is probably about a half an hour.
Finally we arrive at Nuneaton, and several people in my same situation discuss where we're supposed to go. As we head there, a young woman in this group asks me if I went to a U2 concert. I say yes, she calls me (I think) a "lucky bastard" and asks me about the show. We find the platform, but she needs a different one and the rest of us wait for the "18:51" train. So we've got over 20 minutes to kill. When it comes, the announcement says "first class toward the front, rest toward the rear." I follow the mass of people heading toward the rear.
When the train stops, I get on what appears to be the back portion of the train with an older woman. We get in and the car is mostly empty, and every chair has "First class" on the seat back. The woman is alarmed. "This isn't first class? It isn't first class, is it?" A middle-aged woman sitting there says, "Yes, this is first class." The older women frustratingly lets out some sort of censored British expletive (analogous to "Oh, schmidt!"). The middle aged lady reassures her, "Just sit down. I think you'll be fine." I say, "Well, I'm gonna try it," and have a seat. I get situated and glance back at the older lady who raises her eyebrows and shrugs with her lips in a tight "This is pretty cool but don't tell anybody" smirk.
I go to the bathroom to change my wet socks to feel even more comfortable. I have trouble telling when a WC is in use, the light indicator on one is flashing, so I don't know what that means. I wait in the doorway for several minutes. It turns out this is the passage between first class and regular. I get a glance at regular, and it seems much more packed with CTA-like seating. I try the other one, and as I'm trying to open the door, a teenage girl opens it and exits. Oops. I apologize, then examine the door and realize that Brits use reds and greens quite effectively (at least effectively for people other than dumb Americans). I remember noticing that pedestrian Walk signs are green, and the Don't Walk sign is red. Here, I hadn't noticed the circle next to the latch, but it's green now, and when I latch it, the dot turns red. Cleva.
Back in first class, I have my own nice comfy chair, my own table, and a chair across from me on the other side of the table. There's even an outlet for charging cell phones or laptops, or whatever. I leisurely journal, while relaxing and enjoying the view. It is beautiful, and the scenery flies by, as we travel probably close to 100 miles an hour. When we run next to an interstate, you can tell that we are completely blowing the cars away. It's a lovely ride. Unfortunately, we arrive in London just too darn soon. I'm looking forward to doing more train rides next summer throughout Europe. It'll be even more fun with friends (and will render first class irrelevant).
The seats are much nicer than the CTA, like airplane seats, even with armrests. But there aren't as many of them, so lots of passengers have to stand. But the way the train sounds on the tracks and the sounds of the doors opening and closing is different; it seems futuristic here. Along the way, I see several groups of young men and women decked out in red, waving flags, carrying signs, and wearing Arsenal's uniforms. I smile as I clearly deduce that Arsenal pulled it out. Every few minutes I come across another group of delirious celebrators.
I get to the Paddington Station and exit, entering London for the first time. Here again I realize the shortcomings in my planning. I'm hauling all my stuff around, and I know this is the closest station to the hotel, but I have absolutely no idea how to get there. I don't have a street map, except one that describes the area around the visitor center. But the visitor center (actually centre) closed at 4:00, and so I won't even be getting a map until tomorrow, when I also pick up my London Pass. I realize that it would be best not to enter an unfamiliar city when the visitor center is already closed.
I wander to the nearest establishment, looking for Norfolk Square. I ask at a pub, and a guy there knows where it is and directs me. It's only about 2 or 3 blocks away. So I follow the directions, get to Norfolk square, and I'm really getting tired and sore from lugging all this stuff. I count up the numbers down a long block, starting at 1, looking for 52. I get to the end of the block and it's still only in the 40's. I cross the street and look for signs. Street signs here are on the buildings on each corner, which is pretty cool. Except now the street I'm on has a different name-it's not Norfolk Square anymore. Great. So it wasn't there, and it's not here-what the heck. A guy on the corner sees me confused and when I tell him he directs me to the right and down the block to the right. I go there, but now these numbers are all in the 100s, plus this isn't Norfolk Square either. Thanks a lot, buddy.
I come all the way back down that block and turn back toward the way I came. But it's the same problem again. Then I notice that the other side of this boulevard is named Norfolk Square also. And I guess I was too tired or something to notice that all the numbers were odd on the side I originally tried. So I go across, and sure enough, evens! I follow the numbers starting with 2, and go all the way to almost the end of the block when finally I see 52, The Belvedere Hotel. I check in, and it's a little after nine.
I come into my room, and it's pretty small. It's a nice sized bed, which takes up almost the whole room. There is a desk that will be useful for journaling, and a TV mounted on the wall. There's a little added-on corner closet, too. As for the bathroom, let's just say I know where the term "water closet" came from. And we're not talking about a walk-in closet. The bathroom looks like it was brought in from an airplane. Even the door opens like one. Imagine an airplane bathroom, and then they cram a shower into it also. The ceilings in the room are high-I'd say over 12 feet. I think, "I'd take less of that up there, and move it down here." I do have a neat little balcony that you get to by opening the huge window and walking out. So alright, this'll work.
On the way out, I ask the clerk about phonecards. I've asked so many people about good phonecards this trip, and nobody seems to know anything in particular, so I'm sort of expecting the same from him. But instead, he says, "Yes, get America First. Ask for an America First phonecard. It's 5 pounds, and you get lots of minutes." Wow, that was definitive. He tells me that many of the shops around will have them.
I go look for some food. On the way, I see that there's an Internet Café. Yes! I go in and ask about their hours and if they have wireless access for laptops. They're open til 11:30, and they do (not wireless, but you just plug in your laptop and get access). Sweet. I look around at restaurants and end up at Garfunkel's on the corner. It's a nice little diner, it takes credit cards, and I guess it reminds me of diners back home. I even order the "American Hot Pizza," though I substitute red peppers in for the jalapeños.
I've got a great seat by the window so I can get a good view the street. I look at some of my materials to plan for tomorrow, but the pizza comes quickly. It's tasty, and then I order a Chocolate Revenge for dessert.
When I get the bill I start to think about tip. I was told last week that in Europe, tipping is "a statement," reserved for excellent service. But here the bill says they add 10% for parties of 6 or more, and my bill says "does not include service." The menu said that the service fee "is up to you." So I give my waiter my card, and he comes to the table with the swipe machine. This is a little imposing, because after he swipes it, you enter the tip amount on the spot with him standing there. My bill is just over $10 (oops, I mean 10 pounds-no pounds symbol on the laptop), so I tip a pound. It's sort of a compromise; I didn't stiff him but I was not a difficult customer and it feels nice to give under 15%.
I head back to the internet café and now with internet access for my laptop, I send Christine and Mom all the earlier stuff from the beginning of my trip. I also send John an email of congratulations about Arsenal, and thank him for inviting me to watch it. Then I search St. Paul's cathedral to see if maybe I could actually attend a service in it. It was highly recommended to me to see as a tourist, but I think maybe I could combine that with a service, so I write down the times.
The café is about to close and my half hour is up, so I go to the counter and ask if they have an America First phonecard. They do, but the guy tells me they've got everything locked up already. I press him, because I'm supposed to be calling home at midnight during Nikki's (30th!) birthday party. He looks in the stuff he has, but there aren't any. I tell him I need to make a call tonight and he directs me to their main store which is open til 12, and is about 4 blocks away. I go there and get the card, then head across the street to buy another disposable camera for tomorrow.
On the way back, I want to avoid doubling back that long block up to the hotel, so I consider trying to cut across at some street, different than the way I came. But then I think to myself, "Remember the last time you were in a foreign country and tried to take a shortcut…" So I just retrace my steps and come back the long way.
Arriving back at the hotel, a different guy (I suppose the overnight clerk) is sleeping on the couch in the lobby. When I come in, he jumps up, and it's kind of amusing. I get back to my room and I can't get the phone card to work. So I go downstairs and ask that guy what to do. He finds that my room hadn't been activated for calls, so he activates it. In order to make the call, I need to know the international country code. Fortunately, I learned in Birmingham that the U.S. is easy: 001.
I go up, use the card, and find that I have 106 minutes! Nice-I paid 5 pounds (10 bucks), so that's less than 10 cents a minute! I call the party and talk to Christine, Nikki, Heather, Becca, Brian, and Anna. I really miss being there for the party; they're even going to have a bunch of people stay overnight. Man, that's so up my alley. Why did my trip have to be this weekend? I talk for exactly one hour on the phone passaround and then head to bed. All my stuff is piled everywhere, but ah well, I'm tired. At night I can hear the bus that stops right next to our building. When it brakes and accelerates, it also sounds futuristic, not like the busses in the states. It's pretty cool to keep hearing that sound at night.
I take my time getting out of bed, then get ready and decide what I want to do. It's a bit after 3, and I realize that I have no choice of what to do: I've got to get to the BLVC (Britain and London Visitor Center) by 4:00 before it closes! I've already paid 71 pounds for the London Pass for 3 days, and already I have less than 48 hours to spend in London. (I'm probably not going to get reimbursed for it.) I also would like to go run, so I figure I might be able to combine activities. I wear my jean shorts for the first time this trip, so that I might be able to run partially for transportation. I also wear my Chapter 6 shirt, to do a little advertising in an untapped market. ;)
So I go downstairs and realize another gap in my planning. I don't really know how to get to the BLVC. I know it's near the Picadilly Circus station. Plus, I've already paid for a full travel pass for today, and I still don't have it until I get to the BLVC. A bus comes and I get on and ask him. He says it's not this bus but shows me where that bus stop is. I get to that bus stop and there's a machine there so I can buy my ticket in advance like you're supposed to do. It's 1.20, and of course I don't have exact change, so I spend 1.50 when I've already paid fully for all travel today.
The bus comes, and it's a double-decker. I go to the top of course and it's a nice view of the streets. There's also a TV on board. I'm a bit anxious about knowing when to get off the bus. I of course don't recognize any streets, and it's hard to see street names. This is why the train is better-you have clear-cut signs with the name of the station with a voice telling you what station you're at. Finally I ask a couple nearby and they don't know where the BLVC is, but when I say Regent Street they tell me we're on it now. So it's just about the numbers, and I'm looking for 1. They give me a recommendation of when to get off, and when I do I have no idea where to go.
I'm sort of at a 5-way intersection. It looks like Regent Street becomes some other street, and the numbers seem to be different on each street. It's after 3:40 now, I need to get there. I go into a store and even the worker is confused. But he does stay with me for a minute and help me, going outside and figuring out that Regent bends to the right. So I follow that way and finally do get to the BLVC.
In there I get my pass and my train tickets. I'm supposed to have a 3-day train pass, but they are out of them so I get 3 1-day passes. Seems like no big deal, but the guy tells me that these 1 day passes are not good until 9:30 am, whereas the 3 day passes would be good all the time. I figure it's fine for me, but that's pretty much a crock for most people. I get a London Pass guidebook, and that's it. They announce they will be closing in 10 minutes. I go exchange $20 U.S. for a little over 10 pounds, the best exchange rate available (and no commission with the London pass).
I still feel like I'm not really ready to head out. For example, I still don't have a map. I overhear a traveler at a desk by the wall ask for a London map, and she is handed one, so I ask for the same. This map is where it's at. It's free (it even says FREE on the top), and it has everything a visitor needs: the tube map (in color), and maps of varying scales of the city and surrounding areas, down to very detailed local street maps. It also has descriptions of attractions and handy guides with the number circles indicating the location of many attractions. My question is, why do we have to ask for this map? When I paid 71 pounds (142 bucks) for a London Pass, why wasn't I given this automatically?
I browse a few things before leaving, noticing the Hard Rock Café ad. As you can imagine, I'm pretty hungry by now. I want to go to a café to plan the day, so why not the Hard Rock Café? I ask a guy how far it is, and he shows me. He says it's about a 20 minute walk, or I could take a bus. So I decide to run there.
Before I get very far, I see little stand with souvenirs, and so I pick up a T-shirt, another camera, and a whole bunch of postcards. Then I run to the Hard Rock Café. It's actually pretty close, only about a half mile. I see it across the street when I thought it would be much further down.
I go in and get a seat on a stool right in front of the servers. I read the story of the Hard Rock Café, and how this is the original one here in London. It was Eric Clapton's Guitar that started the memorabilia on the walls. I order the fajitas, and they are fantastic. Some of my favorite tunes during lunch are Somebody Told Me by The Killers, Bohemian Rhapsody, and Green Day's When I Come Around. That one reminds me of almost exactly 10 years ago at Christine's, Mark's, and Paul's Show Choir competition in Sullivan. Some high school kids covered that song before the competition.
The meal is £14. After seeing what things cost for a day in London-a couple meals, souvenirs, etc.-looking at prices, it seems they are about what you'd expect to pay at a pricey tourist city in the U.S. And then you remember that it's in pounds. Goik! So everything is basically doubled. Good thing I'm funded!
As I get ready to pay, I show my London Pass and am reminded that I get a hot fudge sundae (I had seen that in the booklet, which gave me the idea to come here). After I eat it, I get ready to head out, but it's raining. And of course, I forgot both my umbrella and my jacket, which I had meant to bring. So I think that I'd better go home and get some more appropriate clothes before I try to do anything else. First I go the souvenir shop and get an obligatory Hard Rock Café T-shirt. Then I jump on a bus, but it turns a bad direction, so I get off and find the nearest Tube station. Another benefit of the Tube at this point is that it's underground, so it's warm and dry.
I get back to my room around 7:30. I look over some possible destinations on the bed. I'm still very full from all the fajitas and dessert, so I start to get comfortable. A little too comfortable. When I wake up, it's after 9:30. Welp, it's been a big day. But I didn't run yesterday and haven't run today, and it's the last day of the running week, so dagnabbit, I'm gonna go run.
I take a camera with me and click pictures in the dark. I try to get mostly illuminated objects, but we'll see if they turn out. Toward the end of my run, I go back to that grocery store, get another disposable camera and juice, a muffin, and a sort of granola bar. I've only eaten the one meal all day, and I figure I'll need something else while I journal tonight.
I get back to the hotel and have to go to the bathroom really bad. But the stinkin' door to the hotel is locked! I knock and then try the other entrance, but it's locked, so I yell "hello" into the open window. A clerk comes motioning that I could have pushed the bell. When he opens it, I ask him what time it locks. He says "usually around 12 [it's 11:45 now], but I can leave it open for you." So I go up to my room to use the bathroom, then come back down to stretch and take a few more pictures. Back up to the room for late-night journaling. I take a sleeping pill at 1:30, hoping to get all my sleeping done by 8:45. The food comes in very handy, as I journal until 3:45am. Forget running in the morning, and forget the hotel breakfast. I set my watch alarm for 10.
I decide to get breakfast at Garfunkel's, because I know they serve breakfast, it's familiar, close, and relatively fast. The problem is, I'm thinking it's like Denny's. They advertise "All Day Breakfast," and it's true. It's just that the definition of breakfast here does not include fluffy piles of carbohydrates covered by liquid sweets. Darn. I order an omelet. My choice of side is not "2 buttermilk pancakes or French toast," but instead is "Fries or salad." I have not been too keen on the British fries, usually called "chips." They are too big, they burn your mouth at first and they have no flavor, just blah potato. I notice that they say "fries" instead of "chips," but I'm not in the mood for surprises. I'll get my greens and have a salad. While I eat I plan my day in London. I'm going to hit the Eye first, because that's what I want to do the most.
After eating I head over to the internet café and mail out the journaling I did last night. I'm still 2 days behind, but it's time to do now and write later. I come back to the room and drop off the laptop, then head to the Paddington Tube station at 1:30. I take the Bakerloo line to Waterloo for the London Eye. I'm much more well-equipped with maps today, but upon emerging from the underground train, I still need some assistance. I ask a policeman where the London Eye is and he says "walk past that building and look right." I do, and it's almost freaky how huge that thing is when you see it so close up at first. I go to the line (I mean queue) and show my London Pass. Yeah, the London Pass. My ticket to everything. Paid $140 bucks for it; only have a hot fudge sundae to show for it so far. Time to take advantage.
No. The lady says, "I'm sorry, we're one of the few places that doesn't take the London Pass. You have to go inside and buy a ticket."
That pissed me off. I have blown so much money on this stupid pass already that I can't possibly make it back today, and now the one thing I want to do most, I have to pay more for. Plus, I have to wait in line, which is one thing they say that you won't have to do with this pass. I go in, wait in line, and it costs 12 pounds! Plus I get a guidebook to see what I'm looking at, so it's 15.50-over thirty dollars. Well if I hadn't blown my amazingly generous per diem before today, it's definitely happening now.
Before getting on, I realize I'm low again, so I buy yet another disposable camera. And each time I buy one of these, it's 10 pounds. 10 pounds everywhere. That's 20 bucks! I decide that this is the last major trip I'm ever going to take without a digital camera. Not only are these throw-aways worse for the environment, more cumbersome to use, annoying to wind every time, unable to be adjusted the way you want, unable to allow you to see your pictures before and after you take them, force you to develop pictures that aren't good; not only that, but I have now spent enough on these things this week to BUY A DIGITAL CAMERA!
But I digress. I've learned my lesson now. So I line up for the next pod on the eye and get in straight away. It's a really neat idea, and there are, as Christine wrote on my London to-do list, "Wonderful Views." I took so many pictures, but the flash kept coming on automatically and I couldn't shut it off (I'm telling you, I'm done with these things), so I might have 37 pictures of white. We'll see.
One thing about it is it would be a lot more fun with at least one other person I knew. It would be a blast to fill a pod with friends-they seem to put 8 to 10 people on each, sometimes fewer depending on the line (I mean queue). But even just one other person, so you could at least talk to somebody. I'm not big on making chit-chat with strangers, so just to have…actually, that goes for this whole London trip…at least one other person…
They take our souvenir picture toward the end of the ride, but none of us care-it's just couples and me. That's where it would be sweet to fill a pod with friends; then I'd be all over buying that picture.
One nice thing about the Eye is I could easily see the next couple of places I wanted to go. So when I get off, I head straight toward Parliament and Big Ben, stopping along the way to buy some souvenir magnets for family and friends, and yes, (ugh) another camera. I think I'm going to have to check a whole bag of used but undeveloped disposable cameras for my flight home.
I get to the House of Parliament and click away all around the outside of the building. The line to get in is long (I take a picture of that, too), and I'm just content to move on to the next attraction. After I take one nice, last shot of Big Ben, the guy next to me asks, "Excuse me sir, do you have the time." I hesitate slightly, but go ahead and look at my watch and say, "Yes, 3:20." Here we are, underneath Big Ben, and the guy asks me what time it is. Immediately his (probably) wife points to the most famous clock in the world and says to him, "There's a clock!"
So next it's off to Buckingham Palace. I saw it from the Eye, but that doesn't mean it's close. It turns out to be about a 10 minute walk, which I'm thinking might be kind of a waste. This is one of my "fringe" activities, but I thought I'd check it out since I was close. I get there and start taking pictures from across the street. It's completely bright sunshine, but I feel some drips. I wonder if the fountain is splashing me, but I look up and sure enough, we're on the very edge of a dark cloud and most of the rest of the sky is bright and clear, and it's blazingly sunny, but it's raining on us. I try to figure out what to do, take cover, grab my jacket, put the camera in my backpack with all its used-up buddies? Fortunately it didn't last long, and it wasn't raining hard, but it wasn't just spitting, either-there were some big heavy drops.
I look for a way to cross over the street where I am, but there are fences all around. So I decide to head back and go on to something else. As I'm going back, I see the way to cross the street and a group of people are crossing, so I jump in with them and start to cross. I look up at the castle and think "Nah," so from the middle of the road I cut back to the other side and move on. No time for a real tour, I'm on my own Short Attention Span tour.
So I go back toward Parliament (there aren't many tube stations near Buckingham for some reason) and go down to the Westminster Tube Station. I take the Circle line to Blackfriar's, heading for Tate Modern. I have a heck of a time finding out how to get to Millennium bridge to cross the Thames River to Tate. Finally I do, and I get a lot of pictures on the bridge, and I visit Tate. It's free to anybody, so my London pass again does nothing. I check out a couple of exhibits including the Nude Exhibit. I definitely notice that nudity is more accepted in Europe, but I think it's tastefully done, more tasteful than "no nudity" U.S. television. (Though some of it I don't get. Here's a naked woman. OK, this is art?)
My omelet can only go so far, so I get a sandwich at the café in Tate. They close at 5:30; I arrive at 5:13 and am paying the bill at 5:28-talk about quick service. I have definitely noticed that I order so much faster when I'm alone. I cross back over the Millennium Bridge to St. Paul's cathedral. I get some pictures of the outside. Then try to go in, but it's closed. Great. I'm doing a terrific job of planning this visit.
Then it's off to London Bridge, Tower Bridge, and the Tower of London. Along the way, I take a ridiculous number of pictures, just clicking away at things that either look cool or seem to be popular. For all I know I might me photographing a building that everyone is crowding because Princess Di once took dump here. (But it was a Royal Dump.) And I still don't use my London Pass for anything.
I was impressed with the Tower Bridge, though. I really like the design, but I'm too late to go in and see the exhibition. (Again, terrific planning.) Alright, at this point I'm tired of being a tourist. I look around a little bit, then grab the Tube and head to the hotel.
One interesting thing about London right now is there are ads everywhere that say "London 2012: Back The Bid." London is a finalist ("Candidate City") to host the 2012 Summer Olympics. Signs on buildings, in the Tube, on posters, in newspapers, and even in the tourist literature are promoting it. "The Olympics will go to the city that wants it the most, so show your support and BACK THE BID." I kind of feel like I'm rooting for London to get it-that would be so cool. I know New York is in the running, and they'll probably get it because of 9/11. That's kind of bogus; I think the U.S. has hosted more than its share. I feel like I'm a part of this bid now, so it would be sweet if the Olympics came back to London.
The Circle line goes directly from the Tower Hill station to Paddington, but there are two seemingly equidistant ways to get there. I count the number of stations in between for each of the two routes and decide to go Eastbound, with fewer stops along the way. Since I have time to kill on the tube, I do a little research and make a list of what I'd do "if I were to do something tomorrow." My flight is at 4:35, so I really could head downtown before going to the airport.
I get back to the hotel around 7:30, and ask at the desk what the checkout time it. It's 11:00, but I can store items after that time before I head off to my flight. I remember the postgrads at Birmingham commenting that the Tube to Heathrow takes a really long time. The Express to Heathrow is a national rail, and is separate from the Tube, and they told me it's "really expensive." So it's either "really long, or really expensive." I like the Tube, so I plan to take it, and I ask the clerk how long it would take from Paddington to the airport on the Tube. He says 30 to 40 minutes. So I have an idea of how long I'll have, though I think he's being a bit optimistic. I decide I should leave the hotel for good at 2:00 tomorrow.
I go up to my room, change, and head off to run. I don't take my camera this time, because I'm thinking of running fast, I'm tired of taking pictures, and I've taken plenty already. I go to Kensington Gardens, just a half mile from the hotel, where there are parks, paths, lakes, and lots of open space. This is super pedestrian-friendly-they don't even allow "cycles" (bikes) on it. I go to one side of the park and stretch near the Princess Diana Memorial Fountain (boy, it's too bad I don't have my camera on me).
Then I take off across the park on a hard run. I'm wearing the (cotton) Tremont 2003 shirt, and I'm getting really warm. I don't see anybody else shirtless, so I'm not sure if I should take it off. Ah, what the heck. I start to push it even harder with the shirt off, sort of a freeing feeling combined with what I feel is now a responsibility to run really fast. (You gotta have a good reason, or else you're just showing off.) With no bikes around, I am the fastest thing going through this park. I pass lots of people lounging in the grass, a couple of football matches, and a rugby practice in the park. I get across the whole park and turn around after a little over a mile, retracing my steps.
I'm pretty focused and trying to run hard and get a good workout. On the way back, a group of young people is sitting near the path. I sort of remember seeing them in my peripheral vision on the way out. I hear a girl yell "Hey you, running fast." I ignore the comment, but she has planned enough in advance to try again before I pass. "Excuse me!" I glance over, still in full stride. She's pointing at her male friend, "He thinks you're cute." I'm mostly past them now, but my head is turned that way and I smile and give the 2 finger wave.
I push it all the way back across the park, successfully getting a good workout in. Sweet, didn't think I'd get that done in London. Now I'm ready for some combination of eating and journaling. I want to get some journaling emailed off, and the I-Café nearest to my hotel closes at 11:00, and it's about 9 now. I want to maximize my time, so I consider eating right away (I mean "straight away") before going to the room to shower. Or maybe I'll get some snacks to tide me over, then journal in the room and eat after I stop by the I-Café. I brought my credit card on the run because on my cool down, I plan to go to the 24 hour gas-station-like grocery store and buy…yes, another freakin' camera.
I jog toward the store, but first I think of asking the main Internet café (right across the street from the store) what their hours are, since on Saturday this one was open later than the one closest to the hotel. They are open til midnight, so I've got an extra hour. So I decide to eat an actual dinner now, and just get my nth disposal camera at the store (n is approaching infinity). I go to my 'hood, and I'm thinking of just picking up something and bringing it to the room. I'd love to take out a pizza, but the pizza places either don't have takeout or don't take credit cards. I've got about 15 pounds left, and I'd rather not risk spending some of it now. I consider grabbing Burger King, but I decide not to, just for the principle of it.
I go stretch and even do my crunches out at the park in the middle of the boulevard. Then I go ahead and take a shower at my room, then start getting ready. But I can't find my credit card. Everything is a piled mess all over my room (though I notice that somehow they came in and made up the bed), and I'm tossing everything around and looking for the card. I know I just had it, and so I think it probably fell out of my pocket when I was doing my crunches. A few more flips of clothing, no. Crap. Hopefully it's still down there, I gotta go see, but I need the key, where's the key? As I'm looking for the key, I find the card on the bed under some clothes I thought I had checked. Whew. I find the key and head for dinner.
I have to admit I have been less than impressed with English food. It's either basically the same as American (and not quite as good or at least not as I'm used to), or things we eat at different times of the day. They take pride in their breakfasts, but I haven't fancied even those. The most famous English meal that's sort of unique is fish 'n' chips. I've never liked fish, and like I said I'm not much on their chips. Plus the best time to really branch out is when you're with other people, who can recommend things, and help you finish or share food with you if you don't like something. So let's go with the tried and true: Garfunkel's.
Just to be different, I go the other way around the block, and I have my bag with my water-filled Gatorade bottle on it. At the bus stop right outside my window, a woman there stops me and asks if she can have some "wah-tuh." I heard her the first time, but I ask "What?" because I almost can't believe the request. "I'm waiting for the bus and I'm sick and I need some water." You know, I'm a generous person, but this is going a little far. This is my bottle, the one I've been using all week and plan to continue using for my trip home. In fact, I've been using it for months as my bottle that I take everywhere with my bag. And she wants to drink out of it! And she's sick! How did she know it was water anyway, it's got Gatorade on the label? I pull it out of its sleeve on my bag and ask her not to put her mouth on it. I see her taking it toward her mouth and I stop her and tell her not to put her mouth on it. She just says "Hmph" and puts her lips right on it and takes a big drink. Great. I wish I had a dishwasher. As I walk toward dinner I think of the scripture, which I have now begrudgingly obeyed.
So it's my third meal at Garfunkel's. I have the same waiter I had Saturday night, and I know I'm going to order the same thing I did then. I've been ordering fast everywhere, but this time I order before I sit down. I'm not sure if he remembers me, but I think he does when I tell him about substituting the red peppers for jalapeños. This time I order sparkling apple juice with the water, and I know I won't be getting a dessert because I want to be going pretty quickly, since it's getting close to 10.
While I wait, I bring out the maps and papers to think of journaling ideas and ideas for what to do tomorrow. One thing Christine mentioned is to "Ride the Tems." Ride the Tems What is that? I look in my guidebook but can't figure it out. Oh well, there's plenty of other ideas and it's not like I'm going to have that much time anyway. It takes longer to get my food than it did Saturday, and after I eat it takes longer to get my check. When I finally get my check and bring out my card, he brings the swipe thing over to me, but instead of handing it to me to put in my tip amount, he just goes ahead and rings it up with no tip. OK, I'll take that. I guess he knew his service wasn't that good this time?
I go back to the room, scrub my water bottle, and journal. I figure I need to leave a little before 11:30 to get to the I-café on time to send email, but when 11:30 rolls around I don't feel like leaving. I've got so much more to write, how about I just type it now and send an update in the morning. At 12:30 (our favorite time), I call Christine with the 8 minutes I have left on the phonecard. I'll be seeing her later today for me, though tomorrow for both Britain time and Chicago time. (My day today will be 30 hours long.) I journal into the night, finally deciding to stop around 3am. I'd like to get up once and see this Full English Breakfast that the hotel provides.
I get up and ask the woman who is sort of the waitress, and she says "Full English Breakfast?" I nod and she points me to a seat. I get up and grab a bowl of Rice Krispies and two glasses of orange juice (their glasses are so small here, everywhere I go). As I'm eating, she first brings out a toast holder with 4 pieces of toast (I just made that term up, but it carries the triangle-shaped toast vertically.) It seems that another woman busses tables, and two women in the back prepare the food. Then she brings my hot plate, and it's the same stuff that we had for breakfast every day in Birmingham: the hard-cooked ham, fried egg that's runny when you cut into it, a sausage, and baked beans. Oh. This is the meal they're so proud of here in Britain? I'm beginning to like the idea of "continental" more and more.
There's a brown bottle of sauce and I try it, seeing if it's marmite. It definitely isn't-hey, I've learned to identify marmite-and I ask what it is. The bus girl-I think she's an immigrant-doesn't know and gets the waitress. She says "brown sauce." I smile because I've got my own jokes in my head about that sauce, too. She probably thinks I'm laughing at her in my head ("Duh, it's sauce and it's brown"), so she goes to the kitchen and gets the big original container that says "brown sauce." I smile and thank her. So I've got my own inside jokes in my head, which is fun. But it would be an absolute guffaw if I were with friends having these experiences. Can't wait 'til next year.
I decide to try to be a good visitor and eat everything on my plate. While I'm eating, I can definitely feel the rumbling of the tube beneath us. And of course the tubes run so often, that it's rumbling as much if not more than it isn't rumbling. Glad I don't have a room down here. Though I could probably sleep through it-it would be like a slight massage bed or something.
I eat everything except most of the sausage and I think a few of the baked beans. I've never liked sausage anyway-I just had one bite and knew I wasn't going to choke it all down. And baked beans for breakfast? I ate most of them to get the Full English Breakfast experience. I'm glad tomorrow's breakfast will be back in the States.
I go back up toward my room, but first do some snooping around. I see that there are two sets of staircases in this place, and a cluster of rooms on each floor. It is a pretty cool setup, kinda quaint. But it's a professional, illuminated sign at the lobby level directing guests toward breakfast. So it's like a combination of somebody's house and a hotel. Come to think of it, the breakfast setup makes me think of a church.
I decide to lie down for a few more minutes. I open the curtains and set my watch alarm for 10, but end up not sleeping, just lying there for the last time on Norfolk Square. I get up at 5 til 10 and have to massively organize again. This time I have to pack it ready for flight, too. I get everything ready by 10:45 and go check out. I leave my big suitcase and a whole foods bag of stuff that will go in my bookbag when I return from downtown. I take the laptop to the I-café, send Mom and Christine the latest updates, and come back to the hotel to drop off my laptop bag.
I forgot to fill up my water bottle, so I ask the clerk if I can use the restroom. He doesn't understand, so I repeat "restroom" then realize I need to say something else and sort of panic: "water closet." He still doesn't get it, and finally I get it right: "toilet." He points me to the hall bathroom that I've passed a bunch of times on the way to my room. It says WC on the door, and it really brings out the "closet" part of "water closet." I snap a picture, then use it and fill my bottle (though it was hard with the little sink). I head toward Paddington station around 11:15. I've decided that I should be back here by 2:00 to get to Heathrow, so I do have a little time.
I get on the Circle line to Notting Hill Gate. Unfortunately, I don't see Julia Roberts anywhere. I transfer to the Central line and take it to St. Paul's. One thing I love about the tube is how the card snaps in and snaps out. It's a similar mechanism as the L in Chicago, but this card is paper instead of plastic, so it's even lighter and quicker. Plus, in Chicago, once you pull out your card the gate will allow you to press on it to move through. But here, the instant you pull out your card the gate whips open for you. I just love the snap-snap-snap efficiency of putting the card in, pulling it out and the gate opening. The signs telling us how to get to the correct platforms are very effective, but sometimes there's quite a ways to go, up and down, stairs and escalators, and turn after turn. Of course, I'm going pretty fast which makes it even more adventurous.
As I'm finishing the walk to my connection (at least I think I'd better be getting close) to the Central line, I can hear a train approaching and stopping. My instinct is to run for it, but the people around me aren't running, so I uncertainly decide not to. We get around the last turn and there's our train with the doors open. Then the schmucks start running and I do too, but it's too late, the doors close and the train is gone. "MRR! So much for following the locals," I grumble in my head. But then an identical train comes seriously about 45 seconds later. So that's why they don't run for the trains-in Chicago, missing a train that close would cost you 15 minutes!
I get to St. Paul's stop and walk the short distance to the cathedral. I take a couple of outside pictures on a side I didn't get to yesterday (it's amazing how enormous this church is), and then go in. Here, the London Pass comes up big-finally! Admission is I think 8 pounds, but I get in free. Boo-ya. (For worship services on Sundays, it's free to anyone.) I enter and take it all in. The volume of space is breathtaking. They don't allow pictures which is nice because if they did I'd have to go buy another camera.
They have a lot of artwork of Christ, and they do have signs explaining the beliefs of the Christian faith. I look up in the main cathedral part and can see some people way above us looking down. I think it must be construction workers, as they are doing some scaffolding work. After walking around for awhile, I see a stairway with a worker sitting by it. I ask her and find out that we can go up there. In fact, that is the lowest of three levels we can go up. Sweet.
Now here's where it pays to be an endurance athlete. Everyone has to take the stairs, which for some is too big a barrier. I hustle up toward the first level-the Whispering Gallery. It a pretty long hike, and now I'm very glad that I dropped the laptop off at the hotel. I get to the Gallery, walk around, and look down into the sanctuary. Of course, I don't have anybody to test out the "whispering" that you're supposed to be able hear from the other side. Then it's up a tighter circle staircase to the Stone Gallery, which is on the outside of the building. There is still a lot of decorative stone between us and the view, but there are plenty of spaces to look out of and snap pictures. (Can't take pictures of the cathedral, but you can take pix of London from the cathedral.) It's actually a pretty nice view here.
Then up to the very top for the Golden Gallery, also on the exterior. There's a big logjam of people to get to the top one, probably because of fatigue and a smaller space to fit people up there. When I emerge from the stairs, I'm blown away by the view. This is fantastic! There's about a 4 foot tall wall, but above that there is nothing in the way at all. Plus you can walk all the way around and get 360° view of the city. I seriously think this is the best view of London, even better than the Eye. The eye has support bars on each pod, other pods in the way, plus you're bounded completely by glass, which slightly warps the view. This Golden Gallery is packed with people, some sitting behind the walking area in carved out sections that serve as little stools. What a design. OK, got my view, now time to go!
I scamper down the stairs and dodge scores of school kids to the exit. I've decided instead of fast walking/running about a mile to the Tower of London, I'll just take the Tube because it's so fast and then I have a much smaller chance of wasting time by going the wrong way. I get back to the St. Paul's stop, then get on the Central line to Bank (only 1 leg). At Bank, I exit the train, get a shot of the "BANK" sign for an inside joke with Chapter 6 guys, and then walk through the underground station to the connected Monument station.
The signs are excellent to know where to go, but this is one heck of a long, windy, up and down and up and down underground journey. There are staircases, escalators, gates, tight corners, tunnels, and plenty of people to elude. Of course, I'm moving as quickly as possible, so it's even more adventurous. I feel like I'm in Super Mario Brothers world 8, about to get to Bowser's castle. Fortunately, I didn't need to use fireballs. I finally get to Monument and the platform I need, then take the Circle line to Tower Hill.
I go to the Tower of London, to the ticket office, where they tell me I don't need to get a ticket with the London Pass. Here I'm saving bank again, because the entry fee is £14.50! I skip to the entrance, give them the card, and quickly head in. Just like at St. Paul's, I was here yesterday taking pictures on the outside, but now I'm. So now I feel like I'm at an amusement park, in the last hour before it closes: I've done everything I really wanted to do and am now just hustling around milking every last opportunity before I have to go.
The tower is very historical, which is the only reason I'm there. I don't really care about the stupid royalty it used to house. I plan to take a lap of the area. I grab an information brochure and go into King Edward's (I think) old room. It is pretty amazing that this building is still standing, and it was built in the 1200's! It is definitely the oldest building I've ever been in. I mean, going all the way back to the settlers landing at Plymouth Rock is only halfway back to when this thing was built! They have a model in the middle of how the room likely was setup back then. I look around a bit, then open the brochure and realize I accidentally picked up the Spanish one. Oh well.
I go back outside, still in the large brick courtyard area that the tower surrounds. There's one big building in the middle, but I never bother to figure out what it is. I guess you really could spend all day here, but I just don't care that much. I'm on my Short Attention Span/Endurance Athlete Tour!
I do want to go see the jewels just to say I did it. There is a guard next to the door of the jewel house and I take an obligatory picture. I could have gotten closer, but I sort of feel bad for the guy-other people are taking his picture too. What started out as (and probably still is to them) a very serious job is now a setup for international mockery.
So I go into the jewel house and we have to pass through these rooms where a movie-theater-sized screen in each is showing some blah blah crap about the queen or something. I think one of them is showing the queen's induction/swearing-in/appointment…whatever you call it ceremony. Yeah yeah, let's get to the jewels already. There are some displays of historic clothing, including the queens, then finally the jewels. They have a moving walkway in front of the jewels, kind of like they have at airports except much slower. I guess it's to make sure nobody spends "too much time" looking at the jewels. And of course, No Photographs! Come on people, as if your entire economy is based on some rocks glued to a hat.
After the jewels, there's a room with their dishes. Wow. They use plates, too? It's kind of like a china cabinet except everything seems to be gold. I don't think they're dishwasher safe; that's probably why they don't use them anymore. There's a room that has the engraved names of all the royalty since 1066. It is amazing what an influence these people had on earth's history in the recent past. James-the bible guy. George-oh, yeah, we revolted against him. Victoria-had to read a bunch of literature from her era.
So I start to quickly move past most of the stuff-more dresses (some for queens and some for kings), shoes, pillows, shoe-pillows (that's what it looks like to me), and shiny hats. The last one I actually look at is the Imperial Crown of India from 1911. Alright, this has gone from seeming silly to pissing me off, especially the fact that they actually use the word Imperial and are so proud of it. Does Germany keep remnants of Hitler's exploits? Well, I guess the U.S. probably has similar stuff about defeating the Natives. But at least we gloss over the genocide part instead of wearing it as a (literal) crown. Anyway, that's it, I'm outta here.
As I leave the Jewel house, they have a display case (still in the Jewel House before you exit) of items that are for sale at the gift shop. One of the items is a board game called Outrage, where the object is to steal the jewels! OK, so now it's a joke to them too. Bizarre. I finish my lap of the area and go back to the main entrance and exchange my Spanish brochure for an English one. It's already after 1:00, but I am a glutton for thrills, so it's off to the Tower Bridge!
On the way I grab a sandwich at the Tower Café to eat later. When I buy it, I show the girl my London Pass to see if I can get a discount, but she doesn't know what it is. I have a £10 and a £5 left, plus some change, so I give her a £10 because I want to keep a £5 as a souvenir. She gives me a £5 back, plus a whole lot of change, including several pound coins. Later I look at the receipt and see "Staff discount-½ off." So I only paid £1.63 for lunch! Finally, I actually got a good deal in London!
I hurry up to the Tower Bridge, and get in to the exhibition. Here again, the London pass is the ticket, which saves me about £6 I think. The guy tells me that they will be opening the bridge at 2:15. I say I won't be able to stay for it, and he says, "It's almost 1:30 now, that's only 45 minutes away." I thank him, but he has no idea how close I'm cutting this (though I do consider the possibility). I get the elevator up to the walkway level high above the bridge. The (sort of) tour guide tells us that there will be a short 4 minute video on how the bridge came to be, and then we can walk across at our leisure.
As we get to the top, the video is in progress, so I sit down with the couple that rode up with me. The man starts fake snoring, which is funny. It is a cheesy re-enactment, with audio plus the dialogue subtitled in English. But it does serve an important purpose for me. In one scene, I read across the bottom, "So the Thames River will still be open for ships." But I hear the voice say, "So the Tems River will still be open for ships." I put my head in my hand and chuckle to myself-that's what "the Tems" is! Stupid American. Again, another inside joke with myself. I grab a pencil and a post-it pad to make sure I don't forget this one.
After the video, I go across and get some nice shots of the Thames River. And now I know how to pronounce it. The bridge was finished in 1894. and the upper walkway is completely enclosed now. It was designed to be used regularly by pedestrians when the bridge was up. But it was closed off for over 70 years when people stopped using it in 1910. Yeah, great idea, a real vision of how people will use it. Anyway, the opening bridge part is still apparently quite useful. The upper walkway is now used for tourists. There are two walkways next to each other, and each basically has windows for walls. There are small sliding windows that you can open to look out and take nice pictures (this is what the Eye lacks). I take pictures from both sides and then head back down. It's time to get going.
I'm told by a (sort of) tour guide to follow the blue line on the pavement to the Engine room. I exit at the bridge level and start to walk toward the engine room. But it's the wrong direction from the Tower Hill tube stop, and it's now 1:48. I turn around and start running to the tube.
When I'm just outside the station, I'm stopped by young ladies asking me where some other station is. (This does sort of violate my earlier theory, because at this point I do know where I'm going and I'm heading there very quickly.) I start to pull out my map. They ask if I'm from here and I say, "No, but I have a map." They seem to believe that they would be unable to read the map, so they just thank me and say never mind. I tell them there are probably more maps and people to ask down here at this station. Then I go down the stairs to the train. But, following the signs, I go up other stairs, and I'm back outside. Until going back down more stairs to the underground train. Bizarre.
I take the Circle Line to my stomping grounds at Paddington. Just like yesterday, I choose the eastbound train because it has fewer stops. This time I have a 5 minute wait for the train (the electronic signs above keep us posted up-to-the-minute, boy that's nice), so I look at a map on the wall that has the time of each trip listed. Sure enough, I was right. The eastbound Circle line gets to Paddington from Tower Hill 4 minutes earlier than the other way. Cool, I made a good call. What's not so cool is that even this way still takes 25 minutes. Hoo-boy, I'm really cutting this close, since it's already 2:05. I originally planned to be leaving the hotel with my stuff at 2.
So on the tube I jot notes for my journal and look at the brochures I got. I notice that when the train accelerates and decelerates, it makes a high-pitched staccato sound that reminds me of the background of the song "Kung Fu Fighting." I remember that that song was playing at the desk the very first time I came to the Belvedere Hotel to check in. What a fun song.
I get out at Paddington and dart the one block to my hotel. I put the stuff from the Whole Foods bag into my bookbag, do some rearranging, and hear "Cheers" in an Indian accent one last time from the clerk. I get out of the hotel, loaded down, and it's 2:42. OK, less than 2 hours until my flight leaves. I love the tube, but…I gotta go with the express. Man, I don't want to be that soft. But apparently I did, because I left it as my only good option. Hey, I can definitely claim reimbursement for this, because it's transportation. Alright, Heathrow Express ho!
This actually makes a lot of sense, because another bonus about my hotel location is that the Paddington station-my station-is where the Express leaves from. Most people take the tube to get here to take the express, and I'm already right here. I'm not sure which entrance it is for the Express, and I go to the wrong one first and then am directed across the street to the main station.
On the way to the front of the train, I see a sign that says "No Rubbish To Be Left In This Area. Please use Wheelie Bins." It is soooo British, but I don't feel like stopping and digging my camera out now, plus I only have 2 pictures left.
The express train reminds me a lot of the first-class train ride from Birmingham to London. It's not for people who have a "postgrad" salary, but hey, I'm fully funded! There are only 2 other people in my car. I don't have a table this time, but plenty of space and a comfortable seat. I sit where I have the best view out the window and eat my sandwich leisurely. How nice.
In 15 minutes, we're there at the airport. It's about 3:15, so I'm definitely feeling better about my situation. I follow people in and follow signs for terminals 1-3. As I'm walking, I'm reading this series of cool international ads on the wall about what different things mean to different countries. But then I look up and I only see signs for terminals 1 and 2. Oops. I ask a security guy and he tells me terminal 3 is back that way. So I get off the moving walkway and get back on the other way. I get in line (I mean Queue) at about 3:30, so I've got 65 minutes. But some signs are making me a bit anxious. One says plan for 40 minutes from here to security and another says allow 45 minutes from security to your gate.
A security guy takes me out of the queue to search my big suitcase that I'll be checking. Then he comes with me to a clerk and I get checked in. He tells me that boarding will begin at 3:50. Despite the dire warnings, everything goes smoothly. I get through security fine, and it's 3:46 by my watch. I'm heading to gate 23, and a sign just after security says it's a 20 minute walk from here to gates 21-24. So I walk very briskly, and make it in 6 minutes. They haven't even started boarding first class yet.
At the gate, I sit next to a woman with her daughter, and the girl (maybe 10) is reading things in a British accent. She says, "O hare" so that it rhymes with "car." I but in and say, actually, we say "O'Hare." The girl is very shy, but the mother strikes up a conversation with me. Turns out they are from Omaha and they're heading home. The mom tells me the girl was trying out her British accent from their trip. I feel a little silly, and say, "Well, it's pretty good-you had me fooled."
The plane this time is a 777, with a 2-5-2 seating arrangement. I'm again in an aisle seat next to a window seat, and the guy I'm next to seems a bit nervous. We don't speak to each other at all, which again I don't mind. I get situated, we start to taxi, and the captain tells us at the takeoff time (4:35) that there will be a very brief delay as we're waiting for a runway. I'm planning to whip out the laptop once we're allowed to, but with this delay I decide to get comfy and just sit back and relax for a minute (of course the seat is still upright and locked).
I wake up suddenly as we're rapidly accelerating. My mouth is dry and I'm very disoriented, and I look at my watch and it's 5:13. I had no idea I was asleep all that time, and dagnabbit, a 38 minute "brief" delay? Oh well-it went pretty quick for me!
A flight attendant reads the meal choices over the intercom. I'm amused by her description of the chicken option. "We also have chicken risotto, served with…risotto…" And again, I'm asked if I ordered a "special meal." Stupid website.
I have the chicken this time, and afterward pull out the laptop and journal like there's no tomorrow. I really enjoy having the laptop on the plane and journaling-it makes the flight go fast and feel productive. Unfortunately, after about and hour and a half, the battery runs out, like I knew it would. I save my file and shut off the laptop, then use the toilet.
But I remember that before takeoff they said on the overhead to "unplug anything in the outlets." Hey, do we have outlets? I go to the back and ask a flight attendant, who says to look above and see if there is the lightning bolt above our seat. Those seats have power outlets. Ours doesn't so I go back to her and she says that there are a bunch of seats in the middle of the section in front of us that are open and have power. It's fine if I move seats, which I hadn't known. Sweet!
She escorts me to a 5-seat row that only has people on the ends. In a nearby row, a woman asks me if she can use my charger after I do, but my laptop is an HP and hers is a Dell, so it won't work out. I take a seat in the middle of the row-hey, now I'll have elbow room on both sides! I look for the plug under the seat, but just find a DC adapter. After fiddling with it for several minutes, I stop a flight attendant who is walking by (I didn't want to make the guy on the end get up again). She doesn't know about it, but she gets the original flight attendant who moved me, and she tells me that they only have DC power-she thought I had an adapter.
Awwww. It would have been so perfect. Now I not only don't get to journal, I have to find something else to do for 5 more hours. So I stay in this seat and watch Everybody Loves Raymond episodes on the TV. I also listen to the music channel, and they play R.E.M.'s Electrolyte. Their ESPN channel only shows the ESPN Classic college football game between Oklahoma and Alabama from September 2003. I don't understand why this is such a big game. Sure, Oklahoma ended up being co-national champs, but this is just their 3rd game of that season and they won by 10 points. Not fantastic at all in my book; maybe I missed something.
I occasionally keep track of where we are on the flight map. It's funny, I'm not sure how the computer program they use picks which cities to list on its maps, but sometimes they seem out of place. One map has almost half the earth on it, listing only London and Chicago of course, plus New York, Madrid, and for some reason St. Thomas island in the Caribbean. It's like playing "one of these things doesn't belong here."
I flip open the A Attractions magazine which lists all the media stuff they have. One of the movies they have on some flights is the movie of Agatha Christie's novel Miss Marple: The 4:50 from Paddington. I think, "Hey, that's my train station-it's famous!" It's pretty cool to recognize something like that and know exactly where it is and what it's like.
After several hours, the guy on the end goes to the bathroom, so I take it as an opportunity to return to my original seat before our "light snack" is served. Getting up and looking out the windows, it's amazing that it's still light, because I've already been up for almost 15 hours, plus is was light way before I got up. I get to my seat, flip around the TV, but there's no feed anymore in all the TVs. I think the loop is done, and there's a big gap before they restart it. Eventually they do, and I see some of the episodes that I saw part of earlier. Yippee. I do take the chance to snap a picture of this jumbo jet, the biggest I've ever been in.
The "light snack" turns out to be a little mini-pizza for each person. That is really nice. I like how they kept our expectations low by saying "light snack"-because it truly is a light snack, but I know that some people-in fact some products on their packaging-would call it a meal. If they had said they were serving "pizza" it would have built up the possibilities too much.
Finally we near Chicago and I watch the flight map. We overshoot O'Hare by 25 miles, getting all the way out almost to Aurora and then circling back. Finally we land and I'm ready to go home. But first, we have to clear customs and immigration.
I get into the airport and there are these signs with pictures and arrows telling where to go. Each sign has 4 pictures on it: a picture of a suitcase (for baggage claim), a picture of an official with a book (for customs), an official looking in an open suitcase (for security), and the last one is just like the previous one except the official is holding up a plant that he found in the suitcase. Seriously, it's a plant with 3 leaves. I can't help but laugh to myself and think that the process is: you get your baggage, you go through customs, have an official check your bag, and the official finds weed in your bag. But it's hard to explain, so I want to get a picture. And I know I have one picture left. Unfortunately, this is an "official" area-one of these "no fun zones" and there are signs all over telling us that photographs are not allowed. Bummer. Again, if I was with friends, it would be a guffaw. Sigh, I'll just enjoy the joke myself…
Everything goes smoothly, I clear everything and get my suitcase quickly. I go to the curb for my cab-yes, it's still light, only about 7:30. While waiting, I dig my cell phone out and call Christine. Then I get the cab.
The cabbie is very chatty, and this time I am in the mood for chatting. He asks about my trip and then says, "You should go to a third world country." I tell him about Mexico, and we have a lot of views in common. He is from India, and immigrated in 1992. We have a discussion of how spoiled most Americans-I mean, U.S. citizens-are, and how they have no idea about what the real world is like. There's not much difference of opinion between us, we just continue to make statement that the other person agrees with already. I hope he gets other people to think about things, though.
Finally I arrive at home. It's been a great trip, and a really long day. With a bit of web research, I find that the sun rose today for me in London at 4:57am and is setting here in Chicago at 8:13pm, which is 2:13am London time. I haven't been conscious for all of it, but for me, it's been light outside for the past 21 hours and 16 minutes plus the pre-dawn and post-dusk light. And I've been conscious for about 17 of those hours. So this is the longest day of my life-30 hours, with over 21 hours of sunlight.
As a reflection, the trip realistically could not have gone better, given the plan. I emailed the following message to Chris Parker.
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Chris, Thanks so much for putting on such a great conference. It was wonderful to meet such bigshots--including some people I've heard Steve talk about but never met--and be exposed to such high-level material. Also, it was immensely valuable for my thesis work; Robert Wilson gave me some critical help with my problem when I met with him on Friday, propelling me forward to where I didn't know I'd ever get to.
And I really enjoyed the social aspect. I enjoyed myself so much that I wanted more--I was a bit bummed that people pooped out early on Friday night. Then after the last talk Saturday, I considered scrapping all my plans and going to your place because I wanted to hang out more. Unfortunately, I'd already made too many commitments.
When I got to the train, I happened to get on the same car as Radha and Markus and got to say goodbye to them. They were saying how it was really a great conference, too.
Then I got to see London, and thanks to the conference even this part of my trip was mostly covered by my department. It was my first trip overseas, and so a very memorable life experience for me.
I know how much work it must have been for you to pull it off, and I really appreciate it. Thanks to you I got to fly overseas for the first time, have the opportunity to rub shoulder with famous people in my field, have a blast, AND make huge progress on my Thesis! And it was all paid for!
So once again thank you very much. Have a great summer!
Phil
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Addendum
July 28th, 2005
OK, so the PhD is not as much in the bag as I thought. After spending 3 days in London, another travel day, a couple days finishing this journal, family trips over Memorial Day weekend, moving in Nikki to our place, working on the summer seminar, doing Hoops Week for Vacation Bible School at our church, going back to visit family for my birthday, and extending my sub-5 minute mile streak to 9 years, I finally took a look at the notes I had from Wilson a month after our meeting. Let's just say they didn't make as much sense then as they did when I was sitting in his office. Hoo-boy, still got some work to do.
Addendum II
I finally got it. See Watershed Moment.