foggy london town

"You sound like you're from London!"

-Paul Rudd in 'Forgetting Sarah Marshall

Panic hit me as I waited for my train in Milano Centrale. I had heard that there were riots happening in London, but as I connected to a wireless network outside of Burger King, I found that things were really getting out of hand. A couple of my British friends were even urging me, via Facebook, to forget about the plans I'd made and not fly over.

But what are you gonna do when Baiardo's been closed down for a few days and the tickets to London and the hostel there are bought and paid for? So I took the fast train to the airport and flew into Heathrow. That was uneventful. Then I had to take the Tube (do you capitalize that? I'm going to, just out of respect) to King's Cross/St. Pancras, and then a cab the rest of the way to my hostel.

Cue reunion with Les. It was just about midnight when I arrived, so we only had a couple of hours to catch up over beers in the hostel bar. We attempted to keep the night going by wandering out to find greasy food after that (if I weren't a vegetarian, I think I would have wanted a burger), but hostel security warned us to stay inside. The only people out on the street at that time were rioters. You could tell them apart from regular people by their all-black attire as well as the fact that no one else was stupid enough to be out that late while there were riots happening.

The next day, we embarked upon a whirlwind tour of London. First, we had lunch at an Asian place where everything, even the 'meat,' was vegetarian. (Les hated this.) Then, in rapid succession, we saw: London Bridge (overrated), the Eye (been there, done that), the Houses of Parliament (boring), Big Ben (not a misnomer), Westminster Abbey (not tryna stand in line for that), Buckingham Palace (okay cool, what's next), Hyde Park (so many squirrels and pigeons!), Piccadilly Circus (is that it?), Leicester Square (see: Piccadilly Circus), Trafalgar Square (actually pretty sweet, with all its columns and lions and buskers), and the National Gallery (I thought it was amazing, but Les got bored). I think there were actually a few other places thrown in there that I can't remember, but that's the long and short of it. And it was exhausting. We hit up Tesco on our way back to the hostel and picked up some sandwiches/cheap samosas and ate them for dinner in the common room while watching terrible music videos. I was so tired, I didn't even try to find a microwave to heat up my half-frozen Indian appetizers. Lazy? You betcha.

My third day in London was a rainy one. Les and I got out our umbrellas and went shopping on Oxford Street for a few hours. Because I'd been wearing the same black dress to tutor dinners for the last few weeks (and Jeremy had started teasing me about it) I ended up getting a floor-length blue dress at River Island. Then I picked up a couple of cute tops at New Look to try and mix up my wardrobe a little bit. And then I felt kind of guilty for not seeing all of the great things there are to see in London, so we got lunch at Pret a Manger (I went with gazpacho and a wrap) and then ran on over to the British Museum for a couple of hours.

The British Museum was a little more Les' speed. I mean, it's only one of the greatest history museums in all the world (probably because most of its stuff was stolen or acquired shadily). And I get really excited about ancient treasures too. Even though I sometimes felt like I was drowning during my college Art History classes, it was so amazing to be so close to some of the world's greatest artifacts. Rosetta Stone? Check. The Mausoleum at Halikarnassos? Yep. Temple of Artemis? Yeah buddy. Those part-human, part-lion/bull things that used to stand next to gateways. Yes. The Elgin Marbles? Oooooh yeah.

When the museum closed, we went back to the hostel and grabbed a pint at the pub across the street. Then we did what I'd been hoping to do from the moment I arrived in the UK--we found an Indian restaurant and I ordered a vegetable curry. The restaurant didn't have a liquor license, so Les ran out to a shop and brought back some beer and wine, but that was no indication of how good the food was. It was actually really amazing. Pilau rice and vegetables in a lovely curry sauce, with lots of cilantro and so many incredible spices. . . I officially love Indian food. Then we had a little dessert before heading back to the hostel, where we crept on a tour group and had paper airplanes thrown at us by a German girl, a French girl, a Norwegian boy, and a guy from New Zealand.

The next morning, I got up early and went back to the British Museum. There was still so much I wanted to see, and Les wanted to sleep in. This time, I checked out a whole different section of the museum, starting with the Americas, going through Africa, and then Asia. I think I found some inspiration for when I finally return home and start painting again.

Back at the hostel, I finally watched Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2 with Les. It was pretty exciting to be right down the street from King's Cross Station while watching it. We went by there afterwards so I could take pictures at Platform 9 3/4. Les was a good sport about it even though he could not have been less interested. Then we took the tube (too lazy to capitalize it a second time) to St. Paul's Cathedral, which is so much more massive than it looks in pictures. We capped off this lazy day with burgers and fries (and the worst barbecue sauce I've ever tasted), and I fell asleep early.

Saturday was my last day in London. I had seen just about everything I'd wanted to see, so I went shopping early, ate some more Indian food with Les (I'm obsessed), and then watched my first three episodes of Mad Men ever (also obsessed now). Then it was off to Heathrow, which would be my hotel for the night. If I had a dollar for every night that I've spent on the floor of an airport or train station. . .

little village in the sky

For me, it is becoming a time-honored tradition to flee to Baiardo when I have nowhere else to go. Really, it's the only place that will take me in when I'm out of both money and energy. It also happens to be one of the most awesome places I know. The wine is cheap (like seriously cheap, like three-euros-a-bottle cheap), there's always good company to be found, and you can't beat the view.

I was one of two tutors on the last bus up to the little town, and I had plenty of time on the way to reminisce about my last stay there. It had been exactly 50 weeks since my last stay--350 days.

I found Baiardo relatively empty. I'm not sure what I'd expected, but maybe I'd been hoping for a repeat of the year before, with the same people and same weather and same food. Because that wasn't an option, I acquainted myself with a few new people and enthusiastically greeted those I already knew (including British Will, my coworker and darling from earlier in the summer). Then I made an early night of it, climbing up into my little bed on the floor of a wooden loft in a house that was built, oh, just a few centuries ago after watching a film with a couple of other girls.

Despite the inconsistent temperatures, rustic furnishings, and high probability that I had insects traversing the landscape of my body the entire night, I slept like a rock. I imagine my sleep would have been perfect if not for one tiny incident: At approximately four in the morning, one of my loftmates, Lewey, drunkenly crawled back up the ladder to his pillowless bed and, in his confusion, attempted to rest his head on the side of mine. It was an honest mistake, as our beds were quite close together and both on the ground, and the poor boy just wanted a pillow, but I still haven't let him forget about it. I know I have chipmunk cheeks, but my face is not a pillow.

I spent the next day searching for internet down in Sanremo. When I arrived back up at the top of the mountain, there were a few new guests drinking wine by the fountain in the piazza, so I joined them. There was a girl who could read palms, and Jimmy was around as well, but the biggest surprise was probably Derrik, who was one of the guys I sang karaoke with at Children's Night last year. Within a few hours, we were all drinking three euro wine and listening to music in one of the more cave-like houses. I even rapped a little bit and had a drink thrown on me by an Irish girl. The night ended well after the sun came up.

The next day was an unusually productive one for me. I woke up around midday, washed all the dishes (not just my own--take that, Mom and Dad), cleaned the stovetop, rearranged the bookshelves, did my laundry, laid out, and painted my nails. Massive success.

Monday night was more of the same. We had dinner together, and then those of us in Casa Due hosted a little get-together. Enrique from San Diego acted as our deejay, but the best music by far that night was provided by a German guitarist, who was recording some promotional videos in an alcove next to the old church. It was well past midnight, and we sat there listening to him play flamenco tunes, and I felt that peace that you feel when you're happy and surrounded by good people. I saw the sun rise again a few hours later, but apparently I missed Enrique doing sprints around the old church, shouting about how his head was hurting.

Everything would have been absolutely peachy had I not discovered in the shower that I'd only managed to shave one of my armpits the morning before. That's what I get for staying up all night. It's not like I was trying to impress anyone or anything.

What can you do? That's Baiardo for you.

gianico

So Trento was great, and my host family was incredible, but as Amanda Bynes says in 'She's the Man,' "the time comes for a man to move along." So I boarded a train with Jeremy (my P90x partner) and we managed to transport our mildly hungover selves to Gianico (but how we got to be hungover is another story for another day).

At Gianico, we were just a couple of players in a camp full of big personalities. Combine that with the fact that it was a one week camp, and we barely had a moment to relax. There was something to do almost every day after camp. On Wednesday, for instance, I got to see some prehistoric rock carvings, which are actually right up my alley, and on Thursday, we went swimming in an ancient lake on top of a mountain. Do you like pictures? Because I got 'em.

Friday was all about the show. Mine was about the Little Mermaid and the drama that ensued after the infatuation between her and Eric wore off. He sat around the house all day, watching tv and yelling for her to make him a sandwich--in short, he was a triflin' fool. Finally, Ariel kicked his sorry bottom out because he couldn't help her pay the bills. I actually had the kids learn and rehearse an a capella version of Destiny's Child's 'Bills, Bills, Bills' (a la the Warblers from Glee), and it was sounding pretty good, but I ended up cutting it because I knew it would go right over the audience's head. Still, it was a pretty creative show, and a couple of the kids went all out with their costumes.

The best part of the night, though, was probably when we went out for drinks afterwards. I was totally not prepared, to the point that I was wearing my tutor shirt and Chucks. Fortunately, a few of my quick-thinking lady tutor friends managed to make me over in the bathroom, and I emerged looking pretty decent. We danced well into the night--or at least until 10:30, when I had to be home.

And that's Gianico for you.