Line 1: We took the tube to the Portobello Road Antique Market in Notting Hill on Saturday morning to play with vintage jewelry and snack on fresh produce. Hundreds of other peopled did the same thing so we had to wait in lines just to get close enough to any vendor. I didn't so much mind the lines because I was enjoying soaking in the smells and the noises and the people and all the strange things I could purchase. My favorite person we saw all morning was this middle-aged woman, who I believe was quite beautiful in her younger days but cigarettes and the sun had been hard on her. She had a small booth filled with antique jewelry - the kind of pieces that you just stand there and stare at because they are so eye catching. When someone would pick up a necklace or a broach or a ring she would do one of two things: 1) she would go into a five minute long history of how she acquired this particular piece and then showing everything she had that was even remotely similiar until the shopper became so uninterested that they walked away OR 2) she would say "oh no, not that one, I think I want to keep that one" and would add it to the gawdy collection of jewelry she was already wearing. She was certainly no saleswoman but she had the aura about her that makes the kind of character Goldie Hawn would play in a movie.
line 2: An hour long train ride later we ened up in Wimbledon for the Championships of the tennis tournament. We were the 200th spot in line so we waited "patiently" for our turn to get inside the grounds - which proved to be well worth the wait. It was finally warm, for the first time in over a week, and we sat on the mound eating strawberries and creme while we watched Serena and Venus Williams play eachother. I felt like quite the socialite, even though it was clear that I had no idea what was going on. Wimbledon is one of those things that, whether you are a tennis love or not (and for me, it's closer to not), truely helps you appreciate the British culture.
line 3: In typical London fashion, it rained all day yesterday. A friend and I took the train to Windsor Castle and made an adventure out of touring the state rooms soaking wet. It was amazing to have the opportunity to see King Henry VIII's coat of armor and Queen Elizabeth's bedroom. We may quite possibly have been the only ones on our tour that spoke english. It is fascinating to me that so many people outside of the UK are interested in the royal family. I don't know if it is the prestige or long-running history but even though I come from a country that has nothing remotely close to a royal family, I find myself scowering the tabloids for gossip about them here. Windsor was more a picture of what I pictured an English town to be. The cobblestone streets were lined with bakeries and tailors but the buckets of rain kept us from venturing past the fudge shop, where we stocked up on enough to keep us occupied for the train ride home.
And perhaps my favorite LINE story of all still gives me a headache to think about. I jumped on the tube during my lunch break to meet two friends in Covent garden at this cute little bistro. Of the billion tube stations in London, Covent garden is the only one who brilliantly decided to use elevators rather than escelators. As we struggled to fit as many sardines on the elevetor as possible, the door got jammed and those of us who were chanting small victories in our heads for being in the select group to make it inside were stuck. No air movement. No cell phone reception. No lunch at the cute little bistro with my friends. No perfect record of making it back to my internship on time after lunch everyday. I never thought I would say this, but I am considering writing a letter to someone and begging them to install some stairs. Although I am relishing in my work-out-less lifestyle at the current moment, I'd jog up 200 stairs if it meant never having to be trapped in a tube station eleveator again.
And perhaps my favorite LINE story of all still gives me a headache to think about. I jumped on the tube during my lunch break to meet two friends in Covent garden at this cute little bistro. Of the billion tube stations in London, Covent garden is the only one who brilliantly decided to use elevators rather than escelators. As we struggled to fit as many sardines on the elevetor as possible, the door got jammed and those of us who were chanting small victories in our heads for being in the select group to make it inside were stuck. No air movement. No cell phone reception. No lunch at the cute little bistro with my friends. No perfect record of making it back to my internship on time after lunch everyday. I never thought I would say this, but I am considering writing a letter to someone and begging them to install some stairs. Although I am relishing in my work-out-less lifestyle at the current moment, I'd jog up 200 stairs if it meant never having to be trapped in a tube station eleveator again.
2 comments:
jealous, jealous, jealous!
Elise--I am also obsessed with the British Royalty....I think it started when Diana married Charles...Then being a history major....well, it just snowballed from there.
big sis
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