We started our real last day in London like all the other ones: getting onto the disgusting germ breeding ground that is the London Tube. We got off and headed to Buckingham Palace, hoping to see the changing of the guard today. When we got there, there was already a mass horde of people waiting for it to start. Grandma and I figured we'd never get close enough, but Pa went closer to check it out.
"That sign over there says there's no ceremony today," He told us when he came back.
"Then why are all these people standing here?" Grandma asked.
"`Cause they're stupid and can't read a sign," I said. So, with one thing crossed off our agenda, we went back down into the swine flu party and headed to our second destination, the London Museum. It was pretty much what I expected: a museum about London. The best thing there was all the prehistoric animal bones and jewelry from the people who lived in England before the Romans invaded.
After the museum, we walked a few blocks and started looking for St. Paul's Cathedral. It was pretty easy; when we saw a giant marble building, we figured that must be it. It was taller than Westminster Abbey, but spread out over a smaller area. Since it was Sunday, there was a sign saying that you couldn't walk around in there, but lots of people were anyway. It was more extravagant than the Abbey, with gold plated ceilings and elaborate carvings and a huge, fancy altar, but Westminster Abbey is still my favorite.
We only spent a little time there, because we wanted to go to Picadilly Circus to see Harry Potter. Grandma and I thought it would be really fun to see the movie in London. I think Pa didn't see the importance of this, but he was nice and humored us anyway. To my delight, instead of taking the germy Tube, we opted for the slighty less germy double decker bus. We got on and headed for the top level, but just as we reached the top of the stairs, the bus roared to life and jerked forward. Pa was able to make it to a seat in time, but Grandma nearly whacked a girl in the face and I was nearly thrown to the back of the bus. It was then that I remembered an incident almost two years ago, when I was in Washington, D.C. for a leadership conference. We rode buses everywhere, and on the first day, when we were headed to Philadelphia, our bus supervisor, Kojo (a native of Ghana and a graduate of the University of Wooster), gave us a lecture on bus safety and etiquette. "...And if I see any of you, any of you, stand up while the bus is moving," He had finished. "You'll get your sorry little butt hauled back home before you can say 'Philadelphia'." At the time, it had seemed like a pathetic little power trip to me. Now I know he was just trying to keep us from being thrown out the window. I was wondering how on Earth I was going to make it to a seat alive when I also remembered how Kojo would grip the railings above the seats on the bus when he wanted to come back and talk to us (which usually was to tell us to wake up or to say that if the kid in the green shirt took one more picture on the bus he could explain to his parents why they have a $2000 fine to pay). Holding onto the railings for dear life and feeling very much like a bus supervisor, I made my way to an empty seat and sat down, followed shortly by Grandma.
So thank you, Kojo, for saving me from falling on the London bus and humiliating myself.
We all made it to Picadilly Circus alive and well, and we went to the theater we had been to last night to see when Harry Potter was playing (we tried to see it last night, but we had just missed it).
"I guess we have to go back to that arcade place to go the theater," Pa said.
"It's not an arcade. It's a meeting ground for horror and death." I said, which, while a bit of an exaggeration, was not entirely untrue. It's dark and scary and full of weird people in there. It didn't matter though, because we missed the show again. We left and walked down the street, wondering what to do now. As we did, we passed another movie theater, and it had Harry Potter playing in half an hour! We went in and got our tickets, and it turns out that British movie theaters (or at least this one) have assigned seating! We had to pick out where we wanted to sit, and it cost more to sit in the front of the theater than the back. It was all very weird.
A lot of people I know didn't like the movie, but I thought it was pretty good. The only thing was that I had sucked down three quarters of my Pepsi in about 20 minutes, and so for the entire last half of the movie I thought I was going to have to run out and go to the bathroom. I made it, though, just in time to stand in the long line of people from the movie going to the bathroom.
We ate London fish and chips one last time, and then it was time to return the hotel room and pack. It was just about the last thing I wanted to do, since it involved taking everything out and folding it all over again. Bleh.
I think this is going to be my last blog entry. There's not really much left to say. We're getting up at 4:00 a.m. to leave, and we'll be home by 5:00 p.m. I'm a little sad, because I don't know if I'll ever walk down the Royal Mile in Edinburgh again, if I'll ever gaze at Stonehenge again, if I'll ever light a candle in Westminster Abbey again. But maybe's it a little too early to be thinking like that. I'm only thirteen, and unless my plane crashes into the Atlantic Ocean, I've got plenty of opportunites to go back. I said it earlier on, and I think I'll end by saying it again:
Anything's possible, right?
Love,
Kiera
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Saturday, August 1, 2009
London, Day 1
"It's all my fault!" Grandma moaned. "I should've looked closer!"
People are staring, I thought, but I figured voicing this observation would not help anything.
This morning, exactly 24 hours before our flight home, Grandma logged on to the Continental Airlines website to check in to our flight. However, every time she tried to check in, she kept getting a message saying that the website couldn't check us in because the time before our flight was greater than 24 hours. To get to the bottom of this, we hopped on the Tube and rode to Heathrow Airport. The man at the Continental ticket counter brought up our flight information, and quickly found the problem: our flight doesn't leave until 8:40 a.m. on Monday, not Sunday! This meant we had a whole extra day in London. It also meant we needed to beg the hotel staff to let us stay in our room one more night, since we thought we'd be leaving Sunday.
"How could I not have noticed that we left on Monday?" Grandma wailed.
"At least now we have plenty of time for sightseeing," Pa said.
"And plenty of time to find a place to sleep tomorrow night," I added.
We had two major stops today: The Tower of London and Picadilly Circus. We got back on the Tube and rode it up to Tower Hill. Once we forked over the 40 pounds it took to get in and got into the main courtyard, I discovered that the Tower of London is about 10 times more impressive than I had imagined it. It's an enormous fortress, so big that if you put Fraserburgh Castle next to to the Tower, it'd probably look just as silly as my house does beside the giant one next door that takes up nearly a quarter of a block. It's made up of four of five different towers, including White Tower, and the Bloody Tower, which is where many of the prisoners were kept and supposedly where two boys were murdered. Speaking of murder, the Tower of London is also the place where Anne Boleyn and Lady Jane Grey were beheaded, and where Elizabeth I and Sir Walter Ralegh were imprisoned.
We walked around the site and saw all the different towers, the walls where prisoners had carved their names, an exhibit of King Henry VIII's armor, and even six yeomen (Tower guards) marching down the path. But what was most exciting for me was getting to see some of England's Crown Jewels. They're kept locked up in a vault, but the public is allowed to go in and see them. Some of the gems on the Crown Jewels were so big, I could hardly believe they were real! They looked like they had to be those fake plastic gems, but the signs insisted that they were the real thing. The funniest part of seeing the jewels was when we were looking at some of the gold artifacts. There were plates, goblets, crosses used in coronation, and solid gold forks. But the most impressive was a huge gold bowl on a stand. That must be the font they use to anoint the new Queen, I thought.
"Pa wants to know if you saw the giant punch bowl," Grandma whispered.
Punch bowl? Oh.
"I think that's a font," I said. "You know, that they use for baptisms and anointing and stuff."
"Oh." Grandma started to giggle. "They wanna sprinkle a little water on them, eh?"
"Not just any old water! Holy water!"
Grandma turned to Pa. "Kiera thinks it's a font, that you use for baptisms, not a punch bowl. That's probably the closest to being right."
And now I'm going to give Pa credit where credit is due and make fun of him at the same time: Yesterday at Westminster Abbey he asked me what a Eucharist was, so I would not expect him to see a giant gold bowl and think it was a font. But I wasn't really expecting him to think it was a punch bowl, either.
Seeing the Tower of London was well worth the 40 pounds they took from us. And it was well worth the next stop, which was kind of a disappointment.
We hopped back on the Tube and went to our next stop, Piccadilly Circus. I wasn't quite sure what I imagined it would be, but when we stepped out above ground, I found what looked kind of like a British Times Square. It even had its own scary backroad full of hoboes and stores that really should cover up their windows so people like me don't turn a corner and almost have their eyeballs fall out at the sight of the window displays. Don't get me wrong, I've got nothing wrong with some nice, harmless (and, in some cases, teethless) hoboes on the streets. It's just the streets they hang out on.
One good thing about walking through through the scary road was that we were walking by an Indian restaurant when the garage door across the street slowly opened. Out came five college kids with drumsticks and garbage cans hung around the next. They started walking down the street, playing a song by banging on their garbage cans. People ran after them taking pictures. The people eating outside sat there and laughed. The owner of the Indian restaurant came out and starting clapping and dancing in the middle of the sidewalk.
If the school band was like that, I would sign up in a heartbeat.
Overall, Picadilly Circus was kind of a letdown, especially when we tried to go see Harry Potter and instead got stuck in a scary, dark arcade thing. To top it all off, when we tried to go back down to the Tube, both the stations were closed! We ended up walking three blocks before we found an open station (I may sound like a baby, but we had done a lot of walking that day). And when we went into the station, it was packed with people, probably because the other stations were shut down. With so many people in such a small space, I could almost see the germs on the railings and seats. For the first time, wearing a swine flu mask didn't seem like a major overreation.
Oh, and in case you worried that we would have to sleep with the hoboes (who I'm sure would be more than happy to share their doorways and park benches with us), we managed to get our room for another night. And for the same price, no less! I just hope the hoboes aren't too disappointed.
Love,
Kiera
People are staring, I thought, but I figured voicing this observation would not help anything.
This morning, exactly 24 hours before our flight home, Grandma logged on to the Continental Airlines website to check in to our flight. However, every time she tried to check in, she kept getting a message saying that the website couldn't check us in because the time before our flight was greater than 24 hours. To get to the bottom of this, we hopped on the Tube and rode to Heathrow Airport. The man at the Continental ticket counter brought up our flight information, and quickly found the problem: our flight doesn't leave until 8:40 a.m. on Monday, not Sunday! This meant we had a whole extra day in London. It also meant we needed to beg the hotel staff to let us stay in our room one more night, since we thought we'd be leaving Sunday.
"How could I not have noticed that we left on Monday?" Grandma wailed.
"At least now we have plenty of time for sightseeing," Pa said.
"And plenty of time to find a place to sleep tomorrow night," I added.
We had two major stops today: The Tower of London and Picadilly Circus. We got back on the Tube and rode it up to Tower Hill. Once we forked over the 40 pounds it took to get in and got into the main courtyard, I discovered that the Tower of London is about 10 times more impressive than I had imagined it. It's an enormous fortress, so big that if you put Fraserburgh Castle next to to the Tower, it'd probably look just as silly as my house does beside the giant one next door that takes up nearly a quarter of a block. It's made up of four of five different towers, including White Tower, and the Bloody Tower, which is where many of the prisoners were kept and supposedly where two boys were murdered. Speaking of murder, the Tower of London is also the place where Anne Boleyn and Lady Jane Grey were beheaded, and where Elizabeth I and Sir Walter Ralegh were imprisoned.
We walked around the site and saw all the different towers, the walls where prisoners had carved their names, an exhibit of King Henry VIII's armor, and even six yeomen (Tower guards) marching down the path. But what was most exciting for me was getting to see some of England's Crown Jewels. They're kept locked up in a vault, but the public is allowed to go in and see them. Some of the gems on the Crown Jewels were so big, I could hardly believe they were real! They looked like they had to be those fake plastic gems, but the signs insisted that they were the real thing. The funniest part of seeing the jewels was when we were looking at some of the gold artifacts. There were plates, goblets, crosses used in coronation, and solid gold forks. But the most impressive was a huge gold bowl on a stand. That must be the font they use to anoint the new Queen, I thought.
"Pa wants to know if you saw the giant punch bowl," Grandma whispered.
Punch bowl? Oh.
"I think that's a font," I said. "You know, that they use for baptisms and anointing and stuff."
"Oh." Grandma started to giggle. "They wanna sprinkle a little water on them, eh?"
"Not just any old water! Holy water!"
Grandma turned to Pa. "Kiera thinks it's a font, that you use for baptisms, not a punch bowl. That's probably the closest to being right."
And now I'm going to give Pa credit where credit is due and make fun of him at the same time: Yesterday at Westminster Abbey he asked me what a Eucharist was, so I would not expect him to see a giant gold bowl and think it was a font. But I wasn't really expecting him to think it was a punch bowl, either.
Seeing the Tower of London was well worth the 40 pounds they took from us. And it was well worth the next stop, which was kind of a disappointment.
We hopped back on the Tube and went to our next stop, Piccadilly Circus. I wasn't quite sure what I imagined it would be, but when we stepped out above ground, I found what looked kind of like a British Times Square. It even had its own scary backroad full of hoboes and stores that really should cover up their windows so people like me don't turn a corner and almost have their eyeballs fall out at the sight of the window displays. Don't get me wrong, I've got nothing wrong with some nice, harmless (and, in some cases, teethless) hoboes on the streets. It's just the streets they hang out on.
One good thing about walking through through the scary road was that we were walking by an Indian restaurant when the garage door across the street slowly opened. Out came five college kids with drumsticks and garbage cans hung around the next. They started walking down the street, playing a song by banging on their garbage cans. People ran after them taking pictures. The people eating outside sat there and laughed. The owner of the Indian restaurant came out and starting clapping and dancing in the middle of the sidewalk.
If the school band was like that, I would sign up in a heartbeat.
Overall, Picadilly Circus was kind of a letdown, especially when we tried to go see Harry Potter and instead got stuck in a scary, dark arcade thing. To top it all off, when we tried to go back down to the Tube, both the stations were closed! We ended up walking three blocks before we found an open station (I may sound like a baby, but we had done a lot of walking that day). And when we went into the station, it was packed with people, probably because the other stations were shut down. With so many people in such a small space, I could almost see the germs on the railings and seats. For the first time, wearing a swine flu mask didn't seem like a major overreation.
Oh, and in case you worried that we would have to sleep with the hoboes (who I'm sure would be more than happy to share their doorways and park benches with us), we managed to get our room for another night. And for the same price, no less! I just hope the hoboes aren't too disappointed.
Love,
Kiera
Friday, July 31, 2009
Goodbye, Scotland
I was trying so hard to stay awake. We were about 30 minutes away from the English border, and I wanted to be at least semi-conscious when we left Scotland. I wanted to savor those last few moments of Scottishness (that’s not a word, sorry) because there was no guarantee that I would ever come here again. After feeling sad about that for a few minutes, I had a crazy idea.
I could live here, I thought. Grandma said European countries always need English teachers. After college, I’ll move to Edinburgh and get a job at that English school on the Royal Mile. I don’t need a fancy house; I’ll rent one of those apartments above the shops on the Royal Mile, and since I’d be able to walk to work, I wouldn’t need a car. Since I’d be paying rent, not a mortgage, and I wouldn’t have a car payment, it wouldn’t matter that I would probably make next to no money.
Then I realized that there were three problems with this plan: 1. It would matter that I’d make no money, because then I could never come back to visit, 2. I’d be living in a city where it can be 70 degrees one minute and 50 and raining the next, and 3. I wouldn’t be able to understand anyone’s Scottish accent.
Oh well. I tried.
I was awake when we crossed into England. I had been resting my eyes, but then Pa said, “Entering England!” and I woke up just in time to see the sign fly by. Unfortunately, between the jolting of the car and the blaring of a super-annoying British talk show, I couldn’t go back to sleep. Instead, I sat there and listened to the idiots on the radio as the 6 hour drive to Stonehenge slowly crawled by.
“There it is,” Pa said, and sure enough, as we drove over that last hill, a circle of giant stones came into view. I couldn’t believe it. To me, Stonehenge was always the picture you saw in National Geographic or in your history book. It didn’t seem like a real thing, and I never in a million years thought that I’d ever get close enough to see the moss growing on the stones.
They were giving out those free audio tour things at the entrance, and even though I’ve always laughed at the people who walk around museums with those things glued to their ears, I decided to be a hypocrite and take one. I figured if I didn’t, I’d just be staring at a pile of stones while everyone around me had some great wisdom imparted on them by a little plastic rectangle.
I think the one thing that left the biggest impression on me was the fact that Stonehenge was built so that the stones lined up perfectly with each other and with the rising and setting sun. There’s a stone a few dozen yards away from Stonehenge, called the Heel Stone, that points straight towards the axis of Stonehenge. On the longest day of the year, the sun rises right behind the Heel Stone and shines through one of the rock archways straight into the center of Stonehenge. The sunset on the shortest day of the year shines through an archway directly across from the one illuminated by the Summer Solstice. Also, you can tell what month it is by which arch the sun’s light shines through. This would have been a pretty complicated thing to do today, but Stonehenge was started in about 2500 B.C. How could they have possibly figured out how to align the circle with the sun? Pa once told me how he believed they did it, and it involved aliens coming down to Earth to help the incompetent cavemen.
I really don’t think that’s it, but now that I’ve publicly dismissed his theory, the aliens are probably going to appear to me and tell me all about building Stonehenge.
We only had an hour and a half of driving left after Stonehenge, so we said goodbye to the rocks and the weird Druid guy standing by the fence with a “Bring Back Our Dead Ancestors” poster and began the final drive to London. Now, even though I’ve given Pa a hard time on this blog about his driving, I’ve got to give him a lot of credit. Driving on the wrong side of the road, on the wrong side of the car, and working a stick shift with the wrong hand is a lot harder than it may seem. And we got here alive, didn’t we?
We had left for Stonehenge early so we could have an extra day in London, but by the time we got there, we were all so exhausted that we ate dinner and went straight to bed. We’re staying in a huge hotel that charges you for just about everything, in a room with a lovely view of the airport parking lot. It’s not fantastic, but it at least it has hand towels (unlike a certain hotel in Portsoy…)! That’s really what counts, right?
Love,
Kiera
I could live here, I thought. Grandma said European countries always need English teachers. After college, I’ll move to Edinburgh and get a job at that English school on the Royal Mile. I don’t need a fancy house; I’ll rent one of those apartments above the shops on the Royal Mile, and since I’d be able to walk to work, I wouldn’t need a car. Since I’d be paying rent, not a mortgage, and I wouldn’t have a car payment, it wouldn’t matter that I would probably make next to no money.
Then I realized that there were three problems with this plan: 1. It would matter that I’d make no money, because then I could never come back to visit, 2. I’d be living in a city where it can be 70 degrees one minute and 50 and raining the next, and 3. I wouldn’t be able to understand anyone’s Scottish accent.
Oh well. I tried.
I was awake when we crossed into England. I had been resting my eyes, but then Pa said, “Entering England!” and I woke up just in time to see the sign fly by. Unfortunately, between the jolting of the car and the blaring of a super-annoying British talk show, I couldn’t go back to sleep. Instead, I sat there and listened to the idiots on the radio as the 6 hour drive to Stonehenge slowly crawled by.
“There it is,” Pa said, and sure enough, as we drove over that last hill, a circle of giant stones came into view. I couldn’t believe it. To me, Stonehenge was always the picture you saw in National Geographic or in your history book. It didn’t seem like a real thing, and I never in a million years thought that I’d ever get close enough to see the moss growing on the stones.
They were giving out those free audio tour things at the entrance, and even though I’ve always laughed at the people who walk around museums with those things glued to their ears, I decided to be a hypocrite and take one. I figured if I didn’t, I’d just be staring at a pile of stones while everyone around me had some great wisdom imparted on them by a little plastic rectangle.
I think the one thing that left the biggest impression on me was the fact that Stonehenge was built so that the stones lined up perfectly with each other and with the rising and setting sun. There’s a stone a few dozen yards away from Stonehenge, called the Heel Stone, that points straight towards the axis of Stonehenge. On the longest day of the year, the sun rises right behind the Heel Stone and shines through one of the rock archways straight into the center of Stonehenge. The sunset on the shortest day of the year shines through an archway directly across from the one illuminated by the Summer Solstice. Also, you can tell what month it is by which arch the sun’s light shines through. This would have been a pretty complicated thing to do today, but Stonehenge was started in about 2500 B.C. How could they have possibly figured out how to align the circle with the sun? Pa once told me how he believed they did it, and it involved aliens coming down to Earth to help the incompetent cavemen.
I really don’t think that’s it, but now that I’ve publicly dismissed his theory, the aliens are probably going to appear to me and tell me all about building Stonehenge.
We only had an hour and a half of driving left after Stonehenge, so we said goodbye to the rocks and the weird Druid guy standing by the fence with a “Bring Back Our Dead Ancestors” poster and began the final drive to London. Now, even though I’ve given Pa a hard time on this blog about his driving, I’ve got to give him a lot of credit. Driving on the wrong side of the road, on the wrong side of the car, and working a stick shift with the wrong hand is a lot harder than it may seem. And we got here alive, didn’t we?
We had left for Stonehenge early so we could have an extra day in London, but by the time we got there, we were all so exhausted that we ate dinner and went straight to bed. We’re staying in a huge hotel that charges you for just about everything, in a room with a lovely view of the airport parking lot. It’s not fantastic, but it at least it has hand towels (unlike a certain hotel in Portsoy…)! That’s really what counts, right?
Love,
Kiera
London, Day 1
I’ve got to say that the Washington, D.C. Metro is a lot more fun than the London Tube.
Our hotel is about a block away from the Tube entrance, and that station is one of the most confusing things I’ve ever seen. You can get on one train, but then you might have to transfer to another to get where you’re going, and they only stop at this station on Tuesdays and Fridays, and at that one late at night, and if you’re going to Terminal 5 of the airport you get to wait around until a train decides to go there. Pa tried to make sense of it, then finally gave up and said wherever we end up is where we end up.
Quite frankly, it’s a wonder we made it downtown on our first try.
The first exciting thing that happened was that we passed The Ritz Hotel. It had the fancy doorman and everything, and if I tried to go in there in my jeans and North Face, I’d probably get kicked out before I could go three steps.
We should’ve gotten a room there. Of course, then we probably wouldn’t be able to afford food, but seriously, who needs to eat?
I was walking along a bridge thinking about how gross the River Thames looked when suddenly, I looked up, and there it was. Big Ben. It was about 7000 times more impressive looking than it is in postcards and that kind of stuff. I could have looked at it forever.
Or I could’ve gotten Grandma to push me down the stairs at the hotel so I could stay at the hospital with a view of Big Ben and the Parliament House.
We wanted a better view of London, so we went on the London Eye. It’s this ENORMOUS Ferris Wheel that can hold 30 people to a car, and all the sides are windows and you can stand up and move around and take lots of pictures. It didn’t feel like we were that high up, even though you could see over all of London, but when we got back on the ground, I had to tilt my head all the way back to see the top car!
Our next stop was unexpected, but I’m so glad we stumbled across it. We were on our way to Buckingham Palace, and we passed this really cool old building. Pa stopped to examine it, then came to a conclusion:
“I think this is Westminster Abbey.”
We walked around to the front of the building (it took us about five minutes), and, sure enough, it was. It cost thirty pounds for us to get in, but it turned out to be well worth it. It was my favorite stop this whole trip, with the possible exception of Edinburgh. My only complaint was that we weren’t allowed to take any pictures! It’s probably because the flashes would decay all the old tombs and artifacts, but still, it’s kind of tragic.
Westminster Abbey was founded in 960, and housed its first coronation in 1066. Since then, all the English kings and queens have had their coronations there, and many, including Queen Elizabeth I, were buried there. There are also memorials to some famous English writers and composers, and there’s even a memorial for Franklin Roosevelt. I thought the Roosevelt one was really sweet; it said “In Remembrance of Franklin Delano Roosevelt, a friend to freedom and to Britain, elected to US President four times”. The Abbey is huge: The smallest chapel is nearly as big as my entire church, and its lowest ceiling is just as high as our highest.
And now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to be all serious and thoughtful for minute. It was kind of sad seeing all the graves and tombs throughout the Abbey, but it was incredible to think that I was walking down the same corridor that a monk or a king might have in the 1300’s. And while I was there, even though there were these huge throngs of people around me, I felt really peaceful. It’s kind of hard to describe. It was kind of like how you feel just after you’ve confessed your sins, before you’ve gotten an opportunity to do something bad and you feel all holy and clean. Being in that church, among hundreds of peoples’ graves who had loved God and loved their Church, felt like that.
Some people don't believe in God because they need visible proof that He's there, but that feeling is more than enough proof for me.
We saw Buckingham Palace, but we were too late for the changing of the guards. We might try and catch it tomorrow, but we’ve got as busy of a schedule as today. Then we had dinner and I had real London fish and chips in a real London pub! Well, sort of. I had real London fish in chips in a real London Thai restaurant above a real London pub, because people were already drunk at the pub and it wasn’t the best place for a kid to be. And now, we’re relaxing at the hotel, getting ready for our last day in Europe.
Love,
Kiera
P.S. I bet you didn't expect me to get all religious, did you? I can be serious when I want to be! ;)
Our hotel is about a block away from the Tube entrance, and that station is one of the most confusing things I’ve ever seen. You can get on one train, but then you might have to transfer to another to get where you’re going, and they only stop at this station on Tuesdays and Fridays, and at that one late at night, and if you’re going to Terminal 5 of the airport you get to wait around until a train decides to go there. Pa tried to make sense of it, then finally gave up and said wherever we end up is where we end up.
Quite frankly, it’s a wonder we made it downtown on our first try.
The first exciting thing that happened was that we passed The Ritz Hotel. It had the fancy doorman and everything, and if I tried to go in there in my jeans and North Face, I’d probably get kicked out before I could go three steps.
We should’ve gotten a room there. Of course, then we probably wouldn’t be able to afford food, but seriously, who needs to eat?
I was walking along a bridge thinking about how gross the River Thames looked when suddenly, I looked up, and there it was. Big Ben. It was about 7000 times more impressive looking than it is in postcards and that kind of stuff. I could have looked at it forever.
Or I could’ve gotten Grandma to push me down the stairs at the hotel so I could stay at the hospital with a view of Big Ben and the Parliament House.
We wanted a better view of London, so we went on the London Eye. It’s this ENORMOUS Ferris Wheel that can hold 30 people to a car, and all the sides are windows and you can stand up and move around and take lots of pictures. It didn’t feel like we were that high up, even though you could see over all of London, but when we got back on the ground, I had to tilt my head all the way back to see the top car!
Our next stop was unexpected, but I’m so glad we stumbled across it. We were on our way to Buckingham Palace, and we passed this really cool old building. Pa stopped to examine it, then came to a conclusion:
“I think this is Westminster Abbey.”
We walked around to the front of the building (it took us about five minutes), and, sure enough, it was. It cost thirty pounds for us to get in, but it turned out to be well worth it. It was my favorite stop this whole trip, with the possible exception of Edinburgh. My only complaint was that we weren’t allowed to take any pictures! It’s probably because the flashes would decay all the old tombs and artifacts, but still, it’s kind of tragic.
Westminster Abbey was founded in 960, and housed its first coronation in 1066. Since then, all the English kings and queens have had their coronations there, and many, including Queen Elizabeth I, were buried there. There are also memorials to some famous English writers and composers, and there’s even a memorial for Franklin Roosevelt. I thought the Roosevelt one was really sweet; it said “In Remembrance of Franklin Delano Roosevelt, a friend to freedom and to Britain, elected to US President four times”. The Abbey is huge: The smallest chapel is nearly as big as my entire church, and its lowest ceiling is just as high as our highest.
And now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to be all serious and thoughtful for minute. It was kind of sad seeing all the graves and tombs throughout the Abbey, but it was incredible to think that I was walking down the same corridor that a monk or a king might have in the 1300’s. And while I was there, even though there were these huge throngs of people around me, I felt really peaceful. It’s kind of hard to describe. It was kind of like how you feel just after you’ve confessed your sins, before you’ve gotten an opportunity to do something bad and you feel all holy and clean. Being in that church, among hundreds of peoples’ graves who had loved God and loved their Church, felt like that.
Some people don't believe in God because they need visible proof that He's there, but that feeling is more than enough proof for me.
We saw Buckingham Palace, but we were too late for the changing of the guards. We might try and catch it tomorrow, but we’ve got as busy of a schedule as today. Then we had dinner and I had real London fish and chips in a real London pub! Well, sort of. I had real London fish in chips in a real London Thai restaurant above a real London pub, because people were already drunk at the pub and it wasn’t the best place for a kid to be. And now, we’re relaxing at the hotel, getting ready for our last day in Europe.
Love,
Kiera
P.S. I bet you didn't expect me to get all religious, did you? I can be serious when I want to be! ;)
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Do You Want to Get in the Moat?
It was going to be an exciting day. Even almost all of it was going to be spent driving, we had one stop that would make it very worthwhile: Urqhart (I'm 98% sure that is NOT how you spell it) Castle, which was positioned right over Loch Ness! Sadly, as we drove alongside the Loch on our way to the castle, I did not see the Loch Ness Monster, no matter how hard I looked. I don't even think she exists.
Urqhart Castle was not the huge, impressive fortress I had imagined. Well, it was probably huge and impressive once, before the people who lived there, threatened by invaders, blew it up. Now all that is left is stone ruins that you can climb and and take pictures of. Still, it's a fabulous location, on a hill overlooking Loch Ness.
We started by watching a short movie on the history of the castle. It was a fortress and a residence for Scottish nobility before it was destroyed 350 years ago. Many different clans and nobles lived there, until the last residents set fire to gunpowder and made the castle explode.
After the movie we walked outside and down the hill to see the ruins. Honestly, the location was more interesting than the castle, because all that was left was the outer walls. What was much cooler was the fact that it was positioned on a hill overlooking Loch Ness. I would have loved to live in such a beautiful place.
We weren't there for very long before we decided to leave, but on our way out, Pa decided to take Grandma and my picture. He got a nice one of us with the castle in the background, and then he asked:
"Do you want to get in the moat?"
We stood there for a moment, not knowing what he was talking about. Then it hit us: He wanted us to stand in the bottom of the dried-up moat so that he could take our picture.
"No!" We cried simeltaneously.
"There's a sign right there that says 'Do not leave path'!" I protested.
"All right! All right!" Pa said, and proceeded to step over the sign and wander towards the moat.
I had warned him. If he fell in, I sure wouldn't be helping him.
We drove for about ten million hours after that, on the lookout for a little town called Lockerbie. We were going to be staying at an ancient hotel there, which, unfortunately, did not have an address. This confused Roz, and she wasn't able to get to the hotel. It was 21:30 (UK goes by a 24 hr clock. 21:30 means 9:30) by the time we got our luggage up to our room and set out into downtown for dinner. By then, all the restaurants were closed except for the takeouts. Pa went to one store to get fish and chips while Grandma and I wandered into another to order pizza. It was empty except for us and the two Spanish guys behind the counter, and they were taking forever to get our pizza. It was dark and scary in there, and nobody was on the street to save us if one of them emerged from the kitchen with a butcher knife. That is, until a group of college guys came bursting in on a quest for kebabs. I figured they would keep us from being murdered.
That night was our last in Scotland. The next day we would be getting up early and going to Stonehenge, and then arriving at our final destination of London in the afternoon. Of course, that was assuming we didn't wind up with the car flipped over in a ditch first!
Love,
Kiera
Urqhart Castle was not the huge, impressive fortress I had imagined. Well, it was probably huge and impressive once, before the people who lived there, threatened by invaders, blew it up. Now all that is left is stone ruins that you can climb and and take pictures of. Still, it's a fabulous location, on a hill overlooking Loch Ness.
We started by watching a short movie on the history of the castle. It was a fortress and a residence for Scottish nobility before it was destroyed 350 years ago. Many different clans and nobles lived there, until the last residents set fire to gunpowder and made the castle explode.
After the movie we walked outside and down the hill to see the ruins. Honestly, the location was more interesting than the castle, because all that was left was the outer walls. What was much cooler was the fact that it was positioned on a hill overlooking Loch Ness. I would have loved to live in such a beautiful place.
We weren't there for very long before we decided to leave, but on our way out, Pa decided to take Grandma and my picture. He got a nice one of us with the castle in the background, and then he asked:
"Do you want to get in the moat?"
We stood there for a moment, not knowing what he was talking about. Then it hit us: He wanted us to stand in the bottom of the dried-up moat so that he could take our picture.
"No!" We cried simeltaneously.
"There's a sign right there that says 'Do not leave path'!" I protested.
"All right! All right!" Pa said, and proceeded to step over the sign and wander towards the moat.
I had warned him. If he fell in, I sure wouldn't be helping him.
We drove for about ten million hours after that, on the lookout for a little town called Lockerbie. We were going to be staying at an ancient hotel there, which, unfortunately, did not have an address. This confused Roz, and she wasn't able to get to the hotel. It was 21:30 (UK goes by a 24 hr clock. 21:30 means 9:30) by the time we got our luggage up to our room and set out into downtown for dinner. By then, all the restaurants were closed except for the takeouts. Pa went to one store to get fish and chips while Grandma and I wandered into another to order pizza. It was empty except for us and the two Spanish guys behind the counter, and they were taking forever to get our pizza. It was dark and scary in there, and nobody was on the street to save us if one of them emerged from the kitchen with a butcher knife. That is, until a group of college guys came bursting in on a quest for kebabs. I figured they would keep us from being murdered.
That night was our last in Scotland. The next day we would be getting up early and going to Stonehenge, and then arriving at our final destination of London in the afternoon. Of course, that was assuming we didn't wind up with the car flipped over in a ditch first!
Love,
Kiera
Fraserburgh
We had to get up unreasonably early again the next day so that we could make it from Portsoy to Fraserburgh by 9:30. It was the day that we would be touring Fraserburgh Castle, which has belonged to Clan Fraser for centuries. The Lady Saltoun's daughter, the daughter's husband, and their two nearly-grown children all live in the castle just outside of town. The couple offered tours of their home, so that morning I found myself trooping across a pristine lawn and knocking on the front door of an ancient castle. The daughter's husband was going to be our guide, and I was expecting him to be as scary and important-looking as his mother-in-law. Turns out, I was wrong! He was so kind, and he didn't even seem to mind that we were invading his house and taking pictures and generally being the stereotypical American tourists. I was impressed that he knew so much about the castle just off the top of his head. While we stood on the roof and looked over the land, he was able to recite the history of Fraserburgh Castle from 1200 to the 1970's. Then he took us through the interior and showed us all the rooms (they have 13 bedrooms!!), and pointed out the centuries old stonework and walled up staircases. We went down into the basement, which might have been a dungeon 600 years ago but is now a playroom-turned-storage area.
I was insanely jealous of those kids.
Another cool thing about the castle was that there were hand-done paintings of Frasers lining every hallway. They weren't done by famous painters, but the older ones had to be really valuable. And for each painting of a Fraser, the husband knew the story of the subject's life. If I lived there, I could never remember all of that!
Of course, if I lived there, I probably wouldn't be able to remember where the front door was, either.
We thanked the couple about a million times, and then we hit the road again. And we drove. And drove. And drove. Until FINALLY we reached Inverness, where we had reservations at the Fraser Hotel. All the rooms are starting to run together in my head, but I think it was pretty nice. At about nine, we set out in search of a restaurant. We figured that no one would be eating dinner at nine on a Tuesday night. Boy, were we wrong! Every single place we went into had about a 20 minute wait, until finally we wound up at Pizza Express. Yeah, I came all the way to Scotland to eat pizza.
We had a long day of driving ahead of us, and I was really looking forward to getting even closer to England, so I quickly drifted off to sleep. Another day of driving, and I still wasn't dead. I might actually get out of here alive.
Love,
Kiera
I was insanely jealous of those kids.
Another cool thing about the castle was that there were hand-done paintings of Frasers lining every hallway. They weren't done by famous painters, but the older ones had to be really valuable. And for each painting of a Fraser, the husband knew the story of the subject's life. If I lived there, I could never remember all of that!
Of course, if I lived there, I probably wouldn't be able to remember where the front door was, either.
We thanked the couple about a million times, and then we hit the road again. And we drove. And drove. And drove. Until FINALLY we reached Inverness, where we had reservations at the Fraser Hotel. All the rooms are starting to run together in my head, but I think it was pretty nice. At about nine, we set out in search of a restaurant. We figured that no one would be eating dinner at nine on a Tuesday night. Boy, were we wrong! Every single place we went into had about a 20 minute wait, until finally we wound up at Pizza Express. Yeah, I came all the way to Scotland to eat pizza.
We had a long day of driving ahead of us, and I was really looking forward to getting even closer to England, so I quickly drifted off to sleep. Another day of driving, and I still wasn't dead. I might actually get out of here alive.
Love,
Kiera
His Thoughts Are And Vain
It's not fair that's it's only 8:30 and I've been up for two hours, Was how my third grumpy thought of my vacation went. We were driving around in circles, trying to get out of Edinburgh, and so far we were having no luck. Edinburgh has some of the worst traffic I've ever seen, and driving on the opposite side of the road didn't help much. Worst of all, Roz was being entirely unhelpful, although that wasn't really her fault, considering that half the streets weren't labeled. An hour after we left our hotel, we made it out of the city limits and were on our way south. The plan is to slowly make our way to London, which was where we're flying out of on Sunday. We had several stops along the way, including Stonehenge, Fraserburgh Castle, and Betty and Johnny's house.
At that time, I didn't really know who Betty and Johnny were. In fact, the only thing sI knew about them were that they were friends of Grandpa Simpson and had the key to the cemetery where one of Pa's ancestors was buried. Well, that and the fact that they didn't know we would be visiting today. What if they weren't home? What if they didn't believe who we were and told us to leave? All we had was a letter from Grandpa Simpson telling them who we were and why we were there. But I wasn't terribly concerned with that when we were just outside Edinburgh. I was more worried that I would die a fiery death before I got within a 250 mile radius of their house.
Pa was still uncomfortable with driving a stick shift on the opposite side of the road, and for most of that first day we were either dangerously close to flipping into a ditch, dangerously close to crossing over the line into oncoming traffic, shifting into the wrong gear and killing the engine in the middle of the road, or putting the car in reverse when it was supposed to be in drive. Grandma was freaking out. Pa was swearing. Roz was laying abandoned on Grandma's lap. I decided to use my favored defense mechanism of falling asleep, hoping that at least if things didn't get better I would die my fiery death before I woke up. It was difficult, but I managed to keep my eyes closed through all the jolting and sharp turns, through the poor car's rumblings and Grandma's gasps of terror. As time went on, I could feel myself drifting off. I was so close to being asleep. I figured that in just another minute, I would be numb to the impending doom around me.
Rumblerumblerumble.
I wasn't concerned. Pa was probably too close to the shoulder again. I kept my eyes shut.
Gasp!
I still wasn't concerned. This was all Grandma had been saying for an hour. I kept my eyes shut. But then¾
BAM!
The car gave a huge jolt, and my eyes shot open. You know those strips of grass and concrete that separate an exit from a freeway? The car's front tire were marooned on the grass. I assumed that Pa had decided to take the exit, then changed his mind, too late, and tried to veer away. Before I knew it, he was out of the car and was sprinting down the grass, trying to read the sign. I waited until he was safely in the car and the car was safely on the road before shutting my eyes again.
And then we drove. And drove. And jolted into the shoulder about a thousand times. It seemed like we'd been on the road forever by the time we turned down a country road in the middle of nowhere and pulled into Betty and Johnny's house. I really hoped that they were there!
They were home, and they looked utterly shocked. I wondered if they thought we were going to rob them.
Because every pair of 60 year old bank robbers brings their 13 year old granddaughter to rob a house at three in the afternoon.
It didn't take Betty very long to guess that Pa was Grandpa Simpson's son, and after reading his letter, she and Johnny invited us in for tea. It turned out that they'd had guests who had left just minutes before we'd shown up. We drank tea and talked for awhile, and I learned that they were good friends of Grandpa Simpson who met him when he came to Scotland to trace his ancestors, and that they had even visited him in Virginia. Then Betty offered to take us up to the cemetery were Pa's ancestor is buried (if my math is right, he's my great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather), the house he lived in, and the farm where he worked as a gardener.
The cemetery turned out to be unlocked, so we could just walk right in. Betty told us that when Grandpa Simpson first came here, the grave was broken in half. However, she had paid to have it put back together again. When we found the grave, it was still in one piece, although some of it was illegible.
The ancestor turned out to be James Simpson, who died in 1829 at the age of 90. He had a wife, Elizabeth, who was a maid at a local farm. We could read most of the grave, except for an inscription at the bottom. We left without figuring out what it said, and made our way to James' house.
It might have been a cute little house once, but now the wood was rotting and dilapidated. I was amazed that it was still standing after all those decades. It lay in a big field surrounded by farmland as far as the eye could see, which Betty said probably belonged to one man. We also went to the farm where he gardened, and later met his wife, a maid. It was still in pretty good condition, although the plants were really overgrown.
It was time to go back to Betty and Johnny's house, so we could be on our way. Right after we got there, they began trying to give us multiple gifts. No matter how many times we refused and said that they had already done enough, they kept insisting until we finally accepted the set of Edinburgh china, the shortbread, and a five pound note. We the line, however, when Betty said she wanted to wash our car for us! We exchanged addresses, and then they watched as we pulled out of their driving, smiling and waving the whole time.
Before we left The Middle Of Nowhere, we had one loose end to tie up: Pa was dying to find out what the last inscription on his ancestor's cemetery said. So we drove back up there and tried to make out the fancy script. Between the three of us, we managed to figure it out:
The life of a man does quickly fade
His thoughts are and vain
His days are like a flying shade
Of whose short stay no sign remains
We didn't get why the second line said are and vain, but we figured it was a typo. Or maybe it was because they just talked funny back then.
It was time to move along to Portsoy, a little harbor town where we would be staying for the night. It was founded in 1550, and is famous for its marble. It was a beautiful little place, the hotel was nice, and it didn't rain the entire time we stayed there. What more could you ask for?
Aside from a little fiasco where we were locked out of our hotel (and I don't mean our room¾ the front door of the hotel was locked), Portsoy was both pleasant and uneventful. I was looking forward to the next day, when we got to tour Fraserburgh Castle. And I was even starting to enjoy the car rides now that there was a better chance of living then dying when we pulled out of a parking lot (I'm just kidding, of course. Or maybe I'm just saying that so my parents will let me go places alone with my grandparents after this...). Grandma was still terrified when ever we got to close to the line, but hey, we're making progress!
Love,
Kiera
At that time, I didn't really know who Betty and Johnny were. In fact, the only thing sI knew about them were that they were friends of Grandpa Simpson and had the key to the cemetery where one of Pa's ancestors was buried. Well, that and the fact that they didn't know we would be visiting today. What if they weren't home? What if they didn't believe who we were and told us to leave? All we had was a letter from Grandpa Simpson telling them who we were and why we were there. But I wasn't terribly concerned with that when we were just outside Edinburgh. I was more worried that I would die a fiery death before I got within a 250 mile radius of their house.
Pa was still uncomfortable with driving a stick shift on the opposite side of the road, and for most of that first day we were either dangerously close to flipping into a ditch, dangerously close to crossing over the line into oncoming traffic, shifting into the wrong gear and killing the engine in the middle of the road, or putting the car in reverse when it was supposed to be in drive. Grandma was freaking out. Pa was swearing. Roz was laying abandoned on Grandma's lap. I decided to use my favored defense mechanism of falling asleep, hoping that at least if things didn't get better I would die my fiery death before I woke up. It was difficult, but I managed to keep my eyes closed through all the jolting and sharp turns, through the poor car's rumblings and Grandma's gasps of terror. As time went on, I could feel myself drifting off. I was so close to being asleep. I figured that in just another minute, I would be numb to the impending doom around me.
Rumblerumblerumble.
I wasn't concerned. Pa was probably too close to the shoulder again. I kept my eyes shut.
Gasp!
I still wasn't concerned. This was all Grandma had been saying for an hour. I kept my eyes shut. But then¾
BAM!
The car gave a huge jolt, and my eyes shot open. You know those strips of grass and concrete that separate an exit from a freeway? The car's front tire were marooned on the grass. I assumed that Pa had decided to take the exit, then changed his mind, too late, and tried to veer away. Before I knew it, he was out of the car and was sprinting down the grass, trying to read the sign. I waited until he was safely in the car and the car was safely on the road before shutting my eyes again.
And then we drove. And drove. And jolted into the shoulder about a thousand times. It seemed like we'd been on the road forever by the time we turned down a country road in the middle of nowhere and pulled into Betty and Johnny's house. I really hoped that they were there!
They were home, and they looked utterly shocked. I wondered if they thought we were going to rob them.
Because every pair of 60 year old bank robbers brings their 13 year old granddaughter to rob a house at three in the afternoon.
It didn't take Betty very long to guess that Pa was Grandpa Simpson's son, and after reading his letter, she and Johnny invited us in for tea. It turned out that they'd had guests who had left just minutes before we'd shown up. We drank tea and talked for awhile, and I learned that they were good friends of Grandpa Simpson who met him when he came to Scotland to trace his ancestors, and that they had even visited him in Virginia. Then Betty offered to take us up to the cemetery were Pa's ancestor is buried (if my math is right, he's my great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather), the house he lived in, and the farm where he worked as a gardener.
The cemetery turned out to be unlocked, so we could just walk right in. Betty told us that when Grandpa Simpson first came here, the grave was broken in half. However, she had paid to have it put back together again. When we found the grave, it was still in one piece, although some of it was illegible.
The ancestor turned out to be James Simpson, who died in 1829 at the age of 90. He had a wife, Elizabeth, who was a maid at a local farm. We could read most of the grave, except for an inscription at the bottom. We left without figuring out what it said, and made our way to James' house.
It might have been a cute little house once, but now the wood was rotting and dilapidated. I was amazed that it was still standing after all those decades. It lay in a big field surrounded by farmland as far as the eye could see, which Betty said probably belonged to one man. We also went to the farm where he gardened, and later met his wife, a maid. It was still in pretty good condition, although the plants were really overgrown.
It was time to go back to Betty and Johnny's house, so we could be on our way. Right after we got there, they began trying to give us multiple gifts. No matter how many times we refused and said that they had already done enough, they kept insisting until we finally accepted the set of Edinburgh china, the shortbread, and a five pound note. We the line, however, when Betty said she wanted to wash our car for us! We exchanged addresses, and then they watched as we pulled out of their driving, smiling and waving the whole time.
Before we left The Middle Of Nowhere, we had one loose end to tie up: Pa was dying to find out what the last inscription on his ancestor's cemetery said. So we drove back up there and tried to make out the fancy script. Between the three of us, we managed to figure it out:
The life of a man does quickly fade
His thoughts are and vain
His days are like a flying shade
Of whose short stay no sign remains
We didn't get why the second line said are and vain, but we figured it was a typo. Or maybe it was because they just talked funny back then.
It was time to move along to Portsoy, a little harbor town where we would be staying for the night. It was founded in 1550, and is famous for its marble. It was a beautiful little place, the hotel was nice, and it didn't rain the entire time we stayed there. What more could you ask for?
Aside from a little fiasco where we were locked out of our hotel (and I don't mean our room¾ the front door of the hotel was locked), Portsoy was both pleasant and uneventful. I was looking forward to the next day, when we got to tour Fraserburgh Castle. And I was even starting to enjoy the car rides now that there was a better chance of living then dying when we pulled out of a parking lot (I'm just kidding, of course. Or maybe I'm just saying that so my parents will let me go places alone with my grandparents after this...). Grandma was still terrified when ever we got to close to the line, but hey, we're making progress!
Love,
Kiera
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