I’m running through the Copenhagen airport. I finally get through security with 10 minutes before my gate closes. I’m breathing as if I just ran a marathon. A 20something guy, or can better be described as a god runs up behind me telling me I’ve dropped my boarding pass. “Callie is it? I’m Richard and I’d call us both lucky to have made this flight.” British. He’s British. His level of attractiveness reaches a new level if that is possible.
“Oh thank you so much and I think you’re right.”
I am not British. It comes out British. WHO AM I? I panic. I can’t keep up a British accent. Why did I do that? He sees the concern on my face. “ You oight? Cheer up, we made it.” He smiles. I’m a puddle on the floor. When I speak again it comes out British. I’M NOT BRITISH. Shit.
Richard and I continue to talk while we stand in line. Brit to Brit ya know. Then I pull out my passport to give to the gate person. My American passport. We both make awkward eye contact. We don’t speak anymore. WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?
This is how my trip to London started off. Running through the airport and picking up a fake British accent that turned slightly Australian and was probably headed in the direction of Chinese. However, I did make it. All by myself. But I did realize how passive I am when it comes to traveling. Sam usually just tells me where to go and what to do and I just go with the crowd.
I make it through the somewhat frightening UK boarder patrol and happen to run into a fellow DIS person Sam, Sarah, and I like to call the mini-size Carter. We do the awkward small talk of people who really don’t know each other but have drank beer in the same venue together. I did finally learn his name though. Rob.
I pick up my bag and start to just well, follow the crowd. Joe! Months of planning actually worked out and we both made it to London. We both admitted we highly doubted it would happen until just a few weeks ago. Planning doesn’t seem to be either of our fortes. But we did it. And we survived. Although, the way I feel right now sitting on this plane listening to the person beside me snore does not feel quite like surviving.
After a small struggle with finding the “Hotel Hoppa” bus we needed we make it to the hotel and of course my first concern is food. Wanna know what else I found out this weekend? Joe needs minimal amounts of food to survive where as I need large amounts. My first concern is always food. But I managed to somewhat adapt by the end of it. So we end up at a pub close by so that, obviously, we can kill two birds with one stone.
Stella being our beverage of choice, we indulged in many and caught up on life at Randolph and life across the pond. It proved to be just foreshadowing of our other London adventures, but a pretty great night 1.
Day 2:
Because Joe so graciously rushed through finals week at Randolph to meet me in London by Thursday, he had a paper to tackle/bullshit. So while he was a good student I laid around and ate combos. Then we went out to Kings Cross Station and I saw platform 9 3/4!!! The Harry Potter fanatic inside of me was extremely excited but I tried to tone it down. I have an image to maintain ya know. Then we headed for food & yes you guessed it, Stella. We ended up at a bar/club with half off drinks. Needless to say, I ended up giving the lady who sits in the bathroom giving people soap 5 pounds because I didn’t know how to not give her anything at all. She hugged me and told me I was the nicest girl she knew. Tracy and I bonded. However, every other bathroom trip I made after that I didn’t make eye contact with her for fear she would con me out of my money again. We then met some interesting guys outside and I believe one was Slovak. I talked to him about his kids. He was kinda old but I admire his ability to rally and go out . I believe we moved to a different bar (after a tequila shot...) where Joe proceeded to tell the bartender it was ridiculous that they didn’t serve Stella. “Everyone drinks Stella!” We settled for cider instead, which ended up tasting more like funky apple juice.
I think I slept the whole way back. I think.
Day 3.
We suited up in Liverpool attire and made our way to the stadium. However, it was not to actually attend the game inside the stadium it was to see if we could scalp tickets. Fail. Apparently that’s frowned upon and maybe semi-dangerous so our attempt turned into watching all the other fans in red and blue go in and we sat outside moping about how we should have just bought the tickets before we knew who was playing for sure. We suck. I thought Joe was going to cry.
But then we stumble across a pub you can hear a mile away. The line was ridiculous and packed doesn’t begin to even describe it. Liverpool fans. Red on Red on Red. Chants on Chants on Chants. We finally make our way in and it takes 20 minutes to get a beer so naturally we did the American thing: We double fisted. It was necessary and while it drew some attention, our idea caught on. Everyone started doing it. AMERICA.
Stella, again.
I was one of maybe 10 girls in the whole place and I met some lovely middle aged men who enjoyed hugging me and teaching me the chants. When Liverpool scored they also enjoyed kissing my face and lifting me up in the air. It sounds creepy but it actually was not at all. Maybe that was the Stella clouding my brain, but those old guys became my friends.
Liverpool lost to Chelsea 2-1 but that experience is one I will never forget.
Then I had to eat. It was beyond necessary since we decided it would be better to go to the pub and drink for the whole day than to eat first. Our decision making skills are not the strongest.
Burger. Nomnomnom.
The metro ride home: People staring at us as Joe tapped into his inner monkey/stripper and swung from all the hand rails and poles. He then proceeded to lay on the ground of the metro acting like I had hurt him.
Long ass bus ride after that: Chelsea fans got and sat next to us. Harmless trash talking occurred.
Day 4.
Tourist time. After Mcdonalds of course. We did the London Eye which was as amazing as I had heard. Then we went to the Tower of London so I could get my history fix. We saw Big Ben, the bridge, and of course the palace. It actually was surprising how quickly you can see all the major attractions. Again, food time. Food time turned into minimal food and larger amounts of tequila. And Long Island Ice Teas. And more Stella. We randomly enter a club which still amazes me because it was a Sunday. We accidentally find the bar again. Call Me Maybe plays and we jump around like 13 year old girls at a Justin Beiber concert. We forget the tube is closed and end up in the most expensive and confusing taxi ride in the history of taxi rides. (Joe and I are not planners. We are too sporadic to be left on our own.) We decide it’s pointless to go to sleep now and I attempt to pack, or hastily shove, all of my not folded up clothes back into my tiny suitcase. Note: I did go through it when I got home and I think I managed to actually get everything. Practice I suppose.
Accidentally fall asleep. Wake up to one of the 7 alarms we set. Rush out of the hotel and catch the slowest bus to the terminal only to find out I’m in the wrong terminal. I sprint through the Heathrow airport even after the front desk man told me there was no way I’d make my flight. He was wrong. Even if I did almost die doing it.
I’m now pretending to read articles on Human Rights violations which as you can imagine are extremely uplifting and positive. I have less than 10 full days in Copenhagen. Two research papers, 4 finals, and lots of goodbyes stand between me and the U.S.A. That’s a blog for a later time though.
Wish you were here.
