Berlindon 2015 (Part II - Berlin)

On Tuesday morning, Kerry, her friend Matt, and I flew to Berlin for four days. I viewed my time in Berlin as a research trip, and my list of activites I hoped to accomplish strayed very little from the focus of the Wall. Though I found the Jewish Museum and Holocaust memorials very powerful last time around, there was no time to visit them again on this trip.

Tuesday afternoon the three of us did a little exploring of the area around our hostel in Prenzlauerberg, and ended up eating at Cafe Cinema for dinner. Outside we stumbled upon an alley with lots of grafitti and a cool shop of local art with a gallery attached. We spent some time looking around there, and then I departed to walk over to the Berliner Ensemble, Brecht's theatre, to see The Good Person of Szechuan performed in German. (I saw the sign below along the river on my walk.)

Three and a half hours of abstract German theatre in a very warm room on very little sleep.

I didn't stay awake the whole time, I'll admit, but I did get lucky - the lady at the box office asked if I was a student, and I answered honestly and said no. She asked me how much I wanted to pay then, and pointed out the price levels on the seating chart. Nothing exceeded 30 euros, which is pretty close to $30 right now. Imagine regular orchestra tickets to a Broadway show being $30. Right. I picked an area with 10 euro tickets, and she said "I'm gonna say you're a student anyway," and I said "Well I did go to theatre school, so I kinda am always a student," and she said "I thought so" and handed me a ticket. I went upstairs, to where I had pointed on the seating chart, and an usher said a lot of things to me in German. I smiled and nodded. The house wasn't open yet. I sat and waited. Eventually she said "You speak English, not German, don't you, because I said your seat is downstairs," but she was very nice and explained what the "parket" was and where my seat was, and so off I went, to a 30 euro seat that I paid 9 euros for, and I watched three and a half hours of Brecht in German.

Early this year I saw a production of Good Person at The Public starring Taylor Mac and it was life changing, so I was looking forward to this, thinking I knew the play, but the productions were so different that it was nearly impossible to follow. My couple weeks of duolingo German prep left me with a limited vocabulary of about a dozen words, and the only ones I really caught during the show were "wasser" (water) "liebe" (love) "risjt" (rice) and "frau" (woman). But I'm still glad I went; the scenic design was really interesting and the sound design was exciting because it was so different from what I expected. 

Wednesday I began the day with Kerry and Matt; we all slept in, having gotten very little sleep Monday night before our early morning adventure to the airport. We got food at a restauraunt down the street that seemed, to me, to be disguised as a junk shop, with lots of vintage lamps and typewriters and things covering more surfances than were left bare for eating. The three of us sat at a table with a large hole in the middle filled with legos (the reason it had caught Kerry's eye in the first place). It was a korean place, and we had rice bowls with an assortment of vegetables. Quite good and pretty cheap.

After what was essentially lunch, we headed into the city center. I did most of the navigating, both because I was the one of us who had been to Berlin before, and because I'd downloaded a Berlin metro map that came in handy constantly. Last time I visited, it took me four days before I managed to go in the correct direction on the train every time. This time around, I only went the wrong direction once in four days, and that was on a tram, which I never braved on my last visit.

We started our sightseeing at Potsdamer Platz, where I had gotten my passport stamped four years earlier with all the Cold War-era stamps required to pass from West to East or vice versa, and Matt and Kerry got their first taste of the wall - just a few segments with information wedged in between, and a couple of period-dressed guards available for awkward photo ops. Afterwards Matt and Kerry wanted to see Brandenburger Tor and Checkpoint Charlie, which I chose to skip in favor of some David Bowie adventuring.

I hopped on the subway and navigated down to Schöneberg, where Bowie and Iggy Pop lived together in the mid-late 70s while recording at Hansa Tonstudio. There's a company called Music Tours Berlin that does a David Bowie walking tour, but only on Sundays, so I had to just recreate as much of their itinerary as I could on my own. This mostly consisted of wandering the neighborhood and stopping to drink a beer at Cafe Neues Ufer, a favorite haunt of Bowie's when he lived in Berlin. The walls are now covered in photos and posters of Bowie spanning from his Ziggy days to his more recent tours in the late 90s and early 00s. It surely didn't feel like it must have when Bowie went there, but it was still a good place to sit and read Bowie in Berlin for a while and drink a tall Berliner Pilsner and attempt a bit of conversation in German with the bartender. (I knew enough to ask for my beer in German, and say thank you, tell him I didn't smoke when I was offered an ashtray, and understand how much it cost when I paid; that was about it.)

Kerry and Matt and I had planned to meet for dinner, so I met them back at Checkpoint at Charlie, and we headed in search of food, ending up at Cafe Journale, an Italian place where all three of us ended up ordering the same house special, but it turned out to be delicious so that was fine. I ran out a little early to try and catch another show, a musical about the Berlin Wall that was being performed in German with English subtitles at a theatre back in Postdamer Platz. Turned out I couldn't find it though (or so I thought; I went back the next night in another attempt, and found out it wasn't playing for a few days because of a premiere for Bambi or something). So I went back to the hostel and did some reading and planning for my reamaining time in Berlin.

Around eleven I got a text from Kerry telling me where she and Matt were - communication is difficult when you can only reach someone by wifi, which is not as common for free in Europe as it is in America. So though I was ready to be settled in for the night, I went out to join Kerry and Matt at Bar 39 in Kreuzberg, where we spent several hours drinking the cocktail of the week, called a pink elephant, and swapping stories of our days.

I forget what time we got back - sometime around 2 or 3, I think, and by cab, because the metro had shut down for the night, a possibility I had completely forgotten about as a New Yorker. Fortunately getting a cab in the area wasn't hard, and we were back to the hostel in no time, asleep shortly after.

Thursday I had big plans involving the East Side Gallery, record shops that appeared to be nearby on the map, a stop at Curry 36, the best currywurst in Berlin, and then on to the Cold War Berlin walking tour I had booked earlier in the week. Not surprisingly, I got a later start than intended, but headed straight for the East Side Gallery, where I visited all the art I had seen before. Last time this was the most uplifting part of my trip, because it is where artists made something beautiful and expressive out of something terrible and oppressive. For the first part of my walk, however, I was only very depressed, to see all the grafitti that covered and largely destroyed the works that were so clear four years ago, having been restored two years earlier in 2009 for the 20th anniversary of the fall of the wall. Parts of the wall now have a fence around them as restorations are being made again, where first workers get rid of the grafitti and then the artists hopefully come back and touch up their works as needed. It seems painfully ironic to have to put a fence around a wall, now.

Fortunately for me, though, the piece I most remembered from my previous visit had already been restored, though it was still behind a fence. It was the "Curriculum Vitae" section of the wall, which looks like this: 

The roses by each year each represent a life lost in an escape attempt over the wall. (More on the tarot card I'm holding later.)

I spent longer at the East Side Gallery than expected, so I skipped the record stores for the time being and headed over to Curry 36 for lunch. The map I was using seemed to struggle with scale, making the walk I took far longer than I expected and leaving me with less time to eat than anticipated, but I achieved my much-anticipated currywurst mit pommes frites and then rushed back to the train up to Friedrichstraße and a quick walk over to the Brandenburg gate to meet my walking tour.

The Cold War Berlin walking tour was incredibly important research for my play, which takes place in Berlin in the 70s. I've been writing it since shortly after my last visit to Berlin, though I've been stuck on how to move it forward for quite some time. I learned a ton on the four hour walking tour and saw new parts of Berlin and the Wall, and now have a lot more research and work to do to move the play forward in an exciting and complex new direction. The most powerful part of the tour for me was the Berlin Wall memorial, in Mitte, which is several blocks long and consists of many parts. Part of it runs along Bernauer Straße, where a number of escape tunnels were dug, including one about which a documentary was made that I found online a couple years ago. Bernauer Straße has been burned in my brain since I found that documentary on the CNBC website, and now I was standing on it, seeing metal panels in the grass that traced where the tunnels were underground. The memorial includes a viewing platform that looks out on a section of the wall that has been preserved as the Wall was when it fell, so that people can see just what the "death strip" or "no man's land" looked like. I was on the verge of tears for most of this part of the tour.

Another section included a memorial for the people who died trying to escape, and that I was really not prepared for. It's set in part of the former death strip (where a lot of green spaces exist now, since no one could walk there for so long before the Wall was torn down).

I learned on the tour that in the nearby Chapel of Reconciliation, every Tuesday through Friday a short service is given in honoring one of the people named here. So I planned to go to the service on Friday. It felt really important. The Chapel stands near the former site of a church that was situated in the death strip with the wall built around it, until in 1985 "upgrades" to the Wall required the church to be demolished. It was blown up, leaving remnants of foundations and a few building elements that are now preserved nearby.

Our four hour tour ended back at the East Side Gallery, where my day had begun, after which I quickly dashed back off to Potsdamer Platz to make my second failed attempt at the Berlin Wall musical. Annoyed that I had wasted time I could have spent at the record shops near the gallery, I headed back to the hostel to regroup and figure out how to spend my evening.

Fortunately Kerry returned shortly after I did, and we decided to go out together for the night. I closed my eyes and stuck out my finger, and she held up the map, choosing a place we would go explore at random. We hopped on the train and got off in a new neighborhood, though unfortunately it wasn't a great place to find a spot to eat. We did get some nice shots of the TV tower at night though.

Eventually we hopped back on the train up towards our hostel, heading to an Asian restaurant nearby that I had read about on a "hidden Berlin" instagram account. We found it, but ended up going to the Mexican place across the street because it had cheaper cocktails. It turned out to be the right choice as both the cocktails and the food were delicious, plus our server was a friendly guy so it was an all around great experience.

We got back from the restaurant kind of late and I went straight to bed since we had to check out in the morning and I had to be packed and ready to go early so that I could make it to the service at the chapel. I got all my things together and stored them in the hostel's luggage room before heading out for one more day in Berlin, with plans to meet Matt and Kerry back at the hostel around six to travel together to the airport.

My trip back to the chapel included my only wrong turn of the trip, going one stop East on the tram when I meant to go West, but I made it for the service. It was only fifteen minutes long, and in German, but I was able to determine that the rememberance was in honor of Helmut Kliem, who I learned in later research was shot by border patrol when he accidentally drove too close to the Wall. The space was one of the most powerful I have ever been in, and I took some time to light a candle in honor of the lives lost and said a small prayer before heading out to take in more of the memorial.

I continued back to the memorial museum, which we had passed through briefly on the tour the day before. This time I could take as much time as I wanted reading and listening to interviews by people who lived in occupied Berlin. It helped to fill in a picture of what daily life was like in East Berlin, important research for my play, and full of powerful phrases from everyday people.

After spending another hour and a half at a place I'd just been the day before, I walked over to Cafe Nord Sud for lunch, the cheap French place I had fallen in love with on my last visit. Prices had gone up in the four years since my last visit, but the food was still amazing and Jean Claude was still a delight. Before I left I told him I'd been there once before, and thanked him for making such a happy place. He kissed me on both cheeks (he is French, after all) and then hugged me for so long I thought he wanted to marry me or something. 

From Nord Sud I adventured over to the area with all the record shops I had intended to visit the day before. As ever I was betrayed by a map that didn't understand scale, and did a lot more walking than I expected, but it paid off. At Wowsville, I found David Bowie's Low and Iggy Pop's The Idiot, both recorded and/or mixed at Hansa Tonstudios, in Berlin. Buying authentic, vintage records in the city they were made and manufactured in is probably the most hipster thing I've ever done, but for those punks I'm proud of it.

With daylight fast fading I took one more train ride to see Hansa itself, pressing my nose against the glass since you can't actually go into Hansa without a prebooked tour (from the same company that does the Bowie walking tour). Bowie and Iggy both recorded in Hansa Tonstudio 2, a huge room they nicknamed "the hall by the wall" because it had a view of the Berlin Wall from the windows. (I might have been reading the book Bowie in Berlin during the trip.)

It was time to head back to the hostel to meet up with Kerry and Matt, so I got back on the U bahn at Postdamer Platz, only to go one stop and find out our train line wasn't running for a number of stops, up to the one where our hostel was located. It took some creative navigating involving the S bahn, the tram from earlier, and another long walk to get me back to the hostel fifteen minutes late instead of fifteen minutes early. We ended up taking a taxi to the airport since the trains were messed up, had dinner at the airport (German sausage, yay), and then flew back to London and drove back to Kerry's apartment. I'm so grateful for all that I saw and learned during my time in Berlin, and to Kerry for very generously financing my airfare and hostel. She is the queen of cheap travel deals and someone I am very lucky to call my dear friend.

Hartford, Rock City (Again, I Know)

I have to talk about glam rock again. Because I saw Mötley Crüe. Again.

Most of you probably know - or maybe you don't, it was very last minute - that I went to see the final stop of THE TOUR in Hartford last Sunday (the 23rd, not the 30th). I didn't talk about it a ton because I wasn't sure I was going until I bought my bus tickets at 9:30 that morning.

Here's what happened, and I promise this is all leading somewhere philosophical, not just to another concert play-by-play, although there will be some of that, too. This one was special. Anyway. I don't think I ever mentioned this on the blog in the context of the last Crüe show I was at, but this guy, Tom Zutaut, went to my high school. Yes, my little high school back in Park Forest, some 35 or so years before I did. I discovered this while reading Mötley's 2001 autobiography The Dirt in the summer of 2011 because Tom Zutaut was the A&R (I have never known what that means) man for Elektra records in the 80s and signed the band to their first record deal in 1982 when he was about my age. Being the thorough fan that I am, I looked him up, found him on facebook, and just asked if he really indeed went to my high school. (He hadn't said the name, just the town and state, but there's only ever been one high school in my town.) He responded, friend requested me, and we got to chatting over the next several months.

Fast forward to this summer. I intended to see The Tour while I was home, on September 7th. However tickets were crazy expensive (just a lawn seat - meaning a space on the grass - cost about $45). I just couldn't afford it. My plan was to win tickets. I entered every contest. I analyzed the tweets and habits of Tommy Lee, the drummer, because he was hiding tickets in every city they stopped in, which usually included VIP passes meaning a trip backstage to meet the band. I didn't win any contests, so on September 7th, my mom and I went on a stakeout of the venue, waiting for Tommy Lee to tweet his first "Crüe Clüe" to find the passes. But none came, nor was there an explanation of why he suddenly didn't hide them (although I later deduced it was because of the weather, which was his excuse at a later stop on the tour).

So no tickets for me, no Crüe/KISS extravaganza. I was more than a little disappointed, although kudos to my mom for sticking out for hours with me to help me try to go to the show. I figured I could always try again at one of the later stops in the NYC area - they weren't playing in the city at all but had shows near Newark, on Long Island, and in Hartford, Connecticut. You see where this is going. Or do you?

Re-enter Tom Zutaut. I texted him as we were driving away from the venue, saying how disappointed I was about not going to the show. He said he could call and get me tickets, my mom could come too if she wanted. I said thanks, but we were almost home, and the show had already started, so it felt too late. Then he mentioned he would probably be at the shows in Boston and Hartford and I could go to one of those if I wanted, since I had said I'd be back in New York soon.

I said I could get to Hartford (2 1/2 hours by bus). He said he'd get back to me after he'd made his travel plans. Two weeks went by. He ended up being stuck in Kansas City for work. But he said he'd call in a ticket for me if I was going to go. I got very skeptical (I always had been a little bit; I've still never actually met this guy), having that feeling that I think every girl my age in my generation has, being wary of nice men we meet on the internet. But something told me to say yes. So I did. That was Saturday night.

Sunday morning, I bought the bus tickets. I went to church, taught Sunday school, met up with a friend who printed the bus tickets at NYU for me, and then went to Port Authority to head to Hartford. I got there, made my way to the theatre, and went to will call. My ticket wasn't at a regular window. I was redirected to the VIP Guest Services Guest List window. I had a free ticket and a wristband for a photo with KISS. My roundtrip bus cost me the price of a lawn seat, and now I was in row N of the lower pavilion with a ticket to meet KISS and, soon, an all access backstage pass that is now my prized possession. (This is all also thanks to Doc McGhee, the former manager of Mötley, Tom's friend, and now manager for KISS. Imagine that guy's life. And he also went to high school near me.)

What I originally wanted to talk about though was glam rock itself. The music, the stage show, the aesthetic, the attitude. KISS was a pioneer in their form. No one has done quite what they've done, become a franchise and a brand the way they have. Gene Simmons I believe is a businessman before he is a musician or an artist. He might even say that himself. I read his autobiography (also written in 2001), Kiss and Make-Up this summer while I was home, and he's certainly proud of his head for business and refers to KISS as a business. He wants to be rich, he wants to be successful, he wants KISS to be influential not just in a musical sense but in a cultural sense. And as early as the mid- to late-seventies KISS was creating stage shows like no one had ever seen before. The pyro, Gene's fire breathing during "Firehouse," Paul Stanley flying out over the audience, raising platforms, pyrotechnics, moving lights, moving trusses full of lights, projections, etc. That technology has continued to develop into the current century - next year will be KISS' 40th anniversary as a band, if you ignore the fact that two of the original members, though still alive, were kicked out of the band long ago. (You'd never know it though if you didn't do your research; Eric Singer and Tommy Thayer adopted the make-up and personas of Peter Criss and Ace Frehley respectively.)

Similarly, hugely influenced by KISS themselves, Mötley Crüe has pushed the boundaries of the live rock show in artistic ways. (That was the most academic sounding transition sentence I have written in a long time. Wow.) I still think, having now seen The New York Dolls, Poison, Steel Panther, Def Leppard, and KISS, that Mötley puts on the best live show out there. This time things were a little different from the last two times I saw them (the second being kind of a European leg of the summer tour, I think, at least concept-wise). The stage show was new, the set list was a bit different. There was a countdown clock projected on the screen, with a deafening ticking noise that built palpable anticipation (all the more impressive when you then saw how unenthusiastic so much of the crowd was). They opened with a huge processional of hooded figures that came through the audience with banners. The show itself had tons of pyro, fire, power washers spraying the audience with water, Nikki Sixx's guitar shooting fire, Tommy Lee's 360 drum coaster of course, lasers (which were, admittedly, kinda lame), and constant, relentless, media, which, though perhaps the newest technology in many ways, is kind of the least interesting part of their design.

My point (and I do have one) is this. Nothing gets my heart pounding, gives me a rush, gets me so fully involved and passionate about what is happening on stage as these rock concerts. And yes, I like the music, and yes I've read all their books and know weird things about them I have no reason to know, and I follow these people on twitter even though I still think twitter is stupid and I only got an account in the first place because Nikki Sixx tweeted during their show when I first saw them in St. Louis in June of 2011. But the shows, the full-on design of these theatrical events, of the lighting and the costumes and the sets to combine with the music, is unlike anything I've seen anywhere. I get a little bit of that feeling from American Idiot on Broadway. But that was a rock musical and the lights were designed by Kevin Adams who does a lot of rock musicals and lights them like mini-rock shows.

There is this feeling when all the senses line up as part of the same experience. It's loud, and bright, and hot, and fast (is tempo a feeling? I think so...), and gritty, and powerful. I think I have said before that I love glam rock for being 100% what it is. For not apologizing for the make-up, the big hair even now, the sexuality, the desire for more than the mundane. And in so many ways this is all over-analyzing, because as many of the artists of the 80s will say outright, glam rock wasn't about some deeper message, or the expression of rage or oppression. It was in a sense a rebellion to be sure, but mostly it was just a bunch of guys singing about what they liked - sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll.

I just wonder why more theatre - or really any theatre - doesn't give me that same feeling. Is there more of a narrative and therefore more of an emotional journey in a play or a musical? Arguably, yes, of course. That's theoretically the point. And sure, I go see plays and have a lot of feelings, and sometimes they're very good, and provoke a lot of thoughts, too. But I just... I just want that rock show feeling more. It's never mattered to me that a domestic beer costs $11 at a concert, because I don't need it. I go to these shows by myself and have more fun than practically anywhere or anytime else, even when I'm with people.

How do you make that happen for theatre? It's a communal experience. But so is a rock concert, actually. In Hartford I was in this section with a bunch of other people who had KISS VIP wristbands and during Mötley's set they were all just standing around. I am obviously a bigger fan of the Crüe than KISS, so I was having a great time, baffling all the middle-aged men around me, who never understand what a 20something girl is doing at an 80s rock concert, especially, I think, without a middle-aged man as my escort. Anyway there were these two other women, probably in their late thirties, a couple rows in front of me, who were the only other people in the vicinity who also seemed to actually be having a good time during the set. They caught my eye occasionally when turning to the side or something and we would acknowledge each other, part of an unspoken clan, the Crüe crew, the people who were actually engaging with the monstrous stage action while everyone else stood around and drank. There was also the community walking to the theatre, as people who had parked far away walked too, and various people complimented each other on their band t-shirts, cars blasted KISS out their windows, it was very communal. Kind of a massive tailgating parade, as it were, on the way to the arena. So the communal aspect isn't it.

Is it subtlety? Maybe it's subtlety. There is absolutely nothing subtle about a rock show. Both bands played their one new single from their upcoming albums on this tour along with the classics from decades ago - KISS' is entitled "Hell or Halleluja," Mötley's, simply, "Sex." Like I said. Not subtle. The chorus includes the line "It's all about the sex," which was the not-really-unspoken moral of most of their other songs, but now they've really literally just said it.

I don't know. It's something I seriously think about a lot. It matters to me, that feeling, rock music, theatre, how to blend them when I don't actually know a damn thing about writing music or music theory. But figuring it out is becoming my conscious self-education now that I'm out of school.

I still think I was born 25 years too late.

BEST. THING. EVER.

Mötley has my artistic heart.

There's me, and there's everybody else.

Thank you for this, KISS.

One (Museum) Day More (Day 14)

So Sunday was free museum day. We got up early so that we could be at the Musee D'Orsay before it opened, since we figured whatever line we encountered would only get longer as the day progressed (we were right). As you may recall, Ganesh and I made multiple attempts to visit this particular museum last year but did not succeed because the museum was "on strike." What this actually meant was that the museum employees were on strike because the museum, which was supposed to be reopening having just finished a major renovation that added a lot of new gallery space, had not added any more staff to cover this additional area. I think it finally reopened a week or two after we were there.

Anyway, it was definitely open that day, and we got there just before it opened. It took us about half an hour to snake our way through the line that had formed, weathering just a little bit of rain on the way. We first went to see the special exhibition, Degas and the Nude, which was extremely comprehensive (and therefore a little dull for people who don't particularly study penstrokes) and because it included so many drawings the rooms were very dark to protect the artwork. Like going to see bats at the zoo. It was not like the Degas of the ballet dancers, but some of it was interesting. We then headed out to explore the rest of the museum.

We discovered pretty quickly that by this point in our trip, we were getting a little museum-ed out. Consider that in the past two weeks we had been to: the Tate Modern, the National Gallery, the Tower of London, the Reina Sofia, the Prado, the Picasso Museum, and the Dali Museum. It turned out our favorite thing about the Musee D'Orsay was probably the building itself. Once a train station, the museum was created when train traffic became too heavy and they needed a bigger station, so D'Orsay got turned into a place for art. (This is how most art museums get created in Paris, it seems. L'Orangerie was once a greenhouse and the Louvre was actually a palace until Louis XIV decided it was too small and built Versailles.) The museum had gorgeous architecture, particularly including a couple of giant ornate clocks, presumably so people wouldn't miss their trains. We did see some famous works by Degas, Manet, Monet, Van Gogh, Caillebotte, Pissaro, and Seurat. Pretty cool.

After that it was still pretty early so we decided to take Sam's advice, despite our skepticism, and visit the Hunting and Nature Museum. Sam had said people always doubted him and then really liked it.

We didn't.

There were lots of stuffed-formerly-alive animals, a lot of sciencey things about animal anatomy and bones and whatnot, and some weird animal-themed art. A few rooms full of hunting rifles. Fortunately the whole thing was only really two stories of a not-particularly-large building (probably used to be something else). We laughed it off and headed out in search of food, as we were now both very hungry.

Most places seemed to be closed in the area, but as we were walking back to the metro we passed a Chinese place and bought a few things to try and took them to go. We got enough food for two meals, really, and certainly saved over eating in a restaurant. So then we and our lunch headed back to the hostel. After eating we took a nap and then went to meet up for the Montmartre walking tour.

The tour starts in front of the Moulin Rouge, which is quite possibly the most disappointing landmark in Paris when you see it in person for the first time. It's not half as big, beautiful, or romantic as it's made out to be in the movie. Still, we started there and then wound our way through the streets of Montmartre (not far from the hostel, really), seeing Van Gogh's building where he lived with his brother, the restaurant where Picasso sold sketches of waitresses for food, the only vineyard/winery in Paris (which produces only about 400 bottles of apparently mediocre wine a year), artists' square, and the studio where Picasso and Modigliani lived together back in the day. The main stop on the tour is of course the Sacre Cour at the top of Montmartre (which means means martyrs' mountain). One of the first and now also the last stop on the tour is the cafe that Amelie works in (in the movie Amelie, which I've still never seen), where we got a free glass of wine at the end. Mom and I didn't really like the wine though, and the management decided we weren't allowed to sit down at tables if we weren't buying food even though they weren't busy. I liked the place they used to end the tour better. Last time we were allowed to sit for as long as we wanted and the wine was better. So. Those are my feelings about the Amelie cafe.

After the tour we went back to the hostel for a quick rest and then went out to attempt yet again to see the Eiffel Tower light show. It only happens once an hour on the hour, so we went and saw it at midnight. We took the metro to Trocadero, where you can see it from across the river, and ideal viewing place. As I've said before, and as I warned my mom, I think it's pretty  lame. It basically looks like paparazzi are covering the tower with flashes going off constantly for about five minutes. That's all. But, Mom liked it and she was glad she got to see it at night. So then back to the hostel and to bed.

A French Day (Day 12)

We flew into Paris Beauvais (have fun pronouncing that one) and then took a bus into the city, which took about an hour. From the bus we took two metro trains to our hostel which was just two blocks away from the metro stop. I was familiar with this hostel because it was the one Ganesh stayed at back when I was in Paris in October. The location, right in Montmartre and so close to the metro, made it ideal. Plus I knew it would be quiet and comfortable, and we had a bathroom in our room which we only had to share with one other person.

Despite the walk being only two blocks to the hostel, we stopped just a few feet from the metro at a little crepe stand and got crepes for lunch. Then around the corner I popped into Dia (the grocery store I regularly shopped at in Madrid) and got us a liter of orange juice for a euro. Our room wasn't ready yet when we got to the hostel (it was only about 12:30) so we sat in the lobby and ate and did some research on what else we wanted to do that day. Mom had a list of free things to do, one of which included a Friday afternoon fashion show at the Lafayette Galleries, the Parisian equivalent of Harrods, Macys, etc. Right before we left, we checked at the desk and our room was ready, so we dropped our stuff off upstairs (taking the tiny elevator one person at a time) and then headed off.

We couldn't find anything about a fashion show at the store, but it was in a beautiful building with a stained glass dome in the middle and, from the top floor/roof, we got a pretty beautiful view of the city, for free. Mom got her first real view of the Eiffel Tower. We sat for a while, took a few pictures, looked around, and then headed down to explore the store. We took some time taking pictures of the dome and then went to the actually gallery, which had a modern art exhibit that we didn't understand at all. A lot of it was cartoon drawings with writing on it, in French, so we were pretty lost. Something involved Kanye West; I don't know.

From the store we decided to walk back to the hostel to see more of the city. Along the way we found a farmers market where we picked up some things for dinner - a potato pastry, artichoke salad, cherries, bread - and looked around a lot. It was all a bit of a challenge since we couldn't politely get anyone's attention in French, so we kind of had to just stand around and wait for people to help us, but it was a fun experience seeing everyone at the market.

Without very much happening, we had a very nice, French day doing things it didn't really seem like tourists would do, most of it without trying. It was a nice easy first day in Paris, and we went to bed early to catch up on sleep before the next day's adventure.

Getting Out of Barcelona (Days 10 & 11)

Our second day in Barcelona we planned a day trip to Figueres, a town outside of Barcelona that is home to the Dali museum. It took us about two hours by train after quite an adventure just to get to the train station, but when we arrived in Figueres it was a welcome break from the seemingly constant problems of Barcelona.

We followed signs for about a fifteen minute walk from the Figueres train station to the museum, through some smaller streets with interesting shops. When we got up to the museum we bought our tickets (fortunately right before a big line formed) and then sat down to have a quick lunch before the museum. We got a good deal on a burger/fries/drink/ice cream combo (neither one of us wanted any more Spanish food), sitting outside.

The museum was gigantic. Every time we turned a corner, one room became three rooms, and then sometimes there were little rooms that had just one painting in it. It was kind of like an artistic fun house. There were tons of drawings, sculptures, and paintings big and small. Some things seemed very normal, from when he was learning to paint, and then there was iconic Dali, lots of compositions of unexpected combinations of objects. There wasn't a lot to read though, most things were left completely unexplained. It was really interesting, but we got pretty tired before we were done due to the little amount of sleep we'd gotten the night before.

Admission to the museum included admission to a special exhibit called the Jewels of Dali and was a really beautiful showing of jewelry Dali designed. Some of it was surrealist like his other work, some of it was just pretty, and some was both. Most of it was well-lit, which I appreciated as well. And fortunately the exhibit was small so that we could then head back to the train station.

Along the way we stopped at the grocery store (Caprabo, like the one I shopped at by school in Madrid) and bought some cheese, almonds, and orange juice to snack on. We then only had to wait a few minutes for a train back to Barcelona. Although we were both tired, neither of us got much sleep on the train because we met a very chatty woman from South Korea who was traveling by herself and was just arriving in Barcelona. She asked a lot of questions and I think tried to get my mom and I to show her to her hostel, but we got off the train the stop before hers so we got out of that one.

We had to walk from the train station to the metro station thanks to some construction, but along the way we stopped to see two of Gaudi's most famous buildings - Casa Batllo and Casa Mila, also known as La APedrera (The Quarry). We took a few pictures and then hopped on the train back home. Mom wanted to try getting off at the next stop on the train line because it looked equidistant to our hostel but we'd come at it from the other side, so we'd get to see something new. Turned out the map was not at all to scale, we were far away, and we walked in the wrong direction so that we ended up just getting back on the train and going back to our usual stop. Funny, Barcelona. Real funny.

On our walk from the metro to our hostel we stopped at Wok to Walk, a chain I like in New York and an easy way to not eat Spanish food again. One box of noodles was enough for the two of us and we headed back to the hostel and attempted to go to bed after our roommates headed out for the night.

Things seemed alright, because the air conditioning was fixed and the boys said they'd try to be quieter. But the music was still loud downstairs and eventually the boys came back and weren't quiet and brought friends who weren't even staying in our hostel. We thought about leaving right then, but stayed through the night.

In the morning we ate breakfast in the hostel, checked out, and canceled our reservation for that night. We packed up, put our stuff in the luggage room for the day. Our only agenda for the day was Sagrada Familia and Parc Guell, two more Gaudi masterpieces, so we took our time going places. It was hot and humid so we didn't spend as much time at Sagrada Familia as I did my first time, but mom appreciated all the stained glass. We ate lunch at a subway, mom asked a man for a look at his map, and we figured out how to get to Parc Guell by bus.

Then we couldn't find the bus stop, so we walked back to the subway and took the train up to the park area. I had gotten off at a different stop when I came and walked up the hill, this time we came from behind the park but we still had to go uphill - on a street with escalators. Lots of escalators. I've never seen anything like it. We spent a little time in the park and eventually took a taxi back to the hostel because there was no good public transit option and we were both tired.

After a brief trip out to get Sam a Messi jersey (he plays for FC Barcelona) and a souvenir for Dad, we hurried back to the hostel, picked up our bags, and took a taxi to the airport hotel Mom had booked that morning. It was one of the best decisions we made on the trip. We got there around dinner time, ate our leftovers from lunch, relaxed, took long hot showers, slept in comfortable beds, it was quiet. I found Castle on tv and managed to change it to English and then later watched a Spanish game show called El Cubo. Quite entertaining.

In the morning we took the first shuttle to the airport and checked into our flight to Paris. Due to a long line at the Ryanair visa check, the desk we were supposed to check in at closed and we had to go directly to our gate where we had to gate check our bags. That meant that even though we'd already paid to check them when we booked the flight, we had to pay again. I started yelling at the woman in Spanish. But there was nothing we could do so we paid and checked the bags and got on the plane. The only comforting thought I remembered this was the flight we had never actually gotten charged for because Ryanair doesn't charge right when you book, so we hadn't actually already paid for the bags. In any case, it was one last crappy thing that happened in Barcelona. But, we were on to Paris!

Barcelona, Unfortunately (Day 9)

We arrived in Barcelona (sort of) at Girona airport, which is actually about an hour outside of the city, and took a bus to the Barcelona Nord station where we then took the metro - one stop on one line and one stop on another line - to then walk about ten minutes to our hostel. Along the way we decided to stop and get something to eat because we happened to pass a place with salads (we'd been a bit light on vegetables on our trip, especially in Madrid). I reached into the backpack for my wallet and found it was missing. Yep, someone snagged it in the metro, within 15 minutes of being in Barcelona. Lost: driver's license, debit card, two credit cards, metro card, I think about 20 euros, and my cards for crepeaway and 16 handles, meaning I lost my free crepe and free frozen yogurt that I had worked so hard to earn. :( I also lost the wallet, which was a bummer because I really liked it and my friend Isa gave it to me. Sad because the thief probably just took the cash and maybe my debit card and tossed the rest. On the bright side, I was able to freeze or cancel all the cards before any fraudulent chargers could be made, and I still have my passport. Additionally about 500 of the 600 euros I had withdrawn from my usual ATM in Madrid were with the passport, so we had that too. I do have to figure out how to get a new license though, as I need some form of ID, and I guess I'm in the market for a wallet.

We checked into the hotel and tried to deal with all the card companies, but ended up mostly leaving that to my dad back in the states because my phone only had about 10 minutes of credit left on it and our Internet connection was shaky, which ruled out phone calls via Skype. We tried and it was maddening. It was also hot and humid and the air conditioner in our room wasn't working, so it wasn't the best day.

Still, we tried to make the best of things and headed out to visit the Picasso museum, within walking distance of our hostel which was located right in Plaça Reial, the starting point of the walking tours I did last time I was in Barcelona and the site of Gaudi's only public commission: a set of lamp posts immediately deemed ugly (they're not) and resulting in no further public commissions for Gaudi.

The museum was okay, and we got to see some interesting small streets, but we were both tired so afterwards we ate near the hostel, ironically at an Irish pub with a very eclectic menu, but including a good deal on sangria and paella, which was the one Spanish food Mom still wanted to have. I should mention our hostel technically offered free dinner from 8:30 "until the food runs out" but the food runs out within five minutes. We had actually come back to the hostel and taken a nap after the museum and went downstairs for dinner, waited in line to be served paella of all things, and were about 10 or 15 people behind the final serving. The food at the restaurant was fine though.

Then we tried to go to bed, around 10. Well, our hostel had a bar area on the first floor (we were on the second) and the bar liked to play club-volume music with the bass amped up so that it vibrated my upper bunk bed. On top of that 3 of our 6 roommates were loud obnoxious giant (but really, they were all like six and a half feet tall and muscley) men from I think Ireland, based on how difficult it was to understand them. I found the idea of then trying to fit into five foot long beds funny, but other than that it was pretty unpleasant. The only light in the room was very bright and disturbing when trying to sleep, if you could fall asleep with all the noise in the hallways and coming from downstairs. We thought about canceling the rest of our reservation and finding somewhere else to stay, but that would have meant not having time to take a day trip the next day, so we decided to tough it out.

It was not the best night.

The next day, we made one of our best decisions and left for he day to go to Figueres, w hours by train, to the Dali house and museum.

More on that tomorrow maybe. It's 10:30 here in Paris and we fly early in the morning, and I'm exhausted, so it's time for bed in the very comfy airport hotel room. Aurevoir! (Screw my attempts at spelling in French.)

Oh. In case you were wondering, don't stay at Kabul backpackers hostel if you actually intend on sleeping while it's dark out.

¡Regreso a Madrid! (Days 6, 7, and 8)

Saturday morning we flew very early from Gatwick to Madrid, arriving at our hostel around 12:30. I was disappointed to find at the airport that the airport express bus has gone up in price from 2 to 5 euros. I guess it couldn't stay an outrageously good deal forever. But it got us to Cibeles quickly and then we walked to our hostel, just a few blocks up the street from my apartment building on Huertas.

We couldn't check into our room for another hour, so we walked up and down the street in search of ice cream as it was very warm and we were a bit hungry. My favorite place had closed and the other one I knew of wasn't open at the time, so we walked down to the alimentación under my apartment. The man who runs the place was there and he recognized me, even with my short hair and was so happy to see me! It was a wonderful surprise and he asked about my roommate and if I was studying again or just on vacation. We got ice cream and sat on a bench out in the street to eat it in a shady breeze.

After we finished we walked back up to the hostel and checked in to our four bed room. We had two roommates, girls who spoke something that sounded similar to German but wasn't. It didn't sound aggressive enough and they didn't speak English, and I've never met a German who didn't speak English.

We took a nap while we had the room to ourselves and then walked back down the street to eat lunch (around 4:30, which is late even in Spain) at Los Rotos, the place Brian and I went to twice during his visit. The food was good as always (Mom got to try croquetas) and we had sangria.

Following lunch or whatever you call eating at that time, we dragged ourselves to the Reina Sofia, the contemporary art museum not too far from where we were staying and managed to look around for an hour before trudging back to the hostel and falling asleep. While there we saw some Dali and Miro and of course Picasso's Guernica, one of the most famous works of Spanish art.

The next morning our not-German roommates left. We had breakfast in the hostel, which was just coffee, juice, and toast or cornflakes, and then went to see Alice in Wonderland the Musical (in Spanish) at a theatre about a ten minute walk from Huertas. We picked that of course because then we knew at least my mom could follow the story even though she wouldn't understand all the words. I did my best to explain the songs to her and the plot points that were different. It also turned out to be specifically made for kids, so the acting was all very physical and pretty easy to understand. It turned out to be a good choice and a fun time for only 15 euros each.

After the show we got lunch at a Mexican restaurant I really like called la Mordida and shared nachos with fresh guacamole and some kind of meat and tortilla dish with a yummy sauce. Plenty of food for the two of us, with a very polite waitress who didn't mind my Spanish. It was nice to remember that in Madrid people are very willing to let you try. The girl at the front desk when we checked in talked to me in Spanish at first and then asked if English was better when she saw my US passport, but I told her I needed to practice and kept up with her Spanish explanation of all the hostel policies.

We walked from the restaurant to go see some of the sights in Madrid - Plaza Mayor, el Mercado de San Miguel where we got gelato, a brief tour of the cathedral, the palace (from the outside), Opera, and Sol all on our way back to the hostel. Then it was time for a rest for a while before joining a group of other hostel residents for a flamenco show.

This show turned out to be something created by some of the people who work with the hostels and was a very budget-beginners guide to flamenco. It was in a cave (a brick room under a building, in this case), and there was a singer, a dancer, and a guitarist. I want totally impressed having seen flamenco before, but it seemed enjoyable to those who didn't have any flamenco experience and we got a free (small) cup of sangria, so it was an interesting experience.

We waked partway back with the guy who had led us to the show from our hostel and hen when I found a familiar street we left the group and headed to San Gines, the most famous place for chocolate con churros in Spain. Good dinner, around 11, followed by bed.

Monday we took things slow, spending the morning repacking our suitcases as we were now halfway through our trip. Around 2 we met my friend Alejandro for lunch at a tapas place in plaza Santa Ana, near the hostel and next door to Cien Montaditos, the old favorite. Tapas were just alright but it was fun to try some new things and Alejandro got to practice his English. We got ice cream up the street from the hostel and enjoyed it in the street before saying goodbye and going to take a nap.

That evening we took advantage of the Prado being free at 6 and spent an hour or so seeing all the famous works I could remember anything about. I did my best to give my mom an informed tour of all the greatest hits including Goya, El Greco, Velazquez, and Rubens.

Then came my favorite part of our time in Madrid: dinner with my Spanish family! We met them outside Parque del Retiro and had cold drinks outside under the trees first (Nacho and Jaine mostly played futbol while the grown ups talked) and then we went to a seafood restaurant for dinner around 10. Since we drove in their car, mom got to see lots of different parts of the city. It was really great to see everyone again, we spoke in a mix of English and Spanish to try to accommodate everyone, and hopefully they'll all be coming to New York soon. I'm really glad my mom finally got to meet them, my favorite part of Spain. Perhaps the best part of the evening was when I got to give Jaime the double decker London bus full of chocolates I had brought as a gift for the family. I mentioned that I had a present at the beginning of dinner and Jaime didn't forget. He got so excited when I finally said it was time since he had started to think I didn't really have a present, and was very happy to find candy inside. I told him he had to share but who knows if he will.

When we finished dinner the family drove us back down to Huertas and we said our goodbyes. Even Jaime who was practically asleep in the backseat got out to give me a hug and kiss goodbye. It was such a joyous occasion, I'm incredibly grateful.

And so we headed to bed one last time in Madrid, off to Barcelona the next morning.

Wait, There's More London (Day 4)

After the very exciting day full of walking at the studio tour, we spent the evening relaxing in Kerry's apartment, still trying to catch up on sleep from the week before, and making plans for Thursday and Friday, our final two days in London.

Thursday we went first to get tickets to One Man, Two Guvnors, which has recently come to Broadway but has been playing in London for over a year. The Theatre Royal Haymarket is right near Trafalgar Square, where we got off the tube, so after getting tickets we stopped in at the National Gallery. Mostly we wanted to see the works of van Gogh, Monet, Degas, and Gaugin, so we didn't spend too long there before heading out to make our way to the Tower of London.

Trains were a bit of a mess that day and it turned out the two lines we could have taken from that stop to Tower Hill were both not running, so we had to brave the bus and hope to get off in the right place. We made it to the Tower of London and before heading in stopped outside for fish and chips, which I didn't try the last time I was in London, even though I'd wanted to since I saw Spice World when I was seven.

Turns out Mom and I aren't big fans.

So we headed to the tower, which is actually much less tower-y than I expected. None of the towers are very tall, and there's actually twenty of them. So the name is quite misleading. We did a walking tour in the hot sun, learning from a yeoman warder (a beefeater, as they're better known) about executions and tortures and all sorts of gruesome things. Mom's main interest in coming to this particular tourist attraction, however, was to see the crown jewels, so as soon as our tour was over, that's what we did.

In the crown jewels exhibit are several crowns dating back to at least the 17th century and probably earlier. We also got to see the royal regalia Queen Elizabeth II wore to her coronation in 1953. (This year, next week in fact, is the celebration of the Queen's diamond jubilee, the beginning of the 60th year of her reign. She's just four years shy of tying Victoria for longest reigning monarch of England.) Everything is shiny and gold and gilded, brocaded, etc. We watched a video of her coronation. It looked like mostly it involved sitting a lot and holding things - two scepters and an orb - and looking somber while people talked. She didn't look very happy, but I think she was about my age when she became queen, and I wouldn't have been happy about having to act all proper on behalf of an entire country either.

Once we finished with the crown jewels (which also included looking at a lot of really ridiculously fancy gold plates and punch bowls and what have you) we caught a brief theatrical display of two women arguing over whether a judge who had been loyal to King James (can't remember which one) should be hanged for all his decisions to kill people, since James (a Catholic) was no longer king. The acting was pretty bad and the situation hard to relate to though, so it was a little disappointing when the description had sold us on something about betrayal and the war not really being over.

A little more walking around (in which we saw a bunch of crown settings with no jewels, oddly enough, because they frequently reuse them when they make new crowns), and we were both exhausted and ready to go back to Kerry's to relax before the theatre. (6 hours of walking around at Harry Pottor follows by several hours of walking on cobblestones at the Tower of London did our feet no kindnesses.)

After an hour to collect ourselves and rest our feet at Kerry's apartment, we set out again for the theatre. After we were already on the train we found out the station we had used that morning to get to the theatre was closed. Luckily I knew enough to get us to the theatre from the next stop, and we made it to the show with a couple minutes to spare.

When we got to our seats (front row center, oh yes) a band was playing on stage. It seemed to be country music, but British, which thoroughly confused me, and I wondered why that, of all aspects of American culture, was what had made it to Britain. The lead singer had an infectious smile though and the guitarist looked like a young Leo DiCaprio, so I was content despite my confusion. I'm not quite sure how to explain the show - it borrows some plot elements of Twelfth Night, some traditional slapstick comedy, some audience participation that resulted in the lead actor never being able to keep a straight face, and more British country music during scene changes, occasionally with various actors coming out to play random instruments like steel drums or xylophone. At one point the woman sitting next to me got brought up on stage for a lengthy scene and... Well I don't want to spoil it for people who may go see it in New York. In fact I may go see it again to try and figure a few things out.

During intermission the band played some more (numbers sometimes included a harmonica, a washboard, and spoons) and then the show resumed. At the end of the show there was inexplicably a musical number performed by the whole cast. I have no idea why; it had nothing to do with the band. Overall it was one of the weirdest shows I've seen (and I've seen a lot of weird things) but we had a good time and laughed a lot.

Gelato on the street, a man playing a traffic cone like a trumpet, and home again home again, jiggity jig.

Day 2 (London)

We we're both up pretty late Monday night due to jetlag and Mom meeting Kerry and Kerry and I catching up. Tuesday we all slept until around 12:30 and after finally dragging ourselves out of bed and eating breakfast, Mom and I headed off to the Tate Modern for the afternoon, a pleasant walk from Kerry's apartment. Along the way we stopped at a few theatres to inquire for tickets for the evening, but the best result we got was to check back later for cancellations, so we continued on to the museum. We saw all of the permanent collection that was on display (unlike the last time I visited, all of the special exhibitions required paid entry tickets, which we felt defeated the purpose of a free museum, so we skipped those). It turned out to be a beautiful day, and I of course pointed out the Millennium bridge, every the Harry Potter tour guide.

On our way back to Kerry's, we stopped back at the Young Vic, the theatre right in front of her apartment, and received good news: available tickets! Also a selling point was that it was the second and final night of previews for the play, so tickets were much cheaper than normal. We bought some cheese and Mom adventurously decided we should try oatcakes to eat it with, and we snacked before heading to the play. A heads up: don't bother trying oatcakes. They're a Scottish mess of fiber and no sugar. You're welcome.

The play we saw was called The Suit, a new play that had its world premiere in Paris and was directed by Peter Brook (my studio class' favorite guy, not really) and some woman named Marie-Helene Estienne who has funny accents on her name so I'd guess she's French. I thought he production concept/design and the acting were quite good, though the play itself had a few problems. There were some slow moments that involved singing without any relation to the plot (often in an Aftrican language) and the ending was a bit of a dud, unfortunately. But overall it was a beautiful show and a cool thing to see. Many of the shows playing in London are also playing on Broadway, whether they've come to New York from London or vice versa, so it was nice to find something unique amidst Lion King, Wicked, and Phantom.

Ok, it's midnight here and we've had several long days, so we're sleeping in tomorrow but hopefully I can offer another update before we leave London early Saturday morning. The next thing to talk about is the Harry Potter studio tour, and I've got to do that right. Talk soon! Love from London!

Where Dreams Come True

No, not Disney World. This is me we're talking about. LONDON!

My final trip of the semester was the one I was most looking forward to, since I've wanted to visit London since I was eight. I flew out on Thursday night, December 1st. It was so weird to walk into the airport and be able to read everything in English and only English. (Even in America at this point a lot of things are translated into Spanish as well, and I'd seen very little English in the last three months.) I got my passport stamped and then withdrew money from an ATM so that I could pay the bus fare to the train station. I chatted a little bit with the bus attendant about Bruce Springsteen, though we were both surprised the other knew who he was (because I'm too young and he's too British.) Anyway I got to the train and experienced my first London sticker shock when I found out how much a one-way train ticket cost, even before converting pounds to dollars. (The exchange rate, at least at the time, was about $1.5 to £1, which was killer.) With a little help from a nice gentleman who was also waiting for the train from the airport to the tube managed to find my way to Southark station, where Kerry picked me up.

Kerry and I met back in 2008 when we were both winners of that RENT contest that afforded us the opportunity to party at the Life Cafe and attend a final performance of the closing weekend. Though we haven't spoken a ton since then, Kerry was gracious enough to let me stay with her and even fed me sometimes. Thursday night we caught up for a while despite the late hour and made some plans for the following night.

Friday I got up fairly early and headed out to explore. Kerry happens to live in a very trendy part of London along the South Bank, not far from The Globe Theatre, the London Eye, and the Tate Modern art museum, not to mention being right behind the Young Vic and not far from the Old Vic. So I went off to the Tate, which is a donation-based museum, which in student language means "free." I spent a couple hours there, seeing some works by famous artists and some I'd never heard of before. There were some really interesting exhibits with focused themes combining different artists. From the museum you can see the Millenium or "Wobbly" Bridge, which is that big shiny bridge the death eaters destroyed in the beginning of Harry Potter and the Half Blood Price. After some pictures of that I walked over to the Globe, which unfortunately didn't have anything playing. Still it was cool to see.

Then I headed back to Kerry's apartment where she and I ate a little dinner before heading off for a walk down by the Thames by the London Eye, where there was a cute little Christmas market. Most things were overpriced, but Kerry found some funny little finger puppets (supposedly to entertain the kids she helps in Tanzania, but I think really just for her) that we named Harry the Hippo and Mike the Monkey. I found a necklace with a pocket watch pendant - the case has an owl on it. So perfect. On the way back to the apartment we bought a small bottle of Bailey's and made hot chocolate every night I was there. (A cheaper alternative to the overpriced drinks at the Christmas market.)

Saturday morning I got up early to go wait in line at the Young Vic to get a rush ticket for Hamlet. I figured I gotta see some Shakespeare somewhere while in London. Things were very nonchalant and so I ended up waiting longer than I should have had to because the ticket people didn't seem too concerned with being on time, but I eventually got a ticket and went back to Kerry's. I had porridge for breakfast, which is in fact just oatmeal made with milk instead of water and isn't quite as thick. I'd been craving oatmeal for months, which is not a thing in Spain, so I was quite happy.

After breakfast I went to meet up with a free walking tour like I'd done in Berlin and Paris. I got confused about what time it was, thinking it was an hour later (Madrid time) and thought I had missed the tour so went to get lunch at Chipotle (a New York favorite that doesn't exist in Spain). Then while back in the subway realized I had been an hour early, so I went back to the tour meeting place. The walking tour covered Hyde Park, St. James's Park, Buckingham Palace, all the royal-y places. Pretty cool. Buckingham Palace is actually not that impressive compared to Spanish palaces or Versailles though.

That night I saw Michael Sheen (who I best know as Wesley from 30 Rock) as Hamlet. I had issues with the production - it was set in an insane asylum but they didn't really use that convention once they set it up - but Michael Sheen was amazing. Hamlet is like three hours long, but I stayed interested. Not bad for £10.

Sunday I went to the National Gallery though only briefly. I couldn't get into the DaVinci show and everything else was a lot like what I was always looking at at the Prado. I caught a glimpse of The Last Supper, looked at the Spanish art, and left. Then I went to Harrods, because I figured that would be amusing. It was. It's more expensive than Macy's. But, while I was looking at funny little ornaments in the Christmas shop, I saw a sign for "the Harry Potter store" on the third floor. So then I spent a good half hour there. I could have stayed there for quite a while, but I had to head off to a Harry Potter walking tour.

The Harry Potter walking tour was led by a guy named Richard who was like a flamboyant, British version of my favorite theatre studies teacher, Bob. While walking through Leadenhall Market where Diagon Alley was filmed, Richard needed someone to say "Can you buy all this in London?" so he could say "If you know where to go." And yours truly was suddenly playing an 11-year-old Harry Potter in Diagon Alley. There may have been an accent. Of course the only time it rained while I was in London was during this tour, but it was fun anyway.

Westminster Abbey costs about £20, so instead I went when they had a free organ recital that night. I couldn't wander around, but I got to see plenty from my seat and hear amazing music in that amazing place.

Monday I failed again to get tickets to the DaVinci exhibit. Then I went to the changing of the guard, getting there ten minutes earlier than my tour guide had advised and still unable to really see anything. Plus I was surrounded by Spanish tourists, since the reason I was in London for five days was Spanish holidays. But then an amazing thing happened. The royal marching band played Don't Stop Believing as if they knew I was there.

After that random joy, I went to the British museum for a bit, saw some old stuff including the Rosetta Stone, and then met up with Kerry to go ice skating at Somorset House, my treat as a thanks for her hospitality. We had a great time and played a little bit with the penguins which were training tools for kids age 8 and under. After ice skating we met up with a friend of Kerry's for a drink at a pub and then I headed off for another night at the theatre.

In contrast with Hamlet, Monday night I saw We Will Rock You, the Queen Musical. If you know Rock of Ages, it's kind of like that but without the show being in on the joke, so it wasn't quite as good. Still I had a really good time, and my mom won't want to see that when we go in May anyway, so I'm glad I went on my own.

Tuesday morning I did a little souvenir shopping and then went to the train station to get to Birmingham. I tried to find Platform 9 3/4 at King's Cross and couldn't find it. Which was incredibly embarrassing and I don't want to talk about it.

Then I was in Birmingham and it was amazing and then I went back to Madrid.

So much thanks to Kerry for all her hospitality, and hopefully we'll see each other again soon!

I'm on a Camel (Photos from Morocco)

The Real World: Morocco gang.

Baby airport.

Hercules cave and the water.

Cave

We go to the camels now, please. The camels.

The hotel Continental, where we stayed and where Casablanca was filmed.

Moroccan lamp.

The restaurant.

Leigha at breakfast on the terrace with a view of the port.

Windows to the terrace at our hotel.

The kasbah of Tanger - old town.

Snake charmer?

Market

Parcheesi! (This one's for my family.)

Shoes on strings, anyone?

Moroccan carpets.

The View from the Roof in Asilah.

Asilah art.

Beach times.

Asilah view.

Asilah.

With Leigha!

Relationship tree in Asilah.

Hotel, no big deal.

Beach rockstar.

Fun times.

Friends! (Jeho, Leigha, Nidhi, Johnny, Neil.)