London, England

This week I decided to swing by London and hang out with the next in line for the throne at the fancy schmancy Royal Holloway University in Egham. I’m not joking, I befriended a boy who is 4th in line for an Earldom. Networking: Tick. I also managed to check out Topshop, the Tate Modern and everything in-between.

Ok, so logistically, after an eleven hour bus trip from Amsterdam, a delightfully chopping ferry trip from Dunkirk (France) across the channel to the Port of Dover and a London tube adventure I arrived at the Royal Holloway campus. It was majestic as all hell. I stayed in the dorms with my kind friend Lewis and was constantly resisting the urge to graffiti ‘THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED’ down the Hogwarts-esque corridors.

 Holloway dorms at dusk.

Lewis’ room with a view-hoo-hooo

(at this point I’d like to remind you that I live in a shipping container).

On Friday, whilst Lewis and his friends had class, I went into London to walk around the Monopoly board and immerse myself in British culture (read: clothing).

 At about 4.30pm I realised I’d been wandering around TopShop for nearly three hours. This is less obsessive than it sounds considering the flagship store has 4 sprawling levels with hairdressers, cafes, beauty counters and a spa facility in-store. I ended up going to one of the cafes to buy myself lunch...which I ate alone in a changing room, seriously reflecting on my life choices (but having a perverse kind of fun).

A taste of some of my London haul. God forbid I buy anything normal hey?

The next day the Royal Holloway boys and I went into London to do some more socially acceptable and generally touristy activities.

 Outside Buckingham Palace with Felix (Mr. Future Earl) and Fred (Mr. Denmark).
No sign of Will, Kate or old ‘Liz though I did see a pug wearing a crown... close enough no?

Lewis, Felix and myself being good tourists by the bespoke palace gates.

 London calling....London’s appalling? 

A peak inside of one of the iconic red telephone boxes.

  Tube

 St. Paul’s

Same, same but different. St Paul’s from the Millennium Bridge. 

 And here I am at the Globe Theatre with the future Earl. Anyone who knows anything at all about me will appreciate how excited I was to see this building. #shakespeareforever.

Then we dropped by the Tate Modern to continue our culture cruising. 

Saw art. Drank cocktails. Felt culturally superior. No wonder the English are pompous.

 Fred's ‘art’ face.

 Ibrahim El Salahi Reborn Sounds of Childhood Dreams I

 Pablo Picasso Nude Woman with Necklace (and potential gangrene?)

  Nude Green Leaves and Bust
Picasso: great at art, crappy at titles

 Too disturbed by this piece to go up and look at the plaque.
Let’s just call it The Peanut-butter Massacre.

Francesca: crappy at art, great at titles

A beautiful work of art...and the painting is alright too I guess.
(Monet Water Lillies 1920)

Also managed to squeeze in trips to the Camden and Brick Lane Markets. Brick Lane and the warehouses adjacent are literally overflowing with vintage clothing, records, home wares, handmade jewellery, cake and art. Basically everything good in this world. I could gush forever about that place but I’ll spare you all the details of the winter sun radiating off old brick and the alleyway air currents infused with English accents, live music and smells of fresh Indian and African cuisine...

Sneaky photos of some Brick Lane stalls.

 Mango lassi with Lewis at the Indian restaurant Cafe Spice in Spitalfields. Hands down the most delicious and colour-coordinated Indian food I’ve eaten in my life.

Last stop on the whirlwind tour was Westminster. I arrived at about seven in the evening, chimed in by the famous Big Ben tune. Everything was lit up and glowing like giant Gothic night lights. Photos could never do it justice, but have some anyway.

Westminster Place

 I spy the London Eye...

 By this point I was exhausted enough to think that I could experiment with movement and exposure on my camera. I said my farewells and hopped back on the tube and then bussed a good fifteen, character building hours back to the ‘Dam. 

To reference the brilliance of Dirty Dancing: [I] had the time of my life.
If time and the euro-pound exchange rate permit, I think I’ll find myself there again soon.