Journals

Leaving Dulles Inter-national airport at 10pm we arrive in London at 10 the next morning.   Sadly, we are in the city for only one day.   Sleeping little on the airplane over the ocean the first thing I wish to see is the bed inside our hotel room.   Fortunately, after a much needed peaceful rest we wager down to the hotel lobby.   We ask the bald-headed Brit which direction to the Imperial Hotel, where the rest of our Contiki group is meeting.   I believe he tells us to go straight and then left, but after walking far too long and circling back we ask again, this time I hear him say straight and a right and it will be on our left.   By the point of our arrival we have missed the group.   Our tour guide is a 26-year old Australian, Glen, who proclaims to us this is his third and final year leading a European excursion for Contiki.   The coach driver is Derek, a young Scot with an accent difficult to understand.   Katie, myself, and TJ, an American from Seattle whom me meet in the lobby of our hotel go out on the town for our first cheers of the trip.   We stumble upon an old English pub in Piccadilly Circus .   One shot of white rum, a shot of dark rum and a hard British cider get the blood flowing.   We sit down and order.   Mutton and chips, chicken pot pie and a chocolate pudding are split between the three of us.   While drinking and eating we find time to take pictures of our opening night meal in Europe together.   Over our meals we share stories and our conversation shifts to politics.   We find we also share a common fondness for Barack Obama.   We leave the bar in high spirits around 9 but daylight still remains.   The streets are crowded with people and the iconic red double-decker buses.   We wind our way through back alleys and into the underground; the city lights provide perfectly     unplanned pictures.   When we make it to the floor of the next pub the atmosphere is lively inside.   The bartender, less than hospitable to us as we order yager bombs, seems agitated.   He throws our pounds we leave on the wooden bar with considerable determination into a copper tin, making a loud clanging noise as we turn to walk away.   TJ leaves to meet his cousin from California checked into a hotel around the corner.   Meanwhile, Katie and I take up residence at a spot near the end of the bar.   We meet a man speaking with a Spanish accent and learn he hails from Bogotá, Columbia, is here travelling with his wife and daughter, whom he mentions has a rebellious side, and that he works for Halliburton as a petroleum explorer.   More than content to let the conversation of his work die we divert our talk to travel.   An easier subject to discuss over drinks, I tell the man of my trip to Brazil last summer and of my desire to go back to his South American continent.   Shortly thereafter we are interrupted by a man yelling to us that the pub closes in 10 minutes.   We are slow to move until he repeats his command 5 minutes later.   We move outside and find TJ and his cousin conveniently chatting and bid farewell to our Columbian friend.   It is still early and not quite time to return to our respective hotels.   We ask around and find out about a bar open until 1.   A short walk leads us to our brief drinking area.   Inside we find a booth and order another round.   Although the pub is relatively quiet at this hour, it fills with the echo of chatter and high-pitched laughter of Londoners.   Katie, seeking a cigarette, is the first to make their acquaintance and soon we follow.   The tallest, loudest, drunkest of the bunch is a jolly man impossible to understand and ceaseless in his noise.   Somehow we are able to decipher from him that his boys plan on continuing to a late night club, of which they are more than willing to show us.   Feeling drunk enough, we decide to call it a night.   We must be ready to leave early the next morning for Paris .   They hardly seem to notice when we quietly depart.   The London pubs have been typical and much what I expected.     The coach pulls out of the parking lot of the Imperial hotel at 8am sharp.   TJ kindly agrees to be our wake-up call as we ride up to the third floor where sleep awaits.