Oh Lordy, What Ever Happened to the 1940s?

I’m sorry. You’re pretty and you are definitely different than Paris, but I’m done with you. My patience has been tried throughout this entire trip. The alone-factor was fine for the first few days… exciting even. But now that I’m on my fourth day in this city with no one to show me around or even just discover new things with me, I’m bored. Yes, I’m bored in London. I’m a horrible person for saying so, but I am. This trip began from the motive to visit friends over here. But I never see them. And I get it. People have classes, orientation. I probably should’ve known better. I think I’ve spent most of my time by myself. Which, as I said, was fun the first couple days, but now has gotten old. I find myself spending more and more time around Covent Garden, as it’s the only place that I really care about. Funny how the trip started out being all about friends and is ending revolving around the ballet instead. That’s the main good thing to come of it: my time spent seeing Romeo and Juliet and The Nutcracker. But even then, I miss being able to talk about the performance and my opinions with someone.

Overall, I’m finding myself in a bad mood, looking for people to bitch with and to about my troubles. My anger and frustration exploded, however, just about an hour ago when I was returning home from the Sir John Soane museum. I had queued again at the Royal Opera House and gotten my tickets. I had my day planned to do the Velvet Tour at the Opera House and then go to the museum… but they weren’t doing the tour today or tomorrow. Great. Already in a melancholy mood from discovering this morning that I missed consistent human contact, I walked down the streets looking for something to do. In desperation, I stooped so low as to go into Urban Outfitters and Top Shop to do some shopping, but it was unsuccessful and ultimately uninteresting to me. Then I kept walking in my slump to the Sir John Soane museum, having to go to the bathroom again the entire way. Why is it that every time I’m aimlessly walking in London I have to go to the bathroom? It is extremely annoying and inconvenient. The museum was just as fascinating as it had been described to me, and I marveled at the great design of the house among his vast sculptural collections. I’ll add that museum to the short lists of things I really got a lot out of here.

The Tube wasn’t far and the gloomy weather and boredom was leading me right back to my hostel where I could have Internet. My confidence in the Tube has risen in the past few days so I knew exactly where to go. Never get too cocky or comfortable in a city that’s not yours, though. I switch lines and halfway through the ride, I realize that my week-long pass that I paid 30 Pounds for to save money overall is gone. You can imagine I was FUMING by the time I got to my station (which, by the way, you have to swipe out of) and had to explain to the attendant that I lost my pass. He barely twitched and told me to go tell the other attendant at the counter if it’s registered. But it’s not registered… it’s a WEEK pass. I ended up HAVING to get a day pass for, what, half the day left which I may use 3 or 4 times… but is still cheaper than buying ridiculously-priced individual tickets. I miss my Pass Navigo, which is not flimsy and easily lost, but durable and thicker than average things so I can find it in my pocket or purse. There goes 30 Pounds and now I have to spent 7 Pounds per day on day passes for today and tomorrow.

London, you are sucking my wallet dry more so than Paris ever has. You are making me fat from all your incredibly delicious and interesting food. You are exhausting me with your inconveniently-located Tube stops that I can only find because of the maps you have everywhere (those maps are one of the few things that I will say Paris can/should learn from) not to mention your lying bathroom signs. I miss my bed in my own apartment, where I can come in at 1am and not feel bad every time I move because I’m obviously disturbing the 7 other people in the room. I miss consistent WiFi. I miss baguettes… oh how I miss the simple meal and pleasures of baguettes. Since no one sleeps later than like 10am in hostels, I get up so early and have breakfast and then am hungry for all three meals of the day… which means I have to pay for three meals instead of the typical two when I wake up at my usual late times. I never pay this much for food back in Paris… even with my groceries. Seriously, my poor bank account. The only purchases I can say I have no qualms about are my ballet tickets. Ugh. I just miss Paris. The novelty of this city is gone for me.

Five days is a LONG time to be away from home. I remember my parents getting antsy to go back home during past family vacations… to get back to our cats mostly. To them, as well as me even though they may feel stronger about it, cats make a home. I always wanted to stay on vacation longer, not that I don’t love my cats, but because it was a new place that was simply more exciting. I don’t officially have cats in Europe but Paris has kind of become my pet in itself — I love it just as much. And so now I’m feeling the anxiety my parents felt at the end of all our trips… to get back to the comfort and love of home. I just want to go home. I am never going away from this long again.