Today started out as a slow one. It ended up being around noon by the time everyone had woken up and showered. We walked over to Harrod’s to start the morning.
Beware the side walks on the streets of London- they are a hazard to anyone with legs. Or for me, the girl who’s glued to her camera. At one point I was photographing an Egyptian protest in it’s youth, the next I was cursing the curb for sneaking up on me.
For those of you who don’t know Harrod’s, imagine a grocery store, tea and coffee shop, high-end shopping centre, pet store, pizza store, and gelato shop combined into 5 glorious floors of overwhelming appreciation for everything great about shopping. And we didnt even cover every floor!
We grabbed lunch at the pizza bar, then walked 5 paces to the gelato bar, resembling something wonderful Willy Wonka might’ve produced. Once again, my pure love for gelato was sparked since Italy, and my eyes were quite a bit bigger than my stomach. I walked in with the will power of a cheetah, and left with the heavy gut of an elephant. From then on, we went to buy monkey-picked and lotus blooming tea, then decided to shop some on the next floor.
Rachel, Caroline, and I split from the ‘rents in search of the WC on the second floor and had forgotten that Im the only one with the cell phone. The three teenage girls ended up wandering aimlessly around the high-end clothing department with no hopes of finding our parents. No worries, we eventually did… A hop, skip, and a jump away from putting out a PA announcement for our lost parents.
After we retired to the apartment, exhausted from a long day of shopping, we set out once again to Choz Bizzare to meet dad for dinner. Coincidentally, he was in town for business, and we laughed and joked over mango lasses and a dinner that was more or less chosen for us by our waiter, due to our mild indecision over what to order. Thanks again anonymous waiter!
Walking through the streets of London is like walking through an inaudible pop song- frustrating because the words are right on the brink of understandable, on the tip of your tounge, yet not quite there. In one if my favorite movies “Fight Club” (recommended to me when I was struggling back in December against my third strain of strepp throat) Edward Norton tells how he feels like “Jack’s broken heart.” In context, he talks more about how if he was one part of “Jack” he’d have to be the broken component. It’s hard to explain, but walking through the streets of a city that’s full of so many people you’re guaranteed not to know, with an untapped dialect barrier, you can’t help feeling like that broken heart of Jack’s.
P.S. On a lighter note, I think the cleaning ladies here at the apartment hid my boot…must find!