Day 3: No, this isn't an episode of Lost, but I'm pretty sure you just poisoned that duck.
London Travel Blog› entry 3 of 11 › view all entries
June 1st, 2007 – by: La_Mexicanita
Our tour guide was a nice woman who had an accent, which made everything ten times as awesome. What shocked me most was her nonchalance when discussing certain things as, oh, say, the Tower of London.
"And King [insert the name of a king I forgot here] was given a polar bear by [inster some other old dead dude's name here]. The polar bear was kept at the Tower of London, but it soon escaped.
She just started going on about the egg-shaped City Hall. Hello?!?! What about the polar bear?! She could have discussed its inevitable, psychotic rampage through the streets of London. But instead she talks about a gigantic egg building.
We made a quick stop by St. Paul's Cathedral, where I bought a postcard with a picture of Nelson's tomb to send to my parents. After that, we walked along past Parliament, Big Ben, and Westminster Abbey. Then, it was through St. James Park and to Buckingham Palace. We arrived at the Changing of the Guard, so there was a motherload of people there. One girl in our group then attacked me with a tree branch after making a grass angel. We walked past St.
It was the bayonet that freaked me out.
Suddenly, I looked over at one of the boys (there were only two from our school), and saw one of them pull out a gigantic baguette from his backpack.
"Where did you get that?" I asked.
"Oh, I stole it from breakfast this morning," said Jin simply (it's not Lost, I promise). "Want a piece?"
Duh. All we did on that trip was eat, I swear. We were constantly buying food. Well, Jin and I were, at least.
Thus began the baguette obsession.
After this...free time.
Yes, our tour guide was insane enough to say, "Meet back here at 5:30.
First stop? Starbucks. I saw that my drink cost 2.60, and I was excited, because that's cheaper than back home. Then I realized the price was in pounds, not dollars, and that I had just paid over five dollars for a god damned iced white mocha. A good iced white mocha, mind you.
Ana and I wandered up Piccadilly, walking into a random bookstore. We were excited because it was about five stories high. I almost bought the ninka sudoku, but ended up getting a copy of the third Harry Potter book. The British version.
It was very exciting.
After getting food and getting lost on the way to the post office (it was only two blocks away, but the streets were confusing), we found a random street fair, where I found a souvenir for my best friend. It was a two-inch tall little caterpillar thing.
Nothing else eventful happened except for buying Harry Potter, which made my year. We met up and went to dinner in a small restaurant in SoHo. After this, our tour guide said the walk to Hyde Park was about three blocks away.
They were three of the biggest blocks ever. I know I walked over more than three cross walks. After forty-five minutes of walking, we finally got to the park. Once Kat popped her blisters, we walked through the park, singing, what I think, is the greatest version of Bohemian Rhapsody ever. We should make an album.
But what was our goal, you ask. It was none other than the Peter Pan statue.
We finally got to the thing. It wasn't even that exciting. The gardens around it were way cooler.
Yes, you read that correctly. Peter Pan is, in fact, a pot head.
After a long discussion of Peter Pan's drug habits, how he may in fact actually be Wendy, who proved to be a lesbian by all the women fawning around him, we discovered another entrance to Narnia (one already exists in my chemistry classroom). We went through a small grove of trees surrounding the statue and through to where this little clubhouse was. It was just a tree, but if we put down some wood as support in its branches, we could have had a cute, little treehouse. We went through a little further and found Mordor. Yes, Mordor. It was a rather creepy clearing with poison ivy, thus the evil place we entered.
Out by the lake nearby, I pulled out a chocolate muffin and began feeding it to the ducks. Suddenly, one girl started screaming and yelled, "CHOCOLATE IS POISONOUS FOR DUCKS!"
I looked at her like the idiot that she was and said, "That's dogs, hun."
But no one would shut up about the poisoning of the duck, so if you happen to know if chocolate is actually bad for ducks, please let me know. I would love to prove them wrong.
What happens when the teenagers are unleashed upon the city of France? The undying quest for crepes begins...
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