Invading York, Forgetting Your Camera

Obviously, I didn't pack for York on Friday evening or night. No, I packed for the journey (I had to be at Kings Cross Station at 8:15 on Saturday morning) 15 minutes before I started the journey. On Friday, I worked a half day (9:15-1:00) and went directly from there to the Westminster Study Abroad office to make the final course/module decisions. Unfortunately, I had to go to the office to do so due to privacy policies, I assume. But as my life goes, something useful came of this drop-in: I was reminded of the boat party that was set to take place later that evening.
I made my way back to my room, and made sure to immediately take care of my laundry. Here, I should thank British Airways for the free detergent that was included in the package handed to me on Friday morning. There was a group giving out bags of promotional goodies that morning. Anyway, I put in my clothes and was set to take care of some work...this was at about 4:00. By 4:45, the clothes were still going, as happens occasionally (people open up machines, the machines guess incorrectly, etc.). Instead of waiting the 15 minutes downstairs, I headed back up and started my dinner. Then, back to the laundry room; no change--back upstairs. With supper thoroughly cooked and eaten, I popped back down to check the machine. To my surprise, there were still 12 minutes left. Now I am no clock, but that seemed impossible.

Suddenly, like a bad movie edit, I was brought back to the laundry room at Clifton-Fullerton Hall, my dorm at DePaul. (Here, I should say to my Uncle Dave Dlabal: I have a letter for you, and I will tack-ily email it to you soon because snail mail is for squares, man). I found myself revisiting the handful of horrible experiences that occurred in that room. Locked machines imprisoning my clothes. Broken dryers that blow only cold air. Prying open locked machines because I really need the contents, you stupid machine. Dad, is any of this admissible evidence? I might owe DePaul some damages.

Back to the present, and I am using all of my tricks because the machines in every dorm anywhere in the world are Maytag. Basic, mostly unreliable, yet not horrible laundry equipment. To skip some details: I got the machine going, and the clothes in the dryer. With the clothes dry, I was ready for the marathon sprint to get to the meeting point on time. Current time: 6:00 pm; meeting time: 6:15 pm. I threw on a proper outfit and bolted toward Victoria Station. Travel For London's website puts the trip to Monument station at 9 minutes; I left Wigram House (my dorm) at 6:03. I was on my way to Monument at 6:06--what a fast person--and I made it to the meeting point in time to wait 15 minutes or so because obviously they know people will be late.

The next part of this long entry might not last here long. I will explain later on. On the boat, I ordered a drink and sat down, planning to just hang out for a bit. I planned to be there an hour and then go get some sleep--catch some proverbial Zs, if you will. Fortunately, this guy who is in both my Intro to 3rd World Studies module and my Challenges to the Nation State module recognized me and came to sit down.

Peter is the coolest guy I know from Denmark, and we had a good discussion. 8 pm rolled around, and I was contemplating my next move when I saw this young beauty that is also in both of my modules. I remember this because after the 3rd World lecture on Tuesday, she walked into the same cafe as me. But I was eating carrots and was obviously in no position to "mac", so I just sat there chomping away like a rabbit, pretending to be really engaged in the reading in front of me.

Now back to the boat.

Since most romantic stories involve a crappy old and smelly boat and boredom, I was in the mood to say hello. Then, the idiots running the music decided to turn up the bass and the treble, and everything in between. This was no good. Especially since I quickly learned that the young woman, Eliza (I don't remember her name), has a fairly pronounced accent. It is hard enough to understand Americans when the music is way too loud, but here I was trying to key in on some dainty French girl's mispronounced words strung together to form what I can only call: sentences?.
Well, the conversation went as well as possible. She is French, but moved to Canada for some reason (do you see her when you go to work, Dave?). Her boyfriend lives in Chicago, and I think she asked if I know him. She asked me if I was hungry, she and her friend were going to go get food (the boat remained docked all night).

I, knowing the ways of jealous Frenchmen ( and being chivalrous), politely declined her offer. Yet, I made my own offer: to see the two out and off to their destination. Outside, I asked again for her name (again, I have since forgotten maybe-Eliza's name) and for some reason I forgot to ask her friend's name. I guess I just didn't care. With regards to my statement about the possible impermanence of this portion, I think it is fair to say that I will erase this bit if the French girl and I become friends.

Home at 10:30. Emails and such, and no packing.

Shoot forward to 7:00 am the next day. I was awake and showering. I was fully clothed and packed by 7:30. I made good time, and arrived at Platform 2 at 8:00. No one there yet. 8:13: no one. Thinking my train time was set for 8:30, I was sure I had missed some directions in all of the emails sent to me. But, alas, 8:17 and some familiar faces. Only, no leader. She showed up at 8:20, knowing that our train was set to leave at 9. Also, the tickets are open to any train to York at any time that day. That is, we might have departed at 10:30 or 5:30 pm, for that matter.

Now, this is a huge post, but it all culminates here: I wanted to take a picture of platform 9 and 3/4 (from Harry Potter fame), but I did not have my camera. Sadly, throughout my York trip, it remained back here on my desk. No photos of the lush countryside and lopsided, sloped roofs. No proof of my stay in a really nice hostel, or my venture into Yorkminster (an amazing cathedral with loads of history). I have no way of showing you lot that I was in one of the best cities I have ever been in. But at least I didn't have to carry it around? I don't know how to make myself feel better about this.
Overall, the weekend was excellent. I even went on a Ghost Tour, but no sightings. Sorry for the length of this one.