In Which I Go Out With a Great, Resounding 'Dong'

This is it, my lovely readers!  The final day of the great London adventure.  My final Olympic event.  The final post of this blog before it goes back into retirement.

Friday was eventful, to say the very least.  After dragging ourselves out of bed (our muscles were still valiantly attempting to recover from the day before), we hopped on the Tube and returned to the North Greenwich Arena for our last Olympic event: Men's Trampoline.  We had incredible seats this time around, down in the bottom section, only a few rows back from the action.  Of course, of all of the gymnastics events, this was the one for which being way up in the air was actually advantageous (trampolinists jump up to 10 meters in the air!), but it was still nice not to be in the nosebleeds. 

The trampoline competition was set up such that qualifications led straight into finals and then into the medal ceremony, all without a pause for breath.  This lightning-fast process mirrored the speed of the trampoline routines; if you blinked, you might miss the difference between a fatal misstep and a medal.  However, being able to see the entire process from start to finish in one sitting was a unique experience, and obviously provided a degree of continuity which the other events that I attended lacked. 

One hour after first presenting themselves to the judges, 

the finalists stepped forward again for the last time.

At first, I thought that watching people bouncing around on a trampoline would be a bit boring; after all, a trampoline is a training device for other events.  I was proved wrong rather quickly though; not only do these athletes jump incredibly high, they do the fastest somersaults that I have ever seen, and precision is even more essential than in other gymnastics events.  Because while the trampoline's meter-wide target box looks pretty big from the ground, from 10 meters in the air, it looks like a postage stamp, and if you hit the edge of the trampoline, you are finished.  Not only does it sound like it hurts a lot, but there are no second chances in this event; once you fall, your routine is over.  And with 10 high-speed tricks per routine, there is little margin for error. I was surprised to find myself literally on the edge of my seat for many of the routines, joining in the audience's collective gasps and sighs of relief as athletes edged too close to the springs and (hopefully) recovered.  It was intense. 

Every single picture I have of this event shows rather blurry trampolinists.  I was upset until I realized that they were simply going too quickly to allow a clear shot. 

There were considerably more heart-wrenching moments in this event, unsurprisingly.  When someone hit the edge of the trampoline, he knew that his chances were over.  This led to tears in the particularly heartbreaking case of an older athlete who knew that this would be his final Olympics, grouchy sulking in the case of the lone American, for whom I lost all respect after he sulked to an unsportsmanlike degree after a late fall in his second qualifying routine, and sometimes, admirable acceptance, particularly by the Canadian part-time-stuntman who fell on his second trick in the final, and the German athlete whom the commentator called "the nicest bloke in all of gymnastics," both of whom shrugged off their disappointment and waved cheerily to the loudly applauding crowd.

But when all went according to plan, and the routine was executed flawlessly-- that was a site to behold.  Again, the flips and somersaults were so fast that the athletes often looked like blurs at the top of their flight, so it was difficult to tell how many rotations someone did, but the overall effect was impressive.  You could instinctively tell who had the grace and precision to set them apart from the rest of the competition; they looked like they could have simply bounced off of the trampoline and flown through the arena without any effort.  And there was one athlete who simply blew everyone away:  Dong Dong (possibly the greatest name in the history of names) of China performed a final routine that contained five quadruple somersaults in a row, a feat which had never been achieved in a competition at this level.  The audience roared when his routine was flawlessly completed; it was simply incredible.  Dong Dong came up from a fifth-place seed to win gold over his teammate, Lu Chenlong, the reigning world champion, who took bronze, and an incredibly graceful Russian athlete, Dmitry Ushakov, took silver.

Dong Dong doing his insanely somersaulty routine.

 

...and then accepting his medal!

After leaving the arena, we made our way to London Bridge, where we popped into the opening of an awesome gourmet food festival hosted by one of Suzanne's colleagues for a bite to eat for dinner.  Many of the top restaurants in London were represented with a stand in what was likely the best-smelling courtyard in all of England.  I had a Banh Mi that was to die for, as well as the best meringues that I have ever eaten, in the form of an Eton mess (meringues+clotted cream+berry curd+fresh berries).  Despite being completely full when we bought it, Suzanne and I finished this bowl of deliciousness within two minutes, and didn't even make it 10 feet away from the stand where we bought it.

Happily stuffed, we took a quick stroll along the south bank of the Thames to get to the National Theatre:

Lots of excellent Wenlocks on this walk.

 

As well as lovely picturesque views!

  

We got to the theatre just in time for our show, "The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time," a totally sold-out play based off of the wonderful novel by Mark Haddon.  If you haven't read it yet, stop what you're doing and get a copy right now.  If you have read it, you probably understand why I was so excited to see this play.  The show was every bit as good as the book, and if I dare to say so, maybe even better.  Every detail of the book came to life in that little black box theatre; lighting and sound were used brilliantly, and the cast was phenomenal.  [By the way, the cast included Una Stubbs, aka Mrs. Hudson from ''Sherlock," as Mrs. Alexander, as well as Paul Ritter, the father from "Friday Night Dinner," as Christopher's father, which made my head spin a little bit, but was super awesome.]   It was funny, heartbreaking, and profoundly moving in turns; all in all, absolutely incredible.

After the show, we took a more languid stroll along the Thames, and as we walked most of the way back to the flat, I savored London's beautiful sights and sounds and tried to commit them to memory, at least until I manage to return!

I packed my bags that night (how I managed to fit everything is beyond me.  Rain boots take up so much room!), and left early the next morning.  Despite my residual Heathrow anxiety (I still haven't forgotten the Snowpocalypse of '10), all went smoothly, and I made it back to the States exhausted but still thrilled beyond belief with how incredible this once-in-a-lifetime trip was for me.  Sure, the Olympics might be slightly ruined for me from now on, because watching on tv simply cannot compare to being there in person, but I have an entirely new perspective on and appreciation for the Games and for sport in general, and I wouldn't trade my experience for anything. 


Well, my friends, I'm afraid that this is farewell.  Thank you so much for reading, and if you, like some of the other mumblers who have convinced me to do this, are interested in following my new adventures as I adjust to adult life in a big city, feel free to check out the new blogging endeavor, Capitolized.  Cheers, dear readers!

In Which I Attempt to Become an Olympic Athlete

My dearest readers,

I have left you hanging for an inexcusably long time, for which I am very, very sorry.  In my defense, I returned from London and had to pack and then move all (ok, not all, but certainly many) of my earthly possessions to Washington DC in the space of three days, and then headed off on another trip (I needed a vacation from my last vacation) to a prehistoric and backwards place without internet access (actually, I was in the Outer Banks, but our wifi wasn't working and I felt like I was missing a limb or something).  Anyway, if you’re still reading, kudos to you for your dedication and willingness to believe in my ability to finish things; those are qualities that even I don’t always have.

So let’s travel two weeks back in time to last Wednesday, which was our mid-week day off from Olympics events.  This meant that we could actually do something that took more than four hours, which was very exciting.  As for what this wondrous something might actually be, that wasn’t decided until early that morning, when I, whilst half-conscious, decided on traveling to Kent instead of Cardiff because the train ride would be shorter.  I also didn’t think that Cindy and Suzanne would appreciate being dragged from one tv filming site to another (which is what I would have done in Cardiff, obviously).  But what in Kent could possibly compare to seeing the brand-new Doctor Who Experience museum in Cardiff?*

*In retrospect?  Probably nothing.  I'll just have to go back the UK again soon.  Oh, darn.  

Oh hello, Leeds Castle.

So this is Leeds Castle.  It lies nestled in the lovely (though really rather boring) countryside of Kent, about an hour’s train ride south of London.  Built in 1119, the castle began as a Norman fortress and over the centuries was home to lots of important and interesting people, notably Henry VIII’s first wife, Catharine of Aragon, and an English nobleman who was granted some absurd amount of land in Virginia for helping out one of the Royals during the English Civil War. 

Leeds Castle passed from hand to hand until eventually, as often occurs, someone went bankrupt and the castle was put on the market.  It was snapped up by 26 year-old American heiress Lady Baillie, who spent the rest of her fortune sprucing up the castle and its grounds and hosting fabulous parties for film stars during the 1930s.  Not a bad way to spend the trust fund.

The highlights of the castle:

 

The shoe collection.

The library (my favorite part of any good palatial establishment).

Also, the exhibit blatantly designed to capitalize on the success of Downton Abbey, “What the Butler Saw,” that ran throughout the castle tour.

The best part of Leeds Castle, however, was the grounds.  There are acres of gorgeous gardens, forests, and lakes, as well as an aviary and a rather fantastic maze surrounding the comparatively tiny castle.  It was a lovely day, so we spent much of our visit outside, exploring the gardens and such.

Sorry.  I tend to get a bit carried away with taking pictures of flowers in gardens.

And then we found The Maze:

 This maze, people, was crazy.  It takes an average of 20 minutes to get to the center, and even though it only took us 10 minutes to do so, it still felt like an eternity and for a few moments I was convinced that I would never find my way either to the center or back out again. It was a serious relief when we found the middle.  And I must admit that watching the other people blindly struggling to find their way through gave me a great deal of smug satisfaction.

To get back out of the maze, one must go underground and pass through this very strange grotto thing, which had some cool natural-esque sculptures but was also fitted up with creepy music and lighting.  Given that the maze wasn’t built until 1988, one can’t even blame an eccentric aristocrat for this strange thing (I saw something similar in a palace in Vienna, the result of a prince with a very strange sense of humor), just some really eccentric National Trust folks. 

On our way out, Suzanne and I couldn’t resist the draw of one of the many medievally-themed children (and childish adult)’s attractions—a bit of old-fashioned target practice with rather primitively constructed bows and arrows.  As we waited in line behind children half my height, Olympic-inspired visions of archery grandeur began to float through my mind, and when I stepped up to my target and drew back the bow, I was sure that I was suddenly going to find my athletic calling.

These dreams were dashed when I failed to hit anything inside of the outer line of the target.  Ah, well.  Fun while it lasted.

We headed back to London, and once there, I was given a chance to redeem myself for my lack of athletic prowess in target practice.  We got off of the Tube at Selfridges (one of the finest department stores in London), but instead of engaging in my favorite athletic endeavor, Shopping as a Competitive Sport, we went up to the roof and somehow managed to get into one of the hottest sporting events in London this summer: a limited-engagement rooftop mini golf course designed by London’s premier baking duo, in which the obstacles are London landmarks made out of cake. 

 

Let me say that again:  LONDON LANDMARKS MADE OUT OF CAKE.  ACTUAL CAKE.  HOW COOL IS THAT?

Despite the fact that most of the participants were tipsy and the nine holes and ninety people were squished into an extremely small space, it was a seriously tough course.  I got soaked when my golf ball went flying off of Tower Bridge and into a moat that spritzed you with water when you tried to cross it, and the Gherkin gave me some serious trouble, but I managed a hole-in-one on Big Ben and came in a respectable second place.  It was also the most fun I’ve had playing golf in ages. 

Post-golf, we met up with Daniel and ventured to a fantastically good Moroccan restaurant, where I probably ate more food than many Olympic athletes do in one sitting (Michael Phelps’ famous bajillion-calorie meals excluded).  We ambled home, stomachs full, and prepared for another crazy day ahead.

And through the magic of blogging two weeks late, we can skip past the boring bits where I slept and stuff and go right to Thursday!  Yay!

Early (well, early for me) on Thursday morning, I made my way to King's Cross Station and once there, to Platform 9 3/4 (which, by the way, is not located between platforms 9 and 10, and is commemorated by a handle of a luggage cart sticking out of the wall and a long line of tourists waiting to take their picture with it.  Most disappointing).  There, I met up with Sarah, a very good friend of mine from Williams whom I hadn't seen in nearly a year (figures that we would manage to see each other in England, of all places).  We didn't have much of a plan for where to go, since the only important thing was seeing each other, but after wandering the streets of Central London for a little while, we eventually made our way to Covent Garden Market.  

After sharing a cupcake and catching up a bit, we explored the London Transport Museum, which is a surprisingly cool place.  I learned a whole bunch about the development of public transportation, finally got some proper visual context for all of the Victorian urban novels that I've read, and had a chance to indulge my minor obsession with the evolution of the Underground Map.  Yay transportation.

By the time we emerged from the gift shop, we were ready for lunch.  Conveniently, the marketplace was hosting a gourmet food festival that day, so we enjoyed some rather delicious Venezuelan food as we wandered through the vendors' stalls.  Post-lunch, we ambled about through surprisingly uncrowded streets as we passed 10 Downing Street (we actually saw a convoy of cars pass through the gates; I'm convinced that we technically saw the Prime Minister), Trafalgar Square, Westminster Abbey (which we almost toured, but it's prohibitively expensive), the Houses of Parliament, etc.  We parted ways mid-afternoon when I realized that I had to head to Olympic Park rather soon.  It was fantastic to see her again, and I'm so glad that we managed to get together amidst all the craziness of my itinerary.

After returning to the flat as quickly as possible (which would have been a great deal quicker if I hadn't tried to be clever about the route that I took to get there), I turned right around again as we took off for Olympic Park.  As it turns out, it was not a day for trying to be clever with new routes; instead of taking the Tube, we took a bus and then a "short walk through the park" (read: at least 2 miles) which led to another short walk to Olympic Park (another 2 miles at least, maybe 3) and then a walk through the park itself (another mile or so).  Before you judge me for being a wimp, know that this was on top of the three miles that I had walked earlier in the day and the absurd amount of walking that I had been doing all week.  Perhaps I have a chance as an Olympic-level walker?  But not a speed walker.  They look incredibly silly.

Anyway.  Back to the story.  We got to the park and stopped for a bite to eat, because we were all famished and exhausted (except for Daniel, who runs marathons), and then headed to the slightly-smaller-than-the-Megastore-but-still-very-large giftshop for a few more items.  I acquired, through a possibly foolish impulse buy, the super-duper official Team GB jacket, which made me feel quite awesome when we walked into the hockey arena to watch Team GB play once again, though this time, in the women's competition.  

  

Even playing without their captain—who was in surgery after taking a ball to the face and breaking her jaw— Team GB played a brilliant match against Belgium, winning 3-0.  We had the additional pleasure of hearing the lovely pep band again (though I consequently had "Rule Britannia" stuck in my head for the following week), and apparently, Prince Harry was in attendance for the game, though I couldn't see his box from where I was sitting.  Though the women's hockey didn't move as quickly and wasn't quite as cleanly played as the men's hockey, it was still fun to watch, and taking part in the British cheering section, as before, was even better.  

 

We unfortunately chose the wrong team to cheer for in the second match of the evening, Argentina versus New Zealand.  Most of the crowd was cheering for the Kiwis by default (myself included), but the outnumbered Argentinians were louder than the rest of the crowd put together.  Argentina won that round, and rightly so, as they played rather well.  

The highlight of the match by far was the first penalty corner, in which the Kiwis went behind the goal to put on their protective gear and realized that the wrong team's box was there.  So it fell to one of the volunteers on the field to run the correct box of gear all the way across the pitch while play was stopped.  The crowd wildly cheered on the volunteer as she crossed the field, and she even got to do half of a victory lap once she had delivered the gear; she probably upstaged the athletes that match, and definitely drew the loudest cheers.  

After the match, we made our way back through the park, where we saw a trio of Team GB gold medal winners out on the balcony of the temporary BBC studio waving to an adoring crowd of fans, which was cute.  We proceeded out of the park the way we had come in, which meant that we had another several miles of walking to do before reaching a bus, and by the time that we got to a bus stop, none of our legs worked anymore.  So that was a lot of fun.  But I must have logged at least half a marathon of walking that day, so that has to count for something.

We crashed once we got back to the flat, and got a good night's sleep in preparation for my final, and perhaps busiest, day in London.  Stay tuned, my very patient readers, for the conclusion of this epic tale within a few days (I promise!).

In Which Team USA Takes Gold on Hava Nagila

Well, dear readers, by now, as some of you know, I’m already back in the States and yet, I failed to tell you anything about the last several days of my trip.  Sorry again, but as I was running hither and yon from dawn ‘til dusk, I simply didn’t have time to do justice to how awesome those days were in the blog.  So I hope you’ll stay with me, and keep reading for the next few days as posts appear more quickly!

Ok.  So I left you at Tuesday, which contained the highlight of my Olympic experience.  Tuesday morning was considerably less exciting, as I spent much of it asleep before running out for a quick Vietnamese lunch prior to heading over to North Greenwich again for our second gymnastics event.  And though our first event was awesome, nothing could really compare to having tickets to the Women’s Artistic Gymnastic Team Finals, so we were understandably quite excited.  

We were also in a bit of a tricky situation as far as loyalties were concerned.  This was the first event in which Team USA and Team GB would be competing head to head, and we weren’t exactly sure how to dress or for whom to cheer.  Luckily, GB and the USA share colors, so we went with neutrally supportive accessories.  By the way, as I noted in the post about the hockey game, the general Olympic yay-for-everyone spirit is slightly diminished when you are really gunning for a particular team, or, in our case, two teams.  And since the crowd was positively roaring for the Team GB women (some of whom are favored to win individual apparatus medals), it was easy to get caught up in that excitement.

Hannah Whelan, a GB favorite for the uneven bars.

The other six teams competing in this competition included: Russia, Romania, Canada, Italy, China, and Japan.  I have to admit that I wasn't watching these teams quite as closely, as I found myself mostly following the US team around the circuit, but the Russian, Romanian, and Italian teams were really interesting to watch on the floor as well.  Because there were only four apparatuses in the women's competition (floor, beam, uneven bars, vault), it was a bit easier to keep track of what was going on than in the men's competition, but it certainly helped when the commentator pointed our attention to particular athletes on particular apparatuses.  I definitely noticed myself watching the floor competitions much more than in the men's competition, possibly because of the music, and after that, the balance beam, as these two events had the most drama.  I also found myself watching the scoreboard much more carefully this time, as the scores were extremely close at certain points, and I wanted to see how the judges differentiated between routines that all looked impressive to me (sitting way up in the stands and without the voice of a commentator telling me what was a double and what was a triple twist).

Because I was so intent on following Team USA around, I didn't get many pictures of the other athletes; however, I can't say that I regret it too much, as I now have proof that I watched the Fab Five winning live:

Jordyn Wieber on the uneven bars.

Kyla Ross on the beam.

Gabrielle Douglas on the beam.

Alexandra Raisman, the last Team USA athlete on the floor 

(performing to Hava Nagila, which basically made my life).

Team USA awaiting the final score to appear on the board.

There were a few moments of heartbreak during this event as well.  Even though I wanted Team USA to win and Team GB to do well, it was still impossible not to feel for the other athletes when something went wrong for them.  As I said before, there is a completely different attitude towards the performers that comes with being in the same arena with them.  Whereas I used to judge their mistakes harshly when I watched on the telly, all I felt when I watched a Chinese athlete fall hard off of the beam, or the moment when a Russian gymnast fell on her head in the last flip of her otherwise flawless floor routine, was sympathy.  The crowd cheered louder for the women who fell than for those who did well, because we felt a shared responsibility for cheering them up and showing our appreciation of their talent.

In the end, as you probably already knew, Romania took bronze, Russia took silver, and the USA took gold.  And being there for the medal ceremony, watching the US flag rise and the singing the national anthem was, despite my usual complete lack of national pride, one of the most memorable moments of my life.  

Whew.  So, after all of that excitement, we headed into Greenwich proper for dinner at a most excellent pub, which served Meantime beers (get it?  Greenwich Mean Time?  The Meridian Line? Yeah, that Greenwich).  And after dinner, because we were still too excited to head back to the flat, we walked around Greenwich a bit more and I made an adrenalin-fueled decision to acquire some bright pink Hunter rain boots (a decision that I only regretted a little bit when I realized that I had to carry those rather heavy things home).

Carrying this boot home might have been a bit more difficult.

As we made our way towards some form of transportation back to the flat, we came across the Cutty Sark, one of the fastest tea clippers ever built:

It's not very fast anymore, as it is currently surrounded by concrete, but it certainly is pretty.

We then proceeded to get onto another boat—a Thames water taxi—which, even though I normally am not a fan of boat travel, is actually a really fun way to get around in London.

The best part was when we sailed under Tower Bridge, 

and got a perfect view of this incredibly photogenic scene.

We alighted right next to London Bridge, where we had a lovely view of the Tower of London at night.

After a long, meandering walk in the general direction of the flat, we found ourselves outside of a very tall building which, according to Suzanne, had a brand new restaurant on the top level that we had to go and check out.  This involved a trip in a glass elevator up thirty-nine floors on the side of a building, which is actually one of my worst nightmares, but its doors opened to an incredibly beautiful restaurant and bar with a breathtaking 360-degree view of all of London, so the trip was worth the terror.  Since we were there, we had to have something at the bar, at least (duh); it was approaching midnight by then, but whatever.  I had the best drink that I've ever had in my life, though I'm not totally sure what was in it (there was a considerable amount of vodka, I can tell you that much, as well as Thai basil syrup and a very large green leaf), and I left in even more of a state than I came in, which is telling you something.

It was called a "Shiso Fine," but we renamed it a "Shiso Silly," because I couldn't stop giggling by the time I was about halfway through with drinking it.

We did eventually make it back to the flat; I was still too excited to sleep and thus stayed up much too late, but whatever.  It was a fantastically glorious day, and one which I'm sure I'll remember for many years to come.

In Which I Experience Frolicking, Freud, and Team GB Fever

My dear, dear readers,

I am deeply sorry for leaving you for so long with nary a word from this side of the pond.  As it turns out, I've actually been doing things here in London, and getting back with just enough time to get some sleep before going out to do more things, which leaves little to no time for blogging.  But let me do my best to catch you up a little bit now.

Sunday (which was quite a long time ago), Suzanne, Cindy and I went on an expedition to the North.  We decided that a lovely Sunday morning would be the perfect opportunity for a stroll through what is essentially the 'countryside' of London: Hampstead Heath.  But the moment we stepped off of the Tube, in typical English fashion, it began to rain.  So after about five minutes of attempting to enjoy a nice walk in the park, whilst trying to ignore the fact that hail was actually falling on our heads, we gave up and headed for the pub.  It happened to be a very fancy pub, and we ate some super delicious Sunday roasts.  Also, I ate a brussels sprout.  This is kind of a big deal for me.

By the time that we had finished eating lunch, the sun had finally decided to come out, so we decided to venture out once more into the heath.  This time, we had considerably more success.

First, we went up on Parliament Hill, from which you can see nearly all of London.  

Then we admired some lovely ponds.

And then I went frolicking, whilst my coat billowed behind me in a truly epic fashion.  Sometimes such things are necessary.

Post-frolic, we walked through the cute little town of Hampstead and headed to the Freud Museum.  Yes, it seemed like an odd place for a Freud Museum to me as well.  But if you know your Freud history (no judgment if you don't), Freud escaped to England just before the outbreak of WWII, one year before his death.  The elegant house in which he and his daughter lived when they moved has been preserved as a nice little museum.  

 

The best part was definitely his study, as it contained the infamous couch on which his patients lay during sessions, as well as a considerable collection of ancient Egyptian artifacts (he was an avid amateur anthropologist/archeologist.  wow, there is a lot of alliteration in that last sentence).   

  

Since we were already in North London, we decided to check out Golder's Green, which is like the Lower East Side of London.  That is, this is where every Jew in England goes to stock up on kosher food and other essentials, and it is the only place where I have seen more than one Orthodox Jew at a time during all of my travels in this country.  It's not actually all that exciting, although it is very amusing to see a relatively boring street suddenly turn into a Little Jerusalem without warning.  

The ruggalach were quite delicious.

Now we magically fast-forward to Monday morning (don't worry, you didn't miss anything), on which Cindy and I visited the Jewish Museum.  It's not in Golder's Green, where you might expect it to be; rather, it's in Camden, which doesn't have much to do with anything.  It was an excellent museum, with one of the world's largest collections of Judaica and well-designed exhibition of the history of the Jews in England.  Highlights included:  a very old, and very beautiful, Venetian Ark; a Torah scroll about the size of me; the Hebrew Bananagrams that I bought in the gift shop; and the adorable tour guide who kept insisting that the Jewish mayors of London were the handsomest of all of the mayors.  Also, I may have found a topic for my graduate thesis [reminder to self: Nina Salaman].  So that's a plus.

We had some lunch in a pub and watched a bit of Olympics (have I mentioned that I have almost no time to watch Olympic events?  Outside of what I've seen in person, I've only been able to watch a few swimming races and snatches of other things.  It makes me kind of sad), after which we did a tiny bit of shopping in an extremely sketchy and most likely illegal street market thingy.  I acquired a most excellent piece of event-appropriate clothing, which you will see shortly.

The next few hours were a blur of crazed travel, but eventually, somehow, we found ourselves in....

Olympic Park!  (That's Olympic Stadium in the background.)

The Olympic Park is like Disneyland.  Which is to say that it is insanely crowded, brightly colored, crowded, full of highly overpriced official merchandise, crowded, has incredibly long queues for everything, and is rather crowded.  There was a fifteen minute queue just to get into the Megastore (yes, that's what it's called), which gives you some idea of how terrifying it was inside.  And the sad thing is that whatever you wanted to buy was inevitably completely sold out or not available in your size (serious first world problems).

That said, it's a very cool place.  Even though there are arenas all across London (and some outside of London), this is the real center of the action.  The structures that everyone talks about—the Orbit, the Stadium, the Aquatics Centre, and my personal favorite, the Pringle (though that's not its real name)—are all here, and there is a great deal of general excitement pervading the atmosphere.

Orbit!  Stadium!  Crowds!

General Excitement!

First stop in the Park was the aforementioned insanity that was the Megastore.  It was stressful.  But I bought some things.  So that was good.

This looks like my 'excited' face, but it's really my 'oh god this place is scary' face.

Second stop in the Park was for some much-needed sustenance, which was fulfilled in the most wonderful way possible:

My favorite British food, PASTIES!!!  (Paah-stees, not pay-stees.  This is very important to remember.)

After pasties, we were off to Riverbank Arena to watch some hockey; men's field hockey, to be more precise.  I wasn't actually aware that men played field hockey, but that's unimportant.  What is important, however, is who was playing.  The first game that we were set to watch was a match between Great Britain and Argentina, and let me tell you, I was extremely excited about watching GB compete before a home crowd.   

This is my excited face.  (If you look at the scoreboard behind me, GB had just scored its first goal).

Properly attired.

What can I tell you about the hockey game?  Well, I don't really know anything about hockey.  I played field hockey for all of half of a practice in middle school.  It was an exciting match to watch, certainly.  GB played well.  They won, in fact: 4-1.  Also, it was played on a wet turf.  This is apparently newfangled technology that makes the game faster and more exciting.  I just liked that you could see the water splashing when someone whacked the ball particularly hard.

If you can make something out of this photo, congratulations— 

you know a whole lot more about field hockey than I do.

The best part of the match, really, was being part of a 90% British crowd.  I do have to say that it must have been rough, being the Argentinian team, playing in front of such a crowd, and I should also admit that my previous feelings of the great Olympic Spirit kind of dissipated in the face of getting to cheer my lungs out for Team GB.  I even sang the British national anthem (yes, I know the words.  And if someone from the State Department is reading this, please don't revoke my citizenship.  Thanks).  But the Brits brought out a pep band (props to whoever smuggled that trombone through security), a hilarious man who cheered louder than his entire section combined, and one guy who bravely caught a stray ball that flew over the barrier and into the crowd and then actually threw it back onto the pitch instead of hording it away as a prize, so I think my bias was warranted.  Man, this country is awesome.

A super-happy British crowd cheering the Team GB victors.

So after GB wiped the floor with Argentina, we had a long break before our second match, which we spent waiting in a very long queue for hot chocolate.  It had suddenly gotten rather cold, and I was very grateful for my new jumper.

Match #2 was Germany v. Belgium, and I wasn't sure which team to cheer for at first, until I noticed that we were sitting near a very dedicated (read: body paint and flag-patterned wigs) Belgian cheering squad, so I decided to follow their lead.  Belgium lost to Germany, 2-1, in this round, and one of their players was hit in the head with a ball and carried off of the field on a stretcher, which was pretty scary, but all in all, it was a good match.  A bit less energetic, perhaps, though this also could have been related to how cold we had all gotten, but whatever.  

We left the park a bit wiser about hockey, a bit laden down with official Olympics goods, and at one point, got quite a bit lost, but eventually made it back to the flat and collapsed.  But as great as Monday was, it was nothing compared to the day that followed, a story which, my dear readers, I regretfully must save for another night.  Until then, I leave you on a note of celebration for the two gold medals that Team GB won today: