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!).