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: