I live in the belief that, if I am ever going to be the writer that I aspire to be, I should travel not only for the sheer pleasure of it but the influences those experiences might provide. I've only been to a few places so far: Boston, South Carolina, Florida (a long time ago), New York, Washington D.C., Chicago, Toronto, Niagara Falls, and London. The last trip is the furthest I've ever traveled and provides me with a number of great memories.
While I was at Ohio State, I heard about a class that concluded with a ten day excursion to London to see the places we had read about in the novels required in the class syllabus. Aside from these specific locations, we would check out some of the more touristy spots throughout London and some neighboring towns. To be admitted into the class, one had to apply by composing an essay explaining why we should be considered for the course. I decided that the best argument I could formulate for why I should be included in the course and its subsequent voyage would be that one of the best ways to improve my writing would be through experience. I valued such a trip for the experience it would provide. Somehow, I convinced them.
The funny thing about the class that preceded the trip was that I had roughly ten weeks worth of time to spend with the people I would be traveling with, but I was kind of quiet. Oddly enough, as outgoing as I am in my daily routines I am generally quiet throughout class. Unless I have something crucial to add, I'll keep to myself. As some of the people who know me from Otterbein will attest, this is exactly how I was during my initial time at the university while I attended to get my teaching certification. I just sat there in my black hoody and shaved head probably resembling something like the unibomber. Well, my time in the class of earlier mention went much of the same way. Except for one persistent blond who sat next to me who would poke me, nag me, and even draw on me, I pretty much kept to myself aside from one-liners every so often. I have often heard from those who had that class with me that, up until the plane ride on the way to London, they only knew me as the kid who said witty things from time to time. They would come to learn how loud and obnoxious I really am. I would venture to guess they even enjoy, considering a few of them have remained friends over the years.
I have tons of memories from this trip. Reading Weekly World News with Geraldine, Katie W., and Caroline on the plane. Laughing with Emily Rosen about the safety precaution pamphlet. Drinking in the middle of Hyde Park with the group until the park closed and some young hooligans helped us escape. Climbing the lions in Trafalgar Square. Going to see The Phantom of the Opera and meeting a couple from Texas (who kept buying me drinks because they had a son my age in college and I was also American). Going to a bar afterwards with my classmates and running into a guy who was a foreign exchange student in my small hometown (had to get a picture with him). The Jack the Ripper tour. Seeing Romeo and Juliet at The Globe Theatre. Visiting Cheers of London. Watching Geraldine chew a guy out for creepily hitting on her and making the mistake of calling her "Chinese." Perhaps the best was going to the original Hard Rock and sneaking down to the fault during our two hour wait to get a table. While there we met a stoner who was in charge of the tours who decided to let us hang out with him. He even went as far as to let me play the guitars of certain rock idols who I have already named in my fifteen facts (Vedder, Cobain, Hendrix, Vaughn, and Clapton). Later, I stood on the table and sang "I Believe in a Thing Called Love" and was able to get the entire restaurant to sing and clap along.
It was a great time. Almost too great to convey in this blog. One of my favorite times. I hope that I am able to return one day.
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