I ripped my pants in Portugal.

First things first: "Pants" in England means underwear, so by saying I ripped my pants my British friends think I ripped my underwear. This is not the case. I ripped my jeans. Clear? Okay. 

Sunday Jenny said "I'm going to Portugal on Tuesday; You should come."

Tuesday Jenny left, and I said "I think I'll go to Portugal." I booked a flight. 

Friday I flew to Portugal to meet up with Jenny.

I stayed four and a half days in Albufeira, Portugal, along the southern coast of the country. Our days included exploring local towns via train. We sailed on a Pirate Ship (the Santa Bernarda) in Portimao, and we spent a day exploring the cliffs and coast of Lagos. On the morning of our departing flight we climbed on the wrong train and headed in the opposite direction of our airport. We nearly missed our flight... and made it to check-in with six minutes to spare.

Following is an excerpt from my journal, summing up just one of the fun experiences we had:

20 April Sunday.

train: Albufeira to Lagos. 

11:39 a.m.

Crap. I ripped my pants. 

Jen and I were discouraged by the intermittent rain clouds in Albufeira so we decided to take a train to Lagos for the day. We naively managed to jump in a cab at the hotel without checking the train schedule. In the backseat of the taxi we looked at the train timetable and realized the taxi driver had 9 minutes to get us to the station --- otherwise, the next train wouldn't leave for 3 more hours. 

How do you tell a Portuguese taxi driver to hurry? "Faster? Rapido?"

Whatever we said worked because somehow we made it to the train station at 11:30... with our train to depart at 11:32. We dashed onto the first platform only to see the train, our train, across the tracks. We saw two old Portuguese men standing there and we pointed to the opposite train and said "Lagos?"  They nodded enthusiastically and replied with what I assume is "Yes" in Portuguese.

Unfortunately, the only way to get to the other train platform was to go up some stairs to a walkway that went over the tracks, and then back down some stairs. 

On a slippery, wet surface and in flip-flops, we climbed 40+ steps up  --- ran across --- and 40+ steps down. We jumped aboard the graffiti-covered train, and 20 seconds later it started rolling down the tracks. 

Phewwww. 

We sat down. Relieved. Victorious. I looked down at my jeans.

Somewhere along the sprint to catch the 11:32 train I managed to rip my jeans. Not once, oh no no, my friend. Twice. There's a tear along the inner seam and also a rip a couple inches down from my back pocket. The rips are perpendicular. And quite obvious.  I am awesome. 

Go back to the hotel and get new trousers? Not an option. 

Onward to Lagos. 

choo, choo!

(Afterthought:  We ended up having a great day in Lagos, exploring the beaches and cliffs around the city. I threw my jeans in a rubbish bin.)

Mum.

She has already come and gone. 

A week ago today she was still packing, and now she's already on her way home. 

My mom, that is. 

I met her at London Heathrow Airport last Friday when her flight arrived. It was her first airplane ride solo, and I was very impressed that it was her idea to come visit me by herself. 

After introducing mom to my neighborhood and getting her luggage put away in my apartment, we wasted no time and set out for Oxford Street. (a.k.a. My favorite shopping spot in London). We spent the afternoon shopping and spending my hard-earned London pounds. After a bit I could tell mom was winding down -- probably a mixture of jet-lag, travel, and just being sleepy Ann -- so I suggested we head back to my 'hood, Queen's Park. I made my favorite Indian dish for dinner and we went to bed semi-early. 

Saturday included a boat ride to the area of London known as Greenwich. It's home to the National Observatory and Prime Meridian Line, as well as the National Maritime Museum and some cool markets. Of course we did some shopping at the markets before climbing a very steep hill to the National Observatory. There we took pictures straddling the Prime Meridian Line, and beaming at the fact that we were so cool to be standing in the Eastern AND Western Hemispheres at the same time. 

The boat ride back to central London was sunny and pleasant. We departed the boat at Westminster Pier and walked across the river to the London Eye (Ferris Wheel) where we purchased tickets and started standing in the rain to wait in line. That's when I spotted one of my BUNAC friends (Matt from Kentucky). Matt works the London Eye security and he moved us up to the front of the line. Friends in high places can never hurt. :)  The rain continued, but within minutes of boarding the Eye an awesome rainbow appeared in the sky. It was a terrific way to end a great day.

We rose early Sunday morning to catch a train to Canterbury, England, located approximately 90 minutes east from the center of London by train. During our ride we met two goofy British guys who were drinking and trying to get us to sit and chat with them on the train. I pointed to mom a few rows down the train and said, "I better not. I'm sitting with my mom, she's visiting from the States." I pointed to mom and she waved. I hoped this would be enough for them to let me get away. Instead, they replied, "Oh, bring Mum down. We'd love to meet American Mum." I just laughed and made up an excuse about us needing time for mother-daughter bonding. They nodded and seemed to understand. 

Normally I'm thrilled to meet random people during my travels, but I wasn't keen to introduce mom to two guys who were already drunk on a train at 11:00 a.m., Sunday.  Classy. 

Canterbury was lovely. Small pedestrian-only streets lined with cute shoppes and pubs. We made our way to Canterbury Cathedral, the primary reason for our trip. I've seen quite a few cathedrals in my day -- thanks to British Studies field trips and independent travel -- but Canterbury Cathedral is among my favorites. If the stunning architecture and stained-glass windows weren't enough, consider the cathedral's history:  It was here in 1170 that Archbishop Thomas Beckett was murdered by "order" of King Henry II. (The sword marks are still visible in the stone floor). As a result, Beckett was declared a martyr and Canterbury was considered a holy place where people made pilgrimages. And thus, a little poem was written about the pilgrimages.... You may have heard of it:  The Canterbury Tales, by Geoffrey Chaucer. 

Monday consisted of more London shopping and sightseeing. That evening we had a nice steak dinner in Piccadilly Circus before heading to the Piccadilly Theatre to see the musical Grease. It was great, and I think mom really enjoyed it too. We found it humorous that occasionally the British actors' true accents would come out and overpower the American accents they were supposed to be projecting. My Australian friend Olivia was also viewing the musical that night, so mom was able to meet her. Mom also met my friend Kyle (Denver, Colorado) because he works at the Piccadilly Theatre. On our way home we stopped by The Chandos Pub near Trafalgar Square so mom could meet yet a few more friends: Jenny (Minnesota) and Londoners, Christine and Louise. 

Are you still with me? 

I know, it's hard to believe we accomplished all of this in just four and a half days!

Tuesday was our final day and we started it with a Big Bus Tour. You know, so mom could see everything one last time. The tour went all around and through the city: Tower of London, Tower Bridge, Big Ben, Westminster, St. Paul's Cathedral, and the list goes on...  We got off at Buckingham Palace and walked around Green Park and on to see Big Ben again. We jumped on the tour bus again and rode it to Harrod's where mom purchased a few things for herself. We took the Tube home so Mom could begin packing. 

We got up at 3:45 this morning (Wednesday) so we could catch the 4:40 bus to Paddington Station where we caught the 5:10 train to Heathrow Airport where mom checked in for her 7:45 flight to Chicago. Phewwww. I'm exhausted. 

It's now 9:15 a.m. here in London. Mom is (fingers-crossed) safely on her way over the Atlantic Ocean now heading for Holland, Indiana. And I, well I am on my way to a glorious nap. 

x Ash

My first Olympic torch relay. My first protest.

Sounds glamorous, doesn't it? 

I don't know too many people who have been lucky enough to watch the Olympic torch run by them. And I'm sure there are even fewer who have been in the midst of a protest against the Olympic games. 

I accidentally attended the Olympic torch relay today. I knew it was going on, but I forgot. I was actually on my way to meet a friend for tea, and when I exited the Tube at Trafalgar Square I was greeted by thousands of onlookers, waving flags of China and Great Britain and "Beijing 2008". Of course I weaseled my way to the front as far as the crowd would allow me. The atmosphere was amazing. London has a large Chinese population, and it seemed like they had all come out to see their torch pass by. I was excited and I felt happy for the Chinese around me, sharing in what must have been a very proud moment for them. 

The mood changed quickly as protesters of the Olympics starting chanting and pushing their way through the crowd. They held up signs reading "Free Tibet" and "Tibet's justice should come before the Olympics" and other signs encouraging the removal of China's occupation in Tibet.  It was neat at first. I had to respect these protesters who felt so strongly about their cause. I didn't know enough about the China/Tibet situation to really feel angry or threatened by either side. Honestly, I was just trying to snap a good picture of the torch bearer as he/she ran by.  

I noticed the protesters were being swamped and nagged by the Chinese. The anti-Olympic and pro-Tibet signs were being stolen and broken, or someone bearing a Chinese flag would try to cover a protester's sign with his flag. This brought about roars of cheers from the predominantly Chinese crowd. As did the removal of several protesters by the London Police. 

I didn't move. Still on such a high because I was in London at an Olympic torch relay, I didn't want to move. I wanted to take it all in. It wasn't until I saw a man being beaten that I decided it best to take my naive, American self out of the situation....

It happened shortly after the torch came through Trafalgar Square. Anyone familiar with the Square knows there are two large fountains. Fans and protesters alike were standing on the edges of the fountains to get better views. I noticed one protester because he had a bright yellow towel that read "Stop the Killing in Tibet". 

A minute later I saw this same guy and he had climbed up onto the highest point of the fountain, getting quite wet, but making quite a statement too, as he was now visible to a larger percentage of the crowd. Before I knew what happened I see another man (obviously anti-Tibet or super pro-Olympic; for the sake of reducing confusion we'll call him red jacket man) and he tries to knock the protester down. He fails, so he climbs up to the level of the protester. 

Protester man jumps down into the fountain, probably 18 inches deep. Red jacket man spits on him and then proceeds to jump on top of him. The men are both drenched as protester tries to get away from crazy red jacket man. But crazy doesn't stop there. He's chasing protester through the fountain and hits him over the head several times repeatedly. It was sort of a punch, sort of a hit, and it looked nasty. Onlookers were cheering and screaming. It was so intense. 

I actually have it all on video. Red jacket man was arrested shortly after this incident. 

As I walked away to meet my friend I couldn't begin to process the events I had just witnessed. How silly of me to think the Olympics are "everyone's games" and a time for "peaceful sportsmanship".  I thought everyone loved the Olympics. Boy, was I wrong.