Londra Chiamando!

Picture: The Pisa airport really, really likes pigeons. Seriously. This is only a small sample of the pigeon tribute action going on in this place.

So I can recap really quickly my week:
School. Food. School. Wednesday was a holiday: beach trip to Viareggio. Swimming, tanning, rain. I also climbed a clown statue; fun was had by all. Next evening I was off to London.
London
First of all, allow me to comment on the quality of service on Ryan air. It sucks.
Anyhow, I got to London somehow all by myself. And by London I mean Stansted airport, which apparently is a little bit different. I slowly had several realizations, the sum of which amounts to a case of mild culture shock, I suppose. Here are my revelations, in chronological order, about London:
1. It's a lot more eff'ing cold in London than in Florence.
2. They speak English everywhere (though sometimes indecipherable)!
3. They are nice to you. Even helpful, I daresay!
4. Buildings are new. Buses are on time.
5. HOlycrapeverythingcostsamillionpounds.
So I get off the plane and try to figure out how to find the Stansted express. Sadly, it had stopped running, so I hurried over to the bus ticket booth to find my way to Queen Mary College, part of the University of London, where Sadaf studies (oh, by the way, I was visiting one of my best friends on God's great Earth, Sadaf of the University of Southern California and the greater Los Angeles area). Still in Italian mode, I pushed my way through to the front of the line, cutting off an (ironic) italian to buy my bus ticket. I grabbed it and boarded the bus as quickly as possible. Cozy in my seat snacking on box of chocolate chip cookies, I watched that very Italian woman I cut in line run after our coach as we pulled away. I laughed to myself a little. This is what Ryan air does to me.
On the bus, I was quite excited and realized how much I love traveling alone. Good thinking time, no groups to herd about and wait for as they take a wee (yes I picked up some London-ish while I was there). Perhaps, I thought, I shall take some time after the Florence program to travel alone for a few days. Ireland, maybe. I've always wanted to go. My attitude towards travelling alone would soon shift dramatically, as I was to see on the voyage home. Sit tight.
So I take a cab--driven by a half Jewish-American, half British orphan who proved to be quite friendly, full of paternalistic advice, and very much so racist--to Queen Mary near the Mile End bus stop. I meet Sadaf, we chat until 4am, and time for bed.
Next day (Friday), we woke up early to get over to Lord's for a grand ol' time watching a cricket match. Strange experience. Turns out people don't really go to cricket matches to watch cricket, but to be alone and sometimes tan, catch up on reading. Sadaf, Jeanine (sadaf's friend from UMich) and I were the only females present in the entire stadium. All in all, I'm glad I can say that I went. Not the typical tourist experience. I have no idea who was playing or who won, but I went and I had a chicken pot pie. After unsuccessfully trying to finagle some afternoon tea, we headed back to grab some dinner at the local super. Sadaf and I took in a movie, Fracture. Which was interesting. I ate a crapload of candy. It was great.
On Saturday, we went to Burrough market. A delight. Free samples everywhere. My favorite was the Italian booths. I was all, "hey kids, I eat this every day. and it's better." I felt very hoity toity and special. Afterwards, we headed over to the Tate Modern to see "the event of the year," according to London newspapers: the Gilbert and George exhibit. They were pretty IN YOUR FACE kind of guys. They didn't look like artists at all, more like two middle aged desk workers. On the other hand, there were a lot of semen and turds involved in their "sculpture" work. Yeah. You should google them, probably.
Then I dragged Sadaf to Portobello Market, where we went to Hummingbird Bakery. It came highly recommended by a girl I know who had gone to Oxford last quarter, and we bought some really really good cupcakes to have after dinner. We also perused the market a bit. I encouraged Sadaf to get her grandmother a magnifying glass with a ram's horn handle. She wasn't that enthused about it. If I didn't have to pay for carry ons, I would have totally gotten it. Yeah.
After a well deserved nap, Sadaf and I hopped on the tube (I had bought my own Oyster card for London Underground savings and convenience, and felt very local indeed) to get to Brick Lane, THE place for Indian food. SO delicious. I miss Indian--and all my other favorite food varieties, for that matter--so very very much, and it was great to get some since Italians don't really do food that is, er, not Italian. Back at home, we skyped Sadaf's grandma, had some fun giggle time/cupcakes, and hit the hay.
This morning (Sunday) we went to Oxford Circus to cram in some sweet shopping before I had to catch my plane home. WOW London has some great (albeit expensive) shopping. That is all. We also went to a chicken restaurant, and I had a spicy chicken caeser salad, another cuisine that escapes the Italians, and all was well with the world after 3 diet cokes (one of the only places I've seen in Europe so far that gave free refills. I was a little overzealous).
After many many other forms of transportation to get back, I found myself in Pisa at 10:15, stranded. The trains stopped running, the strike-obsessive bastards. I managed to find a bus that went to florence for only 8 euro, but it left at mezzanotte (nearly two hours later). With nothing to occupy myself except a giant bag of M&M's (hey, I needed to spend my last few pounds on SOMETHING), I sat outside cold, alone, bug bitten, near tears, chewing furiously, waiting for this God-forsaken bus, and trying to remember how to say, "I've been stabbed" in Italian; I don't think 911 operators here speak very much English. Finally, the bus arrived, and the driver promptly informed me that I was not allowed to wait on the bus until it was scheduled to leave. Welcome back to Italia, Molly. Anywho, I'm home and glad to be back, glad to have been outside of Italy, and dog-tired. If you're still reading, good lord! Go to bed. That's where I'm off to. My favorite picture from the weekend will be published soon. Fine.