AMSTERDAM - the city without rules.

You know the saying "What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas"?...Well, the same is to be said about Amsterdam.  What happens in Amsterdam, should definitely stay in Amsterdam.  So because I went to Amsterdam last weekend and because of my new rule and slogan, I regret to announce that I have nothing to report back on...Just kidding.  But because I have parents who actually parent (rather than try to be my best friend -- thank goodness, that would be weird), and because I am not sure I am allowed to upload some of my experiences and pictures online without being kicked off of my own blog, I have decided to edit my adventurous weekend in Amsterdam and make it appropriate for all ages...I think.
My trip to Amsterdam started at 5 in the morning.  I had to be at the train station by 6:15 am, and because I always like to get places early, I left my room by 5:30, walking from my flat into the pitch black morning.  As soon as I stepped outside, I was greeted by a windstorm.  After just curling my hair into perfect waves, I arrived at the train station with matted and static-stricken hair that looked as if someone had just rubbed a balloon over my head.  What a waste of 30 minutes the night before in creating the perfect curl.  Oh well.  And it's not like I didn't have options...I could have gotten a taxi to rescue me from the wind.  But after going over my European bank statements with my Mom over winter break, I decided to save the extra 5 pounds and spend it on something a little more important...food.
Once my train arrived into London, Paddington I hopped on the Heathrow Express train (which is more expensive than taking the tube), but my flight was so early in the morning, and in order to make it to Heathrow Terminal 4 in time, I had to spend a little extra.  A girl's got to do what a girl's got to do.
Arriving about an hour and a half before my flight, I browsed through the airport's Harrod's, and I actually found I really cute bag for sale.  But don't worry Mom, I resisted.  After browsing for about forty-five minutes, I went to check my gate number, only to find out that my flight was delayed an hour.  Usually, I would be mad.  But being delayed inside a terminal of a European airport is not the worst thing that could happen.  The shopping, I mean browsing, is just too good to get upset over.  And I don't mean to contradict myself either.  What happened in Heathrow in December is a totally different story from being delayed an hour to Amsterdam.  It's not like I was stranded for nights at a time and about to miss Christmas.  So there I was, delayed an extra hour to shop in Harrods.  Hard Life.
The flight to Amsterdam was only fifty minutes.  BUT THEY WERE THE SCARIEST FIFTY MINUTES I'VE HAD IN A LONG TIME.  Remember the wind that I mentioned earlier?  Well apparently, no matter how high you are flying in the sky, winds like that can almost bring down a plane.  And I'm being for real here.  I didn't think I was going to make it to Amsterdam.  Meanwhile, I had a gum-chewer sitting next to me.  And on that flight, I learned that with the more turbulence, the more unlikely a person is to close their mouth while chewing gum.  Now, I understand if you want to crack your gum and chew as loudly as you want, but ONLY and I mean ONLY, if you are in a room by yourself.  Once you are in public and sitting next to somebody (especially me), you BETTER keep your mouth shut while chewing, or you BETTER believe you will see lots of eye rolls coming your way (especially from me).  But luckily, the plane landed without being thrown to the ground, and the gum-chewer and I departed separate ways.
Even though my flight was delayed a little, my friend, Ari, wasn't getting in for another two hours.  But rather than shop/browse around the different stores within the terminal, I decided to sit on a bench and rest my nauseated body after a flight filled with turbulence.
When her plane landed I was feeling better.  We then proceeded to take the tram to our hotel only to find out that it was okay to smoke in the rooms, because well, we were in Amsterdam...the city without rules.  I was worried though.  I am not one to be able to breathe in a smoky room.  And now that we were in Amsterdam, what did a smoking room even mean?  Tobacco only?  Or was marijuana and crack-cocaine okay too?  What about needles?  Was shooting up heroin allowed in hotels?  Had the people who stayed in the room before us been smoking hash?  I was nervous.  And I knew that I had to expect everything because after all, I was not in England anymore.  
But thankfully our room was to my liking and not only did it not smell like smoke, but there was a fresh lemon scent to the air.  After walking around for a little and eating a plentiful dinner, Ari and I went back to the room to change into more appropriate outfits to explore the Amsterdam nightlife.  But before hitting the pubs, Ari and I decided to take a little walk down the Red Light District.  And for some reason, we didn't end up on the main drag, but happened upon many little ally-ways with red lights shining upon the almost naked prostitutes in the window.  Now, I don't know what I thought it was going to be like, but for some reason, I thought going to the red light district in Amsterdam and looking at the prostitutes would be a fun and exciting experience.  But it wasn't.  It was quite possibly one of the saddest things I have ever experienced.  Now I've experienced a lot of sad happenings for a twenty one year old kid.  I volunteered in a Children's Hospital for three years and took witness to dying children every week.  I went to Argentina and volunteered there for orphans and underprivileged children.  But walking into the red light district brought a type of sadness I don't think I had ever experienced before.  Seeing women actually trying to sell themselves in windows was both chilling and depressing.  And the guys watching the prostitutes through the windows were disgusting.  As I looked around at where I was, I noticed that Ari and I were the only girls in the ally-ways of the red light district who were not prostitutes.  And it's not like I felt in danger, I just felt sickened by the way these men would watch these girls to determine how much they would pay for 15 minutes of sex.  It was like these girls were puppies; the men scoping them out through a glass encasement, trying to bargain for their body.  But they weren't puppies.  They were real human beings, and for me, it was a sad sight.  I found it particularly off putting watching the police walk past the different hookers and check them out as if once their shift was over, they were going to go pay for their 15 minutes as well.  And an image that will never be able to leave my head: as soon as a man left one of the prostitutes "room" (obviously he had paid for his 15 minutes and it was now over), the prostitute reopened her curtain and started to dance in the window in hopes of attracting another dirty scum-bag from the side of the road, after just finishing up with her current skeeze.  Ari and I had never felt so lucky to be in school and to be walking in the red light district as tourists.  I have always been appreciative of my parents and the fact that I come from a loving family and have great community to fall back on.  All the times my parents were hard on me, I knew it was for a purpose, and after witnessing women selling themselves in glass cages as if they were locked up in a puppy store, I had never been so grateful for my parents pushing me to be my best.  Seeing the prostitutes and knowing that it is legal in Amsterdam and that the police walk the ally-ways to pick out their girls for later in the night, I had stepped out of my safety bubble, and my eyes were opened into a world which I never knew existed.  And don't get me wrong, I knew that the red light district technically existed, but when seeing it firsthand, it was very different from hearing about it.  It became real.  And not the good kind of real.

The windows behind me have their curtains closed.  That means that a man has paid for his 15 minutes with the prostitute.  Also, I was surprised to see the physical appearance of these hookers.  Some of them were young and in good shape, but the majority were older women who had not worked out in quite some time.  It saddened me to think how long they have worked as prostitutes in the red light district.  

The main part of the red light district - not the ally-ways Ari and I first walked down.  If you look closely, there are half naked women in the red windows of this photo.  This was also a shocking scene for me because there are families that walk up and down this street (this is the street looking onto the canal).  I wondered if the kids who grow up there think it's weird to see prostitutes on a regular basis.  Ari and I also met a few other Americans that told us they took a picture of a prostitute in the window of the red light district and she got so mad she came out of her "room" and started screaming at them.

  After a full night out on the town, Ari and I woke up early the next morning to fit in a whole day of sightseeing.  And our first stop was Anne Frank's house.  Excited to see where Anne Frank spent her time hiding, I was disappointed to learn that her house/bedroom, was a recreation, not the actual thing.  Apparently it's not even the same building, it's a remodeled version of the original.  With over an hour wait to get in, Ari and I left Anne Frank's house and went straight to the I AMSTERDAM sign.  Now, everyone who goes to the I AMSTERDAM sign always takes lots of pictures of themselves climbing the letters and dangling from the top.  But unfortunately, the one weekend that the front of the letters were blocked off, was the weekend that we were in Amsterdam.  But rather than let that get our spirits down, we stayed positive and took the pictures anyway...except the letters were all backwards.  So even though the front was barricaded, I still climbed into the letters and took the ultimate Amsterdam tourist photos.  

And after our photo-shoot at the I AMSTERDAM sign, we went to the Van Gogh Museum.  The Museum was amazing, and never before had I been surrounded by so many beautiful Van Gogh's.  

Another tid-bit about Amsterdam: Amsterdam is also known as the city of diamonds.  And I LOVE diamonds, because after all, diamonds are a girl's best friend.  So when walking to our next destination (the Heineken Factory), Ari and I stumbled upon the Diamond Exhibit, and Ari being the stylish girl she is, loved looking at the diamonds as much as I did.  

After "oohing" and "aahhing" over the magnificent jewelry, we decided to take the stereotypical picture in front of Amsterdam's beautiful canal.

But what I found to be the hardest adjustment while vacationing in Amsterdam, were the bicycle riders.  THERE WERE THOUSANDS OF THEM.  With all of the cars going in the right direction on the road, I still found walking around Amsterdam more difficult than walking around any city in England.  Not only did I have to keep out on alert for all of the cyclists, but they made me quite jumpy.  

I always think it's very dangerous when I see a parent place their baby in a little seat on the back of their bike and then ride as if they are hauling around a backpack.  But in Amsterdam, rather than put their babies in a little seat with a helmet, the parents would literally put their babies on the front handle bars and peddle as if all were normal!  

Not normal.  Some of the babies were to young to even support themselves sitting up so their parents would literally, not figuratively, but literally, ride with one hand holding up their baby's head, and the other steering through traffic and pedestrians.  If you ask me, that's illegal, but since I was in Amsterdam, it was the norm AND most definitely legal to ride your bike with your teeny, little baby sitting against the handle bars!!! And no helmets!    

Look at all of those bikes!!!!  Imagine them filled with babies on the handle bars!  So scary!

Although I didn't approve of the bike scene in the city, I did rock some Amsterdam bicycle sunglasses!

Another one of my favorite parts about Amsterdam, or I guess Holland in general, was their love of clogs.  Clogs were everywhere!  I almost bought a pair, but Ari helped me realize that for over 20 Euro, it was a waste since I would never be able to wear my wooden clogs out, especially not to parties.  Agreeing with such logic, I bought a little pair of clog magnets instead, and to tell you the truth, those were expensive enough.  Although I do have a picture of me wearing giant clogs, I still do kind of wish I could have brought home a pair of oversized wooden shoes.  But for now, this picture will have to do.

Look at how happy I look in these giant clogs!

And then I found a clog car!  Trade in the BMW, and get me a clog!  This is what I am going to get my future children for their 16th birthday!  Representin' Amsterdam!!!

And after all of the happiness over the clogs, we finally made it to the Heineken Factory which was cool not because I am at all a beer drinker, but because Heineken originated there and it was interesting to learn its history.  

As I said before, what happens in Amsterdam, stays in Amsterdam.  But because we finished our day with an interesting and somewhat shocking museum, I have decided to write about it, but only to a minimum because this is a blog....not a porn site...

For our last activity of the day, we went to what other than the Sex Museum.  Now to be perfectly honest, I couldn't have been happier that I was with a friend on this trip and NOT with my parents.  That would have been real awkward, real fast.  There were some intense stuff in this museum, some that I can't name (I'm keeping my blog PG), and some stuff that I wouldn't even how to name.  But I thought that since I was in Amsterdam, I should take it all in and explore such a place.  Also, I believe that every Kinsey needs to get in touch with their inner Alfred....

Here are some pictures (the appropriate ones):

When you walked past the butt with the eyes, smoke came out of the butt and the left eye would wink as you passed by.  The first time I walked up the stairs it scared me to death (I was not expecting the smoke to shoot in my face), but the second time I walked by I winked back...natural reaction.  

And later that night we walked around the streets of Amsterdam.  These pictures will give you more of a sense of what a regular stroll in the city is like.

And then, Ari and I went on a pub crawl for our final night in Amsterdam!  We ended up meeting a lot of other American students studying abroad all over Europe for their Junior year.  I even bumped into an Exeter group on our pub crawl!  Small world...especially in Europe.  

In our last and final pub on the crawl (it was more of a disco-dance pub), Ari and I took a seat at one of the tables only to find an older lady passed out next to us.  Amsterdam is truly a strange city...

But after a great weekend in a crazy city, it was time for us to head our separate ways: I was back off to England, and Ari was back off to Florence.  

Even though I did have an amazing and unforgettable weekend, I am truly glad that I did not chose to study abroad there.  Not like I ever thought of studying abroad in Amsterdam, but I couldn't be any happier with my choice in England.  For all of you who are studying abroad or are deciding on studying abroad, or just want to vacation in Europe, go to Amsterdam and see the sights!  But for me (as I hope it is for many others), one weekend in Amsterdam is enough to last a lifetime.  

Another Week in Exeter

Another week in the UK has flown by too quickly.  And the best part about this term is, I seem to have just a few hours of class, and very little work attached with it!  So I find myself in Europe, with four day weekends, and just a tad of reading for each week.  This is my dream world and now I am living in it!
Last Thursday night I decided to head on over to an English night club to hang out with the brits, have fun, and just dance.  But of course, a fun night had to end with a stab...literally.  I was stabbed on the foot by another girl's high heel.  Now, some people's innate reaction is to grab their foot and tend to their wound, but I am not like most people.  Even though my foot was throbbing, the pain was nothing compared to wounds from my past, so rather than rub the pain out of my foot, I cocked my shoulder and thrusted my elbow into the flesh and bones of the girl who had stepped on my foot.  Did I feel bad?  No.  I mean, it's not like I sent the chick toppling onto the floor, I just gave her a little elbow shove to let her know "DO NOT DIG YOUR HEEL INTO MY FOOT AGAIN.  please."  It was nothing more than a simple and friendly reminder that she wasn't the only one on the dance floor.  And I taught this girl a very important life lesson: DO NOT mess with an American.  They will push back.

The next morning, my friends and I woke up early to ensure ourselves tickets to the Powderham Ball that the University throws in late March.  Because this Ball is apparently the Ball of the year, we woke up by 8:45 am to be awake and purchase our ball tickets via internet by 9 am.  I know, 9 am doesn't sound early to most, but I am a college student hitting the town in Europe, so to me, 9 am is when I think the sun rises.  But so worth it waking up that early because take a look at this ball:

http://www.powderhamball.co.uk/

I spent the rest of my day in town shopping for a dress.  Not only had I just purchased tickets to this Ball in March, but that evening I was attending another Ball, A Murder Mystery Ball at Reed Hall.  Very excited to attend but with nothing to wear, my friend and I hit the town and easily found the perfect dress that went along with the 1920's theme.  This dress was amazing and it made me feel quite powerful...literally.  Not only was the dress slimming, but it had a cape!  I actually felt like wonder-woman, ready to fly away with my cape and all!  So after buying the perfect dress with matching jewelry, I got ready with a bunch of my friends, threw on some makeup, and made my entrance into the Ball.  And it was fun!  Not only was it the classiest college party I had ever been to, but to my surprise, there were actors there acting out scenes of the 'murder'.  Pretending as if we were the dinner guests at [the actors] party, they would come around, talk to us, and try to defend their innocence.  All throughout the night I felt as though I were playing a giant, life-sized version of Clue.  After everyone at the Ball cast their vote on who they thought the murderer was, it was revealed.  

The Murderer:  It wasn't the daughter, the wife, the cross-dressed cousin, or the daughter's fiance...it was the minister.  But in all fairness, the minister did have reason to kill such a man: he killed his own father because his father left him when he was a baby and never told anyone that he had a son, and as it turned out, the minister wasn't even a real minister...he was a jew!  

To be fair, I personally didn't see it coming.  I thought it was the daughter because after speaking with her, her story didn't line up with the story of her fiance, but maybe it's because they didn't have enough time to rehearse beforehand.  Besides the point, it was all in good fun.  Here are some pictures from the night:

I felt like a princess going to the Ball and walking on a marble staircase so I decided to drop one of my shoes to make it look like I was Cinderella...except my shoe is a little less exciting than a glass slipper...

Again, I had to wake up early the next morning to head to a trip to Dartmouth, England.  After joining the International Society and buying a bus ticket to tag along on the trip, we made it there in no time, but to my surprise, Dartmouth had much nippier weather than Exeter.  On the water overlooking the Dart river, I guess it did make sense why there was windchill and moist air, but still, my Northface jacket was hung up in my closet because I wasn't expecting the cold; the winter weather in Exeter has been gone since I made it out of Heathrow.  But anyway, Dartmouth was beautiful!  The first thing we did was hike over to the Dartmouth Castle, which after a twenty minute walk in freezing windchill, was a little disappointing.  I mean, this is the smallest castle I have ever seen.  When I imagine a castle I think of dungeons, and big canopy beds with rooms upon rooms.  But this castle, not so much.  If I were the princess of that castle, I would be rather embarrassed.  I mean, a canopy bed wouldn't even fit in the biggest room there, and every princess needs such a bed.  So after a ten minute tour of what could have been a five minute tour of the castle, my friend and I went back into the town of Dartmouth, sat down for some cream tea and scones, and then kept exploring.  

A cannon at the Castle.  (Even their cannons were small...other, better castle's have real, deal cannons.)

I found a cemetery outside of the Castle.  If you don't know me too well, then you need to know that I love creepy/spooky stuff, especially after my room was haunted last year at Kenyon.  My roommate and I had a ghost come in our room a few times, but at Kenyon, that's a pretty regular thing...nothing too out of the ordinary.  There is a whole story about that, but I'll save that for another blog post.  

But my favorite part about Dartmouth, was the fish 'n chips!  

I have been living in England since September, and still, I had never let my taste buds savor the deliciousness of this fried fish.  But walking along the Dart, I decided it was as good a time as even to tempt my fate and take a bite of the what turned out to be one of my new fattiest, favorite foods.  With lots of vinegar and that yummy sauce, I could eat some fish 'n chips everyday.  So after just one bite, I was sold.  So long my health, hello fried up yumminess!

After lunch, we walked around some more and finally called it a day.  

As much fun as I have been having in Exeter my first two weeks back, I am sad to say that I will not be in Exeter for another full weekend starting now.  Although this is sad, I also couldn't be any happier to travel, Travel, TRAVEL!  I am so excited and plan on doing a lot of jet-setting within the next few months.  This weekend = Amsterdam.  Hello Netherlands, goodbye law.  I am so excited to witness the red light district and see all that there is to see in Amsterdam!

I cut my thumb pretty deep yesterday and was kind of upset because it hurt a lot, but now I am realizing that with no laws and no accurate finger print to my thumb, I can do some real damage once I hit this city, and the good thing is, no one will ever be able to catch me.  

With no work, hardly any class, and Amsterdam this weekend, I am sure that I will have a lot to share on my blog for next week...

ALSO, Friday night there is a Barbara Walters special on ABC.  She is interviewing different celebrities who had open-heart surgery and she is going to be talking about her own surgery as well.  This hits pretty close to my heart (no pun intended), so make sure to tune in on Friday.  And if you are wondering how you can save a life and touch a heart, please donate to the AMERICAN HEART ASSOCIATION.  You can save lives with just one donation, as heart disease is the second cause of death in all of America.  We can all make a difference with even the smallest donation!

       

Sweden, Denmark, Hopeless Heathrow, America, and back to England

I know it has been a while since my last blog post, but as seen by the title of this post, it will definitely bring you up to date with EVERYTHING.
So a week after my last blog post (about Belgium and Germany), I turned in my final papers for the semester, took a Spanish exam, and once again, went jet-setting.  Since it was my last travels of the semester and my friend's last travels while abroad because she chose to study for just one semester, we decided to go to what other than the beautiful land of Stockholm for a few days and then end our trip in Copenhagen, Denmark.  After finding great plane fairs and well priced hotels, I was off to meet up with my friend, Liz, in London and from there catch our flight out of the UK.  But big problem.  As I have traveled many times with Liz before while studying in England, we always decided on a place that seemed cool and different to go to and travel around, never EVER checking the weather forecast.  From Southern California, and Liz from San Francisco, it had never even occurred to us to check the weather in different places because we always just assume that the weather will stay the same wherever we go.  Wrong.
For the cheapest airfare, Liz and I bought tickets leaving from London to Stockholm at 6 in the morning.  But because these are all international flights, they recommend you arrive at the airport two hours early, therefore, our recommended time being at 4 am.  Liz suggested we get hotel for the night in London close to the airport, but I, being the 'bearer of good ideas' came up with what seemed to be a 'better' solution at the time.  "Why waste money on a hotel that we have to leave at 3:30 am, when we can just hit London for the night and sleep on the plane?"  And at the time, pulling an all-nighter with Liz seemed like a fun idea, granted our plane ride to Stockholm was only be a two hour flight, not giving us much of a nap time.  However, once hearing my idea, she agreed that it would be way more fun to party than to sleep.
Because I wouldn't be coming back to school to get my big suitcase to take home with me before flying back home for break, Liz and I decided to go to Heathrow before we started our 'party all-nighter' night to drop off our suitcases at the luggage storage when we traveled around Stockholm and Copenhagen.  But because we didn't look up opening and closing times for the luggage storage place in Heathrow, we both booked trains that were getting into London after it was closed.  Of course.  So 10 pounds and the cost of the different ticket fee later, I was booked on an earlier train in order to make it to drop off my well over 50 lbs bag.  Because the train station is about a 30 minute walk and I'm a real girl when it comes to hauling around overweight bags, I decided to call a taxi to drive me to the train station.  With the taxi driver being 15 minutes late, I grew frantic about my train departing without me.  But because it was only a 5 minute drive, I made it with time to spare...and LOTS of time at that.  The screen read: Paddington, Platform 5, delayed over an hour.
Crap.  I had changed my original train booking from that one, to this train (that should have been leaving an hour earlier) so that I would get to Heathrow before the luggage storage place closed.  I tried talking to different people working there, asking if I could jump on the train that would be arriving in 10 minutes without paying another change fee, but of course, I was out of luck.  But because I am stubborn and have a hard time taking 'no' as an answer, I decided that one way or another, I was going to get on that next train.
Dragging my gigantic suitcase behind me, I made my way over to Platform 5 to talk to somebody new and explain my situation.  Well, rather than explain my real situation, I found an older lady and told her that I needed to get on the next train because I had a plane to catch at Heathrow.  Even though my flight wasn't until the next morning, and it was leaving out of Stansted and not not Heathrow, I still don't count it as a lie because I did need to get to Heathrow stat.  But rather than saying anything back to me, the train lady responded by burping in my face.  "Oops, sorry.  Don't tell anyone but I've had a few drinks tonight", she told me.  Not knowing what to say back to her, she looked me in the eye and then whispered into my ear, "Well, if you were my age and working at a train station, you'd be drinking too." Nodding with agreement, I felt her take me by the hand.  "Look, I'll tell you what, when I look at you, I see a lot of myself, so I'm going to help you here.  I'll talk to the train manager and let you get on the next train."  And then of course, there was another burp after.  Even though I was grateful that she was able to get me on the right train, I was a little worried by the fact that an older, drunken train lady saw a lot of herself in me.  But even though she was drunk and sloppy, she did come off quite classy due to her British accent.
Once on the train and seated, I was a little freaked out by the man sitting next to me.  Here's why:  1. He kept calling me lovely.  2. His hands and fingers were filled with dirt.   3. I fell asleep and when I woke up he was taking a picture of me.  This man was creepers.  So rather than wait around and be kidnapped by him, I decided to get up and stand by my suitcase for the duration of the train ride.
Finally I made it to Heathrow and stored my suitcase safe and sound.  Liz's train was delayed too, so rather than wait around, she took a very expensive cab ride over to the airport in order to make it before the place closed.
So after our journeys from school to London, neither of us were in the mood to hit the town, and quite frankly, all I wanted was a hotel room so we could sleep until our flight.  But because of my 'brilliant idea' to go out and party instead, there we were, in London at midnight, exhausted and wanting to relax in a bed.  Also, I forgot to mention, I was sick with a cold (yes, with which I did infect Liz with on our trip).
But luckily, Liz and I found a 24 hour cafe, got some coffee and tried to stay awake.  But then when the crowd got weird, Liz and I bolted and waited in the train station for it to open to catch our train to Stansted Airport.  Finally, we made it to Stansted with about 4 hours to kill, most of which we spent sleeping on the airport benches.  Once in line for boarding, they announced to stay in line, but that our flight was delayed 30 minutes due to severe weather conditions in Stockholm.  Crap.  I did not pack accordingly.  But with sleep as our main concern, Liz and I curled up on the floor (to stay in line) and fell asleep on the airport floor until our plane started boarding.  Not an ideal night of sleep.
And of course, our two hour flight turned into five hours.  Because of the severe snow, our plane was unable to land in the scheduled airport, and had to circle in the air until a different airport would allow us to land.  Now at some random airport way outside of Stockholm, Liz and I had pre-bought bus tickets from the other airport to the city center.  And after about an hour and a half shuttle ride from the random airport, to the airport that we were originally supposed to arrive in, we missed our bus to the city center (by like 6 hours).  After getting new tickets, and eight hours after we were supposed to arrive, Liz and I finally made it to what we found to be the snowiest city in the world...Stockholm.
Exhausted from the journey, we met up with our friend who was studying abroad there, got dinner, showered, and crashed for the night on his couches.  But because he had to catch his flight and be out of his apartment the next morning at 6 am, that meant that we had to be out of his apartment by 6 am.   So the next morning, after not a full night's sleep after an all-nighter, we were thrown out into the bitter cold weather hours before anything was open.  Upon getting frostbite on our toes, we found an open coffee shop and sat there until the christmas markets opened.  But once at the christmas markets, a blizzard hit.

Also, another tid-bit about Stockholm in the winter time...THE SUN DOES NOT EXIST.  I'm not even being a little dramatic here.  It was literally dark every hour of the day.  And cold.  

With already two pairs of knee socks on to keep warm, Liz and I HAD to purchase another pair each (made from alpaca) in order for our toes not to actually freeze off of our feet.  And even with the extra alpaca, the snow still made it's way into my boots to freeze off what little feeling I had left in my feet.

Liz and I decided that this trip we would ditch the hostels and stay in hotels.  Little did we know that HOTELL (with two L's) is the Swedish word for hostel.  Assuming they just added an extra L for the fun of it, we ended up booking and checking into the weirdest and not so nice HOSTEL in the middle of the woods.  But at that point, we were just so happy to see beds, that we got in our pajamas and jumped into our cots and fell asleep.  Our third night on the trip and only our first night in a bed, I assumed that nothing would be able to wake me from my needed sleep.  Wrong.  In the middle of the night, someone rattled our door handle, waking the both of us and thinking that someone was trying to break in.  It turned out that someone forgot their own room number and thought that ours was theirs.  And then there was the man snoring in the room next to us.  Yes, we were able to hear him through a wall.  And of course, the fire alarm went off twice in the middle of the night.  I would not recommend this hoteLL.  

Still blizzarding outside the next morning, we were afraid that maybe our flight from Stockholm to Copenhagen would be cancelled and after being blizzarded in the day before and after our bad nights sleep, we were ready to move onto the next city.  

And then we heard the news about Heathrow.  Heathrow: Shut down on account of weather, should open within the next few days.  Shut down?  But we were supposed to be flying into Heathrow from Copenhagen and then from Heathrow to Los Angeles for me.  And at that moment, after being blizzarded in for the second day in Stockholm, I wanted nothing more but the Southern Californian sun rays, to be sleeping in a bed, let alone my bed.  But now, with Heathrow shut down, I had an awful pit in my stomach that wouldn't be able to be relieved until I was on my British Airways flight to LAX.  Rather than be snowed in at our hostel, we decided to get to the airport early and call our parents to let them know what was going on (which ended up being 2 in the morning West Coast time), Oops.  Both our parents suggested we try and get back to Heathrow asap, even if that meant cutting time short in Copenhagen.  But because the airline told us it would be a 500 pound charge fee (almost $900) to go straight to Heathrow from Stockholm, we decided to wait until we got to Copenhagen to try and get back to London.  But at least Stockholm wasn't a total bust...I did end up meeting a special someone...

Once landed in Copenhagen, we did everything we could do to try getting to any airport in London.  But with Heathrow still being closed, everyone else in the Copenhagen airport had the same idea as we did, in which every seat to London on every plane was taken.  Being told that we could not change our flight, we decided to not worry about it anymore and just to be in good spirits and everything would work out.  

And once in Copenhagen, everything was going a lot smoother.  Our hotel was a real hotel with a real bed.  No fire alarms, no snoring men through the walls.  So for the first time in three nights, we were able to sleep in peace.  However, remember how I said I was sick at the beginning of the trip?  Well, finally after a good nights sleep, I was better, but now, Liz was the one holding the fever.  I felt bad so I pumped her up with advil, and we were ready to explore Copenhagen.  

With just a little snow on the ground, Liz and I were able to really enjoy the city.

But my favorite part of Copenhagen was that my dream came true.  Ever since studying abroad in London, I have been wanting to take pictures with the guards outside Buckingham Palace while making a funny face.  Well, when I went to Buckingham Palace, I had a reality check because that only exists in movies.  All of the guards are actually inside the gates so you can't even take pictures with them.  However, Copenhagen is the real city of dreams, and my dreams did come true.  

But once thrown in the situation, I grew a little frightened of the guards.  They had huge guns, and I'm not talking muscle.  Their guns, (weapons), were huge and I didn't want to get too close to make them think I was trying to attack or anything.  So when it came time to do the silly faces and get close, I chickened out a little.  Although, once their backs were turned, I wasn't afraid to chase them!

In Copenhagen, we saw the changing of the guards:

  

We saw amazing statues:

And, later that night we went to an amazing Christmas market/carnival.  We saw ice sculptures being made!

As a whole, I LOVED Copenhagen!

Well, let's say I loved Copenhagen until we got stuck in Copenhagen...

Again, we decided to book an early flight back into London Heathrow because we both had flights out later in the day from Heathrow (mine was three hours later to LAX, and Liz was had an eight hour layover to then go forth and meet her family in Israel).  But with the news about Heathrow, I started to panic.  I knew that if my flight into Heathrow was delayed even a little, I would miss my flight to Los Angeles, and that would be tragic.  But that was the worst case scenario and with what had happened with all of my travels thus far, I was bound to have something right/good finally take place.  

So with another early morning flight leaving out of Copenhagen, Liz and I decided once again, to not get a hotel room and instead, pull an all-nighter.  But this time it would be better.  Now that we've had a couple nights sleep and were feeling less sick, we could last the night.  And plus, we wanted to celebrate our last night together in Europe since Liz was headed back to Kenyon for the Spring semester.  So after doing our make-up and changing into new outfits, we got ready only to find out that Monday nights in Copenhagen are dead.  Everything was closed.  So our big night celebration quickly turned into a low key night of watching another blizzard take place right before our eyes.  And this did not put me in a good mood.  I knew that our flight couldn't be delayed into Heathrow or else I would miss my next flight.  But with this storm, my hopes of getting to Los Angeles were not very promising.  

So rather than sit around and watch the snow, we decided to take the metro to the airport early.  Even though our flight didn't take off until 7:50, we were there at 3 am.  I always think that getting to airports early is getting prepared.  But what happened next, I was definitely not prepared for.

Since it was 3 am, all of the airport workers were still at home asleep in their beds.  But because we were there, we decided to check the screen anyway, just to make sure that our flight was still on.  But after minutes of searching for our flight from Copenhagen to Heathrow, we still couldn't find it anywhere on the monitor.  We tried checking into a computer with an e-ticket, but there was no record of our flight.  My heart sank faster than a rock sinks in water.  Our flight did NOT exist.  It was not up on the screens, the computer had no record of it, and of course, Copenhagen was now blizzarding.  

I picked up my cell phone and called home.  Luckily since it was three in the morning for me, it was only 6 at night in LA.  And as soon as I started explaining to my parents that my flight didn't exist, I felt tears streaming down my face quicker than I was ready for.  My dad said that he was worried that it was cancelled because for the past few days, both my parents were checking into my flight statuses to make sure that I would not be trapped in Heathrow, and he said just a few hours ago, my flight disappeared from the website.  Liz, the good friend that she is, tried reassuring me that it was just some technical problem and that our flight would be back on the monitor board in no time.  In the meantime, we had two hours to spare until we could speak to an airline representative.  We changed our clothes, brushed our teeth, got some Starbucks, and then assured ourselves first in line by starting to wait at 3:45 am.  

At 5 am we finally talked to someone.  The flight from Copenhagen to Heathrow at 7:50 = CANCELLED due to weather in England.  My heart sank even lower in my chest, and tears were spouting from my face when the lady then told us that the next flight we could get on was for the same exact flight the following.  Not only would I miss my flight home to LA, but now Liz was going to miss her flight to Israel, the flight neither of us were worried about her missing because of an eight hour layover.  But, welcome to our lives.  

Liz and I split up.  Liz went to see if she could get on a flight to Israel for the following day, and I sprinted to British Airways to see if I could fly out of Heathrow a day after I was supposed to because now, we were trapped in Copenhagen.  After about an hour waiting in line, Liz found me and told me that she was able to get on a flight to Israel for the next day which gave me hope for my case as well.  Finally, after waiting in line for four hours to speak with an airline representative, I received devastating information.  Seeing that I was originally supposed to fly out the 21st, and now I was trying to assure myself a seat on the 22nd, my heart dropped yet again when the rude little man behind the desk told me that I wouldn't be able to get on a flight from Heathrow to Los Angeles until the 26th.  "You'll miss Christmas," he told me.  And that's when the waterworks really hit. I hadn't seen my family in so long and after such a stressful trip all I wanted was to go home and hug my mom and dad, snuggle with Lucy, and celebrate the holidays with them.  But this little man was telling me that this would not be an option for me this holiday season.  I begged him to see if there were any other flights out to Heathrow because my dad suggested on the phone that if I were to just get to Heathrow, maybe they would be able to help more.  "No.  Every seat to Heathrow is taken and those flights will probably be canceled anyway," the little man said.  And then the words that haunted me for the rest of the day: "Good luck getting to Heathrow and then good luck getting out of Heathrow," the ugly little man said as I was leaving his counter.  But I kept what dignity I had left and rather than shout something rude back at him, I cried into Liz's Israeli-bound shoulders.  

Liz was now determined to get us both to Heathrow that day.  She had a flight to catch the next day and like my dad, she thought it would be best for me to get to Heathrow too, even though the little man made me think otherwise.  But because the entire Copenhagen airport was trying to catch a flight to London, we traded in our Heathrow tickets (because we didn't have any hopes that it would fly out the next day if the same exact flight was cancelled) and flew to Birmingham, England instead.  One plane ride and a three and a half hour train ride later, we were in Heathrow.  And Heathrow was not a happy looking place.  I sent an e-mail to my parents calling it 'Hotel Heathrow'.   It was serving more as a hotel than an airport, but a better way to describe it is Homeless Shelter Heathrow.  That's what it looked like, a giant homeless shelter.  Person upon person sleeping on the floor, huddled together, holding a hot chocolate to stay warm.  

The first thing we did once we arrived at Heathrow, (the time being 1 am), was go straight to the only open cafe.  We hadn't eaten all day, but at that point all we wanted were hot chocolates to stay warm until the next morning because once again, the English do not believe in central heating, even when their airports cancel 500 flights and know that their travelers are sleeping on cold, tile floor.  Being in Heathrow was a sad sight.  There were people wrapped in tinfoil to keep warm.  When Liz and I were walking around, we saw two guys running up and down the escalator and using their tinfoil blankets as capes.  Liz and I gave them a weird look, and they looked back at us and said, "We've been stuck here for four nights already.  You would be doing this if you were stuck here for four nights too."  And just then I pictured myself playing on the escalator using my tinfoil blanket as a cape.  Except the worst part about it was that in my imagination, I was doing it all alone because Liz would be in Israel.  I guess that's one way to spend your Holidays.  But I shook that picture out of my head and was even more determined to catch the first flight to LAX.

After Liz and I drank our hot chocolate, we went to the bathroom, brushed our teeth, and thought about washing our hair in the sink due to our lack of hygiene because we had no way of showing for the past 2 days.  Not before long Liz and I found a place on the floor and rested our eyes for a nap.  

After only a 45 minute sleep within the past 48 hours, Liz woke me up to inform me that people were already queuing to talk to the British Airways representatives.  Baffled at how long the line was at 3 am, I got in line and stayed in the exact same place until the desks opened at 5 am.  In line I met a guy who had already been stuck in Heathrow for 6 nights.  He said he was trying to get back to New York to see his children, but now he doesn't have a seat on a plane until the 27th...after Christmas and a full other week in Heathrow.  He told me that they won't put him up in a hotel because there are already too many people being put up in hotels, so he waits in line every morning so that he can fly standby just in case there is an opening.  Well, I guess I had another American there to spend Christmas with in the airport if I were to be stuck for an addition week.  

After waiting for hours, I finally made it to the front of the line at 6:45 am.  I explained my situation once face to face with a representative and I showed her the boarding pass I had printed out for my flight that I had missed to LAX.  After a few clicks of the button, she handed me a boarding pass flying out of Heathrow to LAX at 10:15 am for the current morning!!!!  I couldn't believe my eyes and even asked her is that ticket was really for me.  She smiled at me and told me to go get my bag out of storage because the queue to check bags is about 2 hours long and she didn't want me to miss my flight...again.  Overjoyed and after not having any sleep (except for that 45 minute nap) for over 54 hours, my eyes filled with tears of happiness and out of pure excitement, I reached over the desk and hugged the British Airways representative.  I told her that she was making my holiday season complete, but rather than smile back, all she said was, "Well, I'm glad that you have a flight home.  It's just hard because I wish I could help all of these people."  And as she said that, I looked over at the guy who I had been waiting in the queue with and he gave me a thumbs down...he did not get a flight home to New York.  Feeling sorry for him, I gave him a thumbs up, signing that I got a flight home.  

Liz helped me get my bag out of storage, we hugged goodbye, and we were off to our different flights.  When checking my bag, my suitcase was well overweight.  I asked the lady if I had to pay extra and she said that by looking at me, it looked like I had been through enough already, and let my oversize suitcase travel without an extra fee.  Upon boarding my direct flight to LAX, I soon learned that the only available seat left was in business class, and spent my flight stretched out on the business class bed and slept for ten hours.  

When I got my flight, I immediately called home. My parents weren't home to hear the good news, but my brother was waiting by the phones in case I called.  We decided to surprise my parents with my return and pretend as though I was still stuck in 'Homeless Shelter Heathrow'.  But to my surprise, both my brother AND my dad were there waiting for me at LAX (Lucy was waiting in the car).  They decided that I would only be a surprise for my mom (because Matt wasn't sure if he could pick me up from the airport, so he had to tell my dad).  Not only was my mom surprised, but she was also mad that no one told her I got a flight!  So there I was, at home, in time for Christmas with my family!

The holidays were great, my mom's cooking was great, and being able to sleep in a bed, MY bed, was great.  And Lucy was so cute!  I couldn't have asked for a better winter break.  But after three weeks of being at home and being able to do absolutely nothing, it had to come to an end.  

Back in England for a little over a week now, I definitely already love this semester a lot more than last semester.  Seeing that the weather is nice and warm, my room is all set up, and I have a great group of friends, I know that this last term in England is going to fly by. I have already planned a ton of trips with my friends, and after next weekend, I am going to be traveling Europe almost every one of my FOUR day weekends (I don't have classes Friday's or Monday's, and only one on Thursday).  Just my schedule alone is an improvement from last term.  And just last weekend I discovered my new favorite place in Exeter.  Take a look:

And the beautiful Exeter Cathedral:

So now that I have found a new jogging spot on the river, I love Exeter and its beauty all the more!  I promise never to go a full month again without blogging so keep reading about all of my future European adventures!