I see London, I see France.....

Since the past entry on whitechameleon, written well over six months ago, my friends, family, and I have capitalized on life in a way that only self proclaimed San Franciscans can: Day trips to Napa, weekends in Tahoe, and city evenings sipping wine in-between bursts of laughter at slightly offensive jokes.

However, despite the fun there was still something pulling at me. I was yearning for another escape. I coveted time to think, inspiration to write, and freedom from capitalist puritan mores.

My girlfriends, Monica, Valerie, and Trent felt similarly. Although they didn't need designated writing time, they all wanted to flee material yuppiedom, romantic ambiguity, and walk down carefree down old world cobblestone streets to enjoy nothing but the present tense.

Naturally we found ourselves in Europe.

LONDON

The first part of the journey would focus on the city of literary genius. Marks of Oscar Wilde, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and Virginia Woolf were all over London.

Indeed, it was hard not to be motivated to put pen to paper. Unfortunately (or fortunately) there were also many other distractions. Quaint shops, fragrant bakeries, and cozy pubs all vied for out our attention (and share of pocketbook).

And trying to navigate the tube system made one much more thirsty for a beer than a novel. Our first tube journey put us in exactly the opposite corner of London we aspired to be at. Needless to say multiple beers and cider (and highly caloric pub pies) were necessary to commiserate the experience.

Also distracting me from writing was the adorable English accent that permeated the city. I just wanted to sit still and listen to the London voice and its uncanny ability to make commonplace words sound extremely educated. In comparison, I found my own accent ignorant and stupid and have a very hard time not imitating anyone who speaks to me. Not more than 2 hours into the vacation, Monica put me on strict accent probation. Hmmppff. Personally I think I sound much better English and do not understand why my friends insist I speak American.

Valerie, although diligently keeping her Midwest way of speaking and cursing, has embraced London dress. She has decided to wear leggings, a rain hat, and tall boots every day and looks decidedly chic. Given the never ending rain, I am about abandon my Californian attire soon. Wet jeans, stringy hair, and soggy shoes are very unattractive...especially when paired with my now unrecognizable accent.

We stayed up 36 hour yesterday to bite any jetlag in the ‘you know what’…but now are well rested and off for a day of small street walking, high tea at Claridges, and naturally multiple pub stops. After all, wants a sober vacation? Or a non alcoholic writer? ; )

Stay tuned as our adventures are truly just about to start.....