Sleep is for the weak. Or I would be telling myself that if I hadn’t quietly passed out in the corner of a McDonald’s right near the Oxford Circus subway stop for the better part of an hour shortly upon my arrival. Thank goodness for fathers, really, because without mine and his 5 hour energy that he slipped into my palm as I was about to go through security all those hours ago, I’m not sure how or where I would be right now. Instead I managed to sucfessfully spend the better part of the day – future, for you readers at home – awake and on my feet walking about town. Currently waiting so that I may board my train to Paris and whittling away time writing about it.
London is a pot pourri of languages and cultures so much so that one hears Spanish, Arabic, Japanese almost as much as English itself. I am nothing if not pleseantly surprised for it; even as these worldy vendors gouge me for a cup of Starbucks coffee.
Jet lag has never hurt so bad.