Day One. They still don’t know we’re American.

Eventually, we made it.

Our adventure began on Thursday at the Dayton Airport after we got through security. We had to sacrifice some shampoo and soap in order to save the alcohol. We have our priorities.

We arrived at our gate about an hour before our plane was set to depart only to find out our flight to Newark was delayed.

We were directed to the Chicago airport. Upon arrival, we sprinted to our gate for London. We wanted to enjoy one last Budweiser before departure but alas we had to settle for McDonald’s. We’re not proud.

We sat in the middle section of a 777 which kinda sucks. Our original flight had us sitting in window seats. Considering neither of us have flown over that expansive of an ocean, the middle seats were not a close second. Cori did have the pleasure in sharing an armrest with a giant Russian.

We tried to speak with him, seeing that it was our first attempt at an international conversation. He knew a few words, like hello. And chicken. But whenever he didn’t understand us, he would just say “problem” and would either wink or turn away. Extremely mixed messaging.

But does saying words like that work for situations when you don’t know what word to use?

We’re considering looking up “malfunction” “error” and “glitch” in German, Italian and French as cop outs if we can’t communicate. Fail proof, right?

The flight was OK. And by OK, we mean horrid. You know when people say, “Well, hey! At least you didn’t have to sit next to a screaming baby.” That’s exactly what we did. We sat next to a screaming baby. But to make it even better, we also sat next to his screaming mother who thinks her screaming baby is the cutest being of the earth.

The bathrooms on the plane were disgusting. We’d rather have to use the Kentucky Derby bathrooms than this plane’s bathrooms ever again. Whoever peed before us forgot how to flush the toilet. Oh, and forgot how to use a toilet. There was more pee on the seat than in the toilet bowl.

Thank God for the rum we packed!! We took 2 Zzzquils, 2 melatonins and downed some alcohol to pass out for the duration of our trip.

When we arrived around 6 a.m. we took the underground to Paddington and met Brett.

We had a pretty typical day in London. Brett took us to all the cool, must-see sites. I think we walked 8 miles total around London.

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We were worried about looking too tourist-y with our cameras, jeans and North Faces but it turns out 99% of tourists are extremely ignorant. Walking around with only their cameras as eyes and stopping in the middle of traffic.

We found ways to amuse ourselves despite it. Brett and Cori stood on a bridge that spanned across the Thames River. There were tour boats under us with tourists and cameras packed like sardines. They got a lot of people on the boats to wave sporadically. On agreement of anonymity, we agreed to call a few “Wasians.” The waving Asians, get it?

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We stopped for pints at Old Thameside Inn and tried Spring Magic, Nicholson’s Pale Ale and London Pride. It was a little pub on the river (obviously) so we watched the boats roll by.

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We also went to the Harry Potter bridge, the one the Death Eaters destroyed.

We left our cell phone number at Buckingham Palace, just in case the Queen needs a roomie or something.

We also had our first night out on London. Brett lives in Islington, a walking distance to Shoreditch, “where the hipsters go to party” and went to a Latin bar called Floripa. There were a lot of Americans and a lot of crappy music. They felt the need to appeal to all generations. But it was fun, we tried Sol, which was like Corona, and Sagres.

When we were in the bathroom we had our first “I hate Americans” experience by a girl from London. When we told her we were from America she said she loved us and kept giving us drunk kisses. I guess she dated a guy from Atlanta, when they broke up her seed of anger for America was planted.

A few observations so far:

There are no women here. It seems like the ratio of men to women is 2:1.

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At the bars, it was either a lot of couples or single guys.

Anyone wears whatever they want. A floral sweater with parachute pants and platform shoes? The true original hipsters.

An outfit like this would never fly in Cincinnati. But, when in Rome. Or, when in London. Wear what everyone else thinks is cool. (Cori already got a compliment on her jacket—2 minutes after putting it on.)

A pint is better than a regular beer.

We’re going to a rugby match today. USA is playing, too so we’ll probably blow our cover.

Always craving spontaneity,
C & J

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