Okay, yes, I admit that I am a complete and total geek. Go ahead and judge me and laugh at me when you want, but when I began this blog, I made a promise to myself to be honest and forthright, so that’s exactly what I’m going to do. After waking up and packing up all our luggage for our journey back to Dublin later that afternoon, we discovered we had ample time before we had to be at Buckingham Palace for the changing of the guards. So we decided to get on the tube and take a train.
To Platform 9 ¾.
Yes, dear readers, you may now commence with the judging. But upon our arrival in London, I told Abbie that I would require a photograph with the embedded luggage trolley on a wall in King’s Cross that bore the famous name in homage to the Harry Potter series. Abbie, begrudgingly, acquiesced. Our first attempt had happened the night before, during the break between our Tower of London and Jack the Ripper escapades. But I was unable to locate the location of the installation (for those of you who think to comment about how I might try looking three-quarters of the way between platforms 9 and 10, I kindly ask you to shove it and look it up on Wikepedia.)
Which is what I did, and found a distinctive wall pattern that I believed might help me find the location. Sheer pride prevented me from asking an official and having to undergo the judgmental stare. When we arrived at the station Tuesday morning, I began my brisk walk down Platform 9, looking for any signs of it. And I found it, hidden in a crossover between Platforms 4 and 9. After I took my series of pictures, Abbie even got into the fun and allowed me to take one of her as well.
After our success at proving ourselves to be way too nerdy for our own good, we headed down to Buckingham Palace. Admittedly, we were both a little cranky that morning due to wanting to be home and the stress of our travels/lack of sleep. We had a minor spat in the park next to the palace and both agreed we were being passive aggressive jerks and we should just hug it out and stop being stupid.
So we found the palace (really, it’s not hard what with it being big and all) and managed to get somewhat decent places for the changing of the guard. Our view inside of the gates where the actual ceremony took place was restricted, but we had a clear view to see them march in front of us. I admit that I’m completely ignorant about the procedures or who was participating, but first marched in guards dressed in more traditional military uniforms. Following them were the guards (whose name I used to know once upon a time) that everyone thinks of. You know—red coat, biiiiig fuzzy black hat? I got really, really excited. Then came guards on horseback. They played music as they marched, and after some sort of ceremony, each of the bands played some music for the crowd.
The first band that played were the traditional military guards. One would expect, from these soldiers inside of Buckingham Palace, maybe something like a little Handel? Gilbert and Sullivan? Maybe even a rousing rendition of ‘God Save the Queen’?
Oh no, dear friends.
It took me approximately ten seconds to place the song. Turning to Abbie, incredulous look on my face, I asked (probably a bit too loudly), “Are they playing…ABBA?!”
Yes. Yes, they were. The chorus of Dancing Queen filtered out over the masses gathered to watch the ceremony as Abbie and I looked on in a mixture of horror and disbelief. ABBA?! But…but…THEY’RE NOT EVEN BRITISH! Why not a nice Beatles medley? Or hell…even the Spice Girls! At least THEY’RE British! And then…worst of all…the crowd began to sing along.
I wasn’t sure what dimension or twilight zone I had just apparated to, but for the Queen’s Guard to be playing an ABBA medley inside the gates of Buckingham Palace and for the crowd to be singing along…it had to be somewhere very dark and very scary.
Fortunately, the Fuzzy Hats (as they shall now be called) saved the day with their rather jazz band-like approach. I admit I’m a huge fan of their drummer, who was really getting into it. At least…as much as those guys can get into anything. Despite the lingering horror of having ABBA songs stuck in our heads, we stayed and watched them process out (I have the whole thing on video if you’re interested.)
From there, we went to Piccadilly Circus to do some last minute tourist shopping.
And from there, we went to the Baker Street exit, coming up on street level and making our way to one of the most famous addresses in the world: 221B Baker St.—home of the Great Detective.
Yes, you may judge us more for wanting to visit the Sherlock Holmes museum, but it was rather cheap and actually quite interesting. They had the entire space done up to reflect the canon, the living room and the detective’s bedroom resplendent in Victorian fashion. I immediately noted the pipe, the deerstalker cap, the magnifying glass, and the violin. I also found something missing: a syringe.
The upper floors, while dressed in Victorian fashion as well, held more artifacts and drawings than anything. The top floor had wax dummies representing some of the more intriguing stories. I was highly amused by one family who, in complete seriousness, was asking the costumed employee “How long did he live here?” and “Didn’t he move on to Scotland?” I resisted the urge to tell them that Sherlock Holmes is, in fact, a fictional character. But after Santa and the Easter Bunny, I suppose one can only take so much.
We then returned to Adanna’s apartment for the last time, grabbing our things and making our way to Victoria Station where we caught the Gatwick Express to the airport. The flight itself was uneventful, but it was the arrival that was worth noting. Just as we reclaimed our left bag from Left Luggage and were heading back into the departures terminal to begin the dreaded Twelve Hour Layover of Doom, we heard a loud shriek and found ourselves being nearly tackled to the floor in a bear hug.
Once the adrenaline had worn off, we found it was Brittney, one of the USAC kids, arriving with her mom in Dublin. We were very excited to see each other, and after a quick conversation realized we were on the same flight to Chicago the next morning. They bid us adieu on their way to hoteled comfort, whilst we found a spot in the terminal, settled down, and tried to catch some sleep on the hard, freezing ground floor. If only we could just Floo home…
Next stop: Home
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