London

O ye freezing English rain, how ruthlessly you drenched me every day!  The four days I spent in London last week are among the most devastatingly wet and devilishly cold of my entire life (NO exaggerations). Having survived many other intense weather misfortunes on this trip – think thunderstorms, snow, and hail – without an umbrella, I was confident that my jacket and hood could withstand a little English rain. But no. It was precisely the dreary, never-ending rain of London that left me (armed with a new umbrella, even!) positively miserable after each day of wandering around in the greyness of it all. I feel like my face turned grey as well.

Unfortunately, I was also daring stupid enough to visit the dreadfully depressing Tower of London on the rainiest day of it all. The place – which housed prisoners of treason over the past thousand years – had a fascinating history, and I now have a new understanding for the term – “immersing yourself in the atmosphere”. When the guide solemnly pointed at a patch of wet mud and said, “this is where Anne Boleyn was beheaded, her blood splattered to where you are standing,” I felt like it was me, not Anne, that was being beheaded.

Hoping to avoid the rain, I spent the next day at the British Museum. Its collection of the world’s most treasured artefacts was simply overwhelming. I could not believe that I was admiring the marbles of the Parthenon and the Rosetta Stone with my own eyes!!! Unfortunately, I also grew increasingly angry at how most of the objects were plundered by colonialists in the 19th century, cut carelessly from numerous temples and caves and leaving nothing but ruins in the places of origin. In the end, my blood was boiling, and I had to cut my visit short.