And write about my last full day in England, which was Thursday.
I said good-bye to Corfe Castle and the countryside, took the train to London and met up with Arvan. (Because we are soulmates who live eerily parallel lives, without even consulting each other ahead of time, both of us had planned post-Ironman trips to our favorite places in Europe as a way to reward ourselves for our hard work. Only he wasn't stupid and didn't have a passport snafu like me. But I guess my idiocy was a blessing in disguise: I cannot even tell you how lovely it was to see one of my very favorite people waiting for me at Waterloo Station.)
We spent the evening playing tourist. (And trying really, really hard not to get run over by a double-decker bus. Crossing the street in England is tough for Americans.)
|This may be my new favorite photo of all time.|
|I spy the Eye. (Sorry. Couldn't resist the dumb pun.)|
|(Hope this doesn't mean something offensive, and I'm too dumb to know it.)|
One brief aside from our beautiful wandering: I want to know what goes through British people's minds when they name things. (Cathryn, maybe you can help me out here.) Because Studland. And Cockfosters. And Tooting Broadway. And mushy peas. (How is that appetizing?) And fish pie. (Actually quite good.) But this is the one that really gets me:
The Slug and Lettuce. That's right: There is a restaurant called The Slug and Lettuce. You will recall how I feel about slugs and lettuce and the awful, nightmarish time when I literally found a slug in my salad while having dinner at a friend's house.
It's safe to assume we did not have our Thanksgiving dinner at The Slug and Lettuce.
Instead, we went to Sagar for vegetarian thali.
|One of the best Thanksgiving meals I've ever had.|
It was a wonderful holiday.