Chapter One: The Boy Who Lived

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley of Number Four, Privet Drive were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last ones you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense...

Approximately twelve years ago, my mother brought home a book which, I am by turns proud and embrarassed to say, was perhaps the single greatest turning point in my life thus far. It literally changed everything about the way I see the world and how I react to it. Really. You can ask anyone who has had a conversation lasting more than ten minutes with me. I grew up with the characters it introduced me to, facing the same quirks and challenges of adolescense right along with them. They comforted me when I thought the world sucked. When they overcame insurmountable obstacles and came out on the other side, they gave me courage to do the same with my comparably less earth-shattering difficulties.

I think you know which book I'm talking about: Hollywood Wives. Of course.

No. Harry Potter. Parts 1-7. Duh. And good portions of these books, and some of the most iconic and suspenseful ones, take place in venues like Tottenham Court Road, Charing Cross Road and King's Cross Station. Do you know what all those places have in common? They're all in London. Which happens to be where Lane is studying right now, and where I happened to visit her about two weeks ago. It was a memorable visit filled with excitement and wonder, and made me think that London is definitely somewhere near the top of the list of cities (legit, cosmopolitan cities, of which Rome doesn't really count, since it's more of a state of mind...) in which I can see myself living.

Lane attends the London School of Economics (insert impressed whistles here), and lives in (get this!) a dorm with a lot of other college students from different schools in London. A dorm. Which is something that I've not experienced in its most basic form for a good long while now. Corbin lives in apartment-style dorms, I lived in an apartment... I haven't actually spent a significant amount of time in an actual dorm room since Ellen and I moved out freshman year. I loved it. It was like having a sleepover. Also, Lane has her own bathroom, and access to laundry, so that made it even better!

It was awesome to see Lane. After having pretty much stayed in Rome while I was living there and let my friends come to me and be given the Grand Tour of my city, I've really been enjoying being shown around their cities by some of my friends. Corb's tour of Dublin left nothing to be desired, and being shown around London (which is a large and very intimidating city, despite the fact that they ostensibly speak English there) by someone who has been living there was definitely a plus.

London is huge. Like, literally, I'm pretty sure the entire island that we call Great Britain is actually taken up by this city. And the annoying thing about it is, London likes to pretend that it's a whole bunch of little cities. Or towns. All mushed together. They all have different names and, from what I gather, different trash men and perhaps even different currencies. There's one that the Queen isn't allowed to enter (or something odd like that), and they're all really confusing. It's a good thing that the maps of London are so comprehensive, since it's just about as nonsensical in its layout as Rome is, otherwise everyone would be walking around, with their British accents saying "Sorry, terribly sorry to trouble you old chap, but do you possibly know where I live? Ah, quite alright, quite alright. No, I'm afraid I don't know where you live, either. Ah, well. Stiff upper lip and all that, what?". But the maps are good, so no worries.

And the confusion is kind of endearing... it's like London is trying really hard to be this hip, worldy city, but it can't really escape the fact that it's been around since the 1200s and earlier. It wants to be as well-laid-out as New York or Chicago, but it just... can't. But you still have to respect it for trying.

I have the luxury of visiting people who know me really well. Lane and I have essentially lived together in pretty close proximity for two years, and so she's aware of my penchant for staring at art and ignoring the rest of the world. She's also quite well-acquainted with my Potter-centric universe, and actually participates herself, albeit perhaps on a healthier level of dedication. She and I also share a liking for fanciness on occassion, and singing at extremely inappropriate times. She, being the wonderful friend that she is, managed to synthesize all of these things into what was, for me, the perfect first taste of London.

1) My penchant for staring at art: CITIES OF THE WORLD, TAKE NOTE!!!!! The British Museums, at least those owned by the state, are FREE. And let me tell you, they're most likely better than yours, so take a leaf out of their book and share the wealth, why don't you? Literally, I could have spent hours more than I did in the National Gallery. And I spent around 7 hours in the National Gallery. The British Museum is one of those places that is just hazy with the clouds of controversy surrounding it, but hell. I got to see the Rosetta stone and the Parthenon, and I didn't have to travel to Greece or Egypt to do it. Who cares if they stole them? Well, a lot of people do, but at least the British aren't really profitting outright from their thievery by making the Greeks and Egyptians pay to come see these things. Free is my favorite price to pay to see art. I went to the Tate Britain as well, and hung out with my newly-found favorite 19th century school, the Pre-Raphaelites. I creeped around at the Courtauld, trying to imagine myself as a student there. I could definitely do it. Especially if there's an ice rink in the courtyard all year round.

2) My probably unhealthy obsession with an allegedy fictional world: When she had class and so couldn't squire me around all day, Lane handed me a map, pointed out Tottenham Court Road and Charing Cross, and set me loose on an unsuspecting city. So, obviously, I put on Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows on my iPod and set to work strolling up and down Tottenham Court looking for the coffee shop where Harry, Ron and Hermione dueled Rowell and Dolohov, and Charing Cross, where I stood staring at book stores and music stores, or, more specifically, the join between them, willing myself to see The Leaky Cauldron. When she didn't have class, Lane and I made the pilgrimage that I've been wanting to make since I was eleven years old, to King's Cross Station and Platform 9 3/4. The Muggle one (which is, depressingly enough, the only one I could find, despite running into a few different walls) is kind of lame... it's a sign on a brick wall, and there's a trolly stuck half way through the wall. You can push on the trolly and hope Hogwarts has a grad school... but alas. No cigar. (By the way, if there's a team of highly trained psychologists waiting for me with a straight-jacket when I get off the plane back in the States, I'll consider that situation normal. I know I sound insane, but the things I love, I love completely.) Even if I actually do have to resign myself to the fact that I'm probably not just a late bloomer and am, in fact, a Muggle... I'm still glad that I got to see these places. I couldn't have gone to London without visiting them.

3) Our shared penchant for fanciness: Lane and I are both big proponents of getting dressed up and going out to fancy meals (on a college student budget, this generally means the OP, but once we went to FoodDance), and so we decided to have afternoon tea at the National Gallery. This involved mint tea, legit crustless finger sandwiches, about 8 billion different tarts and a delicious scone apiece. Lane tried to save her scone for later by encasing the jam in a fairly impressive architectural construction of Devonshire cream, but, alas... it failed. And her bag paid the price later. While she was buttering it, though, we had a good laugh about how much she looked like Tegan preparing to eat a bagel. I can't wait until we're all together again.

4) Singing at inappropriate times: I'm often inclined to sing along when I'm at the theater and watching a musical. In most situations, this is frowned upon, and most companions are generally at least confused, if not outright mortified. Good thing that Lane and I, who both tend to sing along even when it's not kosher to do so, went to Mamma Mia! in the West End. At the end of that show, they tell you to stand up, dance around and sing along to "Waterloo". We did this with gusto. And continued the celebration all the way back to her dorm. We looked drunk, I'm pretty sure, walking down the street singing Abba at the top of our lungs, but we were stone cold sober. Unless happy is a drug now.

We also went out for dinner with Craig, another of the guys from K who is studying at LSE. It was refreshing to be with people who know what FAB, SIP and the Crime of the Big Red Bench are, and to giggle about the name of the street where we ate... Goodge Street. Go ahead. You know you want to laugh at that. It's funny! Goodge. Also, Steak and Ale Pie is delicious. I used to make fun of the British for having crappy, flavorless food. No more. Yum!

It was very hard to leave Lane at the station as I boarded the train that took me to Gatwick for my flight to Stockholm. I think it's because that was the very end of my safety net, and I was from then on, until February, on my own. Totally and completely. The prospect felt strangely daunting. Also, that was the last time I'll see Lane until at least July... which is a long time. Perhaps the longest I'll have gone without seeing one of my four roommates since I got to K. Weird. But thank goodness for Skype, right?

London was wonderful, and while I'm sure I'll be back there many times, I couldn't have asked for a better first impression. Thanks to Lane and Craig and Erin, Harry, Ron, Hermione... and everyone else (real and imagined) who made the time so much fun. Cheerio for now, London! On to see Alfred Nobel and the Vikings!