Necessary title, as Juli/Josh/Danielle/Michael/etc began to title everything we went through with "the best/worst _______ experience ever". To keep BADA in our spirits, I will format this as such.
[I just thought I'd let you all know that I am currently sitting in the Cleveland Airport eating a Craisins mix for dinner as an unexpected continuation of Friday's Worst Airport Experience Ever, but I'll explain definitely last.]
To begin, The Best Round Experience Ever:
(That is, singing in a round)
To begin Open Day, the last day of BADA, all 91 of us got together on the lawn and did some vocal and physical warm-ups together. It was cute. I had totally forgotten that Mick, physical improv clown love of our lives, had promised his "best song" for us all to sing during this, so when we ended our last vocal warm-up and started to walk away, it was a joyous surprise to hear Mick calling us all back. We call-and-response learned "Bella Mama", a beautifully simple song sung in rounds with our 6 groups. The sun shining, people holding hands, jumping up and down, belting things you normally can't belt-- it was more than cute.
Then, Fancy Dinner Pt. 2: after the last (sigh) drinks reception, we gathered for our last meal in the Harry Potter hall. Everyone sits down, gets served some champagne (which I drink at a slow and steady pace this time, thank you), and then-- out of nowhere-- someone... starts it... Bella Mama... and we all start it... rounds, belting, harmonies, fancy dresses, candles, videos/"YOU BETTER PUT THIS ON FACEBOOK!", riotous clapping... Who would've known that we'd end up doing it at least 3 more times that night?
The Best Irina Experience Ever
This is the intense Russian Shakespeare teacher I have spoken of. Don't worry, life certainly got better. Josh and I personally went up to her to thank her for kicking us so hard in the butt because we learned so much and wouldn't have had another teacher. Still, though-- she's high-energy intense. And not someone you'd expect to be sitting on the Oxford Tube to London with you on the last morning.
But, oh. She was. Did you know teachers are real people, too? Weird. But, low and behold, we ended up separated on the bus. UNTIL we get to the last stop, and I realize I have no idea where I am. Stupid Google Maps. Who becomes the most helpful individual on the planet? IRINA! She saves me with her patience and her iPhone! It turns out I'm approximately a million miles away from my destination of Ellie's uncle's flat, but she helps me write out directions and walks me to Victoria's Station. She then, very motherly, makes sure I am buying a ticket (even though, secretly, I've been buying Tube tickets for weeks, but I'd never let her know) and helps me find my way. I don't want to hear one person say she isn't nice. It was SUPERB.
(followed by a quick memory of The Worst Irina Experience Ever): Long story, or short story?... Short-- In a pre-scene improv in Shakespeare, my Demetrius picks me up with great intention and force, therefore landing my bony little chest directly on his bony little shoulder. Double over with vocal pain. KEEP GOING BECAUSE YOU DON'T STOP IN THIS CLASS. Until Irina stops you, which will only be about 5 seconds later. She demonstrates something. Sits down. We're supposed to start. I instead start balling. Embarrassed. :( I ask if I can go to the bathroom-- "NO. Use the tears." So we did the scene. It was great. I hurt. 4 weeks later... I still can't give a proper hug.
(OK that was a long story.)
The Best Sighting of a Godinez Member Experience Ever, Pt. 1
After the bus confusion, I proceeded to get even more lost. 50lb+ suitcase and a large duffle bag with a string for a strap = unhappy little camper. More like... angry little devil camper, at this point. I finally find get out of the Tube station, proceed to turn the exact opposite way, drag my luggage all the way up and down the hill, finally start finding correct street names, and, at last, I find Lancaster Road. I'm looking for the heavenly, blessed 3 Lancaster Rd. and what do I see when I finally hit this wonderful street but... 246 Lancaster. WHAT?!
I look across the street. It says 1. 1 Lancaster. Praise God, I think, please please let this jump by odd numbers... and... there it was-- 3 Lancaster. And there she was. Ellie Bensinger, in all her glory! Wearing her Tri-Delt shirt. And she lugged my luggage up a million flights of stairs. What a saint.
The Sleepiest West End Show Experience Ever
Now, at the point in the evening where we go to an Indian dive restaurant and get hit on by 30-year-olds, Ellie and I are two sleepy kitties. I got apprx. 4 hours of sleep the night before (thank you, BADA DISCO WOOOHOOO!!!) and Ellie is jet-lagged. Naturally, seeing a 2.5 hour long performance of Chariots of Fire on-stage is a fantastic idea. Let's just say I don't... really know what to say. I'm pretty sure, though, that this movie should not be put onstage. I was really rooting for it-- running onstage, making sports theatrical, come on that's so cool!!! Nonetheless, I think it failed. I mean, it obvi put Ellie and I to sleep, am I right? NOTHING would've done that at that point, psh!
The Best Ellie Experiences Ever
*Including the Best Spice Girls Cry Experience Ever
I feel like Ellie and I did a million things and I only ever describe them in impressive-list form, so here we go:
- Chariots of Fire
- Beautiful, necessary sleep in The Big House (her uncle's Hey Arnold flat)
- Matins Mass at Westminster's Abbey
- Attempt Buckingham Palace Changing of the Guards-- canceled due to the marathon happening right there, what what!
- Scenic walk through Green and Hyde Parks
- HARROD's Department Store! Finally.
- Eat at E.A.T. (Haha)
- Natural History Museum
- Nap
- Olympic Closing Ceremonies with Juli and her Dad at the Duke of Wellington's pub! Introduce Ellie to Pimm's!! It's Pimm's O'Clock!
- Successful seeing of the Changing of the Guards and the Horse Parade
- Trafalgar Square
- The National Gallery art museum
- Covent Garden ( = amazing frozen yogurt, sorry Juli)
- Introduce Elli to Ben's Cookies
- The National Portrait Gallery
Whew! And then the bus fiasco. Thankfully, Ellie is still a saint and helps me with my luggage all the way to Victoria's Station! Which is where I think I'm supposed to be. Ohhhhohohoho. No.
The Worst Bus Experience Ever, which leads into The Best Sighting of a Godinez Member Experience Ever, Pt. 2:
Once again, as per previous blog posts, I must write what I have written in my journal because a. it is too painful to recount with new words and thoughts, and b. I've told this story too many times in the past week:
"Not Victoria's Station, but Victoria Coach Station, blocks away. No tickets to pick up via ID Bus @ Info Desk. Go to ticket counters. ID Bus doesn't do that here. Call ID Bus off of saved # on phone. Pounds on phone RUN OUT. Using what little info I obtained, stand in 20 min. line to "check in" (very unclear purpose of line). Mean angry woman cuts everyone./Crazy American tourist lady, giving us a bad name, angrily cuts in front of everyone in the desperately long Paris line. Somehow I manage to get a ticket. Get told wrong gate. Wait. Wait in wrong bus line outside. Wait in right line. Get told I have to put my own luggage on. Get back in line again. I finally sit down. Here, see cuddling story."
(We're going to 'see cuddling story' now, flip back, flip back..)
"Because I am a nice person ("such a nice person", as Juli notes while I'm talking to her on the phone @ this time), I offer to the obviously-a-couple couple that was being forced to split up if they wanted to sit down. Of course I wanted the concerned couple to sit by each other, but it didn't hurt that the boy/young man (yes, I wrote that and/or) sitting in front of me was possibly attractive and by himself, too. So, I move up. No chatting or hello. Nothing. I put on my iPod. The lights turn off. The humongous French 'Home Alone' family is still bouncing around and listening to loud music, which was in fact not the radio. I hear the young man start to eat something-- it sounds like liquid. Gross liquidy sounds, like yogurt, or sour cream. But it smells like... Italian Mexican beef chive something! It was really gross. And we start to travel. And as we all settle in to our travels, my seat partner's body begins to travel, too-- right next to mine."
(OK I'm going to stop this here for all of the concerned adults and/or family members. I wrote that sentence not for an attempt at full truth, but just to take advantage of the corny play on words. We move on.)
"Now let's remember a few things:
a. I have learned at BADA that it is entirely uncomfortable to sit straight up on these stupid coach busses. One longs for a pillow, a blanket, something. I understand one's want for the human pillow.
b. I found this... male to be somewhat my age and not too bad lookin'. On first glance, I'd assumed he was older than me. I find out during the trip that i have NO idea how old/young this boy is. He eats strangely and strongly smelling non-solid foods that sound like liquids (in his 2nd/3rd course of it I glimpse some pasta) and he drinks a lot of Coke. When we stop for the first time, he asks where the toilet is, so I know he's European and speaks at least basic English. He then proceeds to not go to the bathroom, so that's weird. But I get a good look at his face and it is much younger than I thought. No worries, kid-- I look like I'm 17.
c. It is freezing. I'm talking desperate attempts for human warmth without any sort of extra layers available FREEZING. I wrap my scarf around my head. Nothing. Survival techniques kick in.
d. Going along with a., these seats are so uncomfortable. It needs to be said twice.
With all that in mind, don't judge me when I admit I did not do anything to avoid our almost-snuggle, all on his part, of course. I'm not lying, but I am possibly over-exaggerating (the "almost" is important), but it is a fact that:
a. his legs flopped over right next to mine
b. his bottom ended up against my side
c. he actually put his head against my shoulder
Now, to Northwestern theatre-major-crowd Anna, I take and understand this as nothing... well, nothing really at all. This is merely an act of survival. My left side was very warm in comparison to my right. Whenever he realized what he was doing, he'd move and all the freezing would come back. Unhappy Anna.
I don't mind being a slighty younger (unclear) man's anonymous maternal snuggle-Mother-bunny on an 8.5-hour bus ride--"
-------------------------------------
Journal ends. I'd been writing in Le Killy-Jen Cafe. And that is when Jordan showed up.
I thought we would have a fun meeting in France and it would be full of excited joy. Instead, I only felt like my heart attack from the last 4 or 8 hours of sleepless, lost confusion in France plus 2 cups of coffee had gone away. I was so tired and fretful and annoyed and restless, sitting in Le Killy-Jen Cafe, with my black espresso, twitching, that when I turned around for the millionth time to look for Jordan and actually saw him, standing there with an equally "are you kidding me, life?" expression, I just collapsed in my chair and thanked the Lord to see another human who spoke English. I didn't even get up. Sorry, Jordan...
The Worst (or Best?) Water Bottle Experience
We walked around aimlessly. Found a restaurant. Ordered our meals and the waiter asks if we want water. Yes, please! Still or sparkling? Answers given!
Water returns.
Glass bottles.
Uhhh.
Check comes.
4.00 and 4.40 Euros for said bottles.
MANNNNNNNNNN!
The Best Eiffel Tower Experience Ever
(Sorry to do this to the actually exciting parts of my trip, but I realize that my post is getting long, so here comes Abbreviated Experiences in France and Amsterdam!)
When is the only time to see the Eiffel Tower? At night. Why? Because it lights up! And SPARKLES every hour on the hour, starting at 9pm! I've never been so excited to climb hundreds of steps. I took incredible photos that you may soon view on Facebook, we learned about the man the myth the legend Mr. Eiffel, we were the closest to the origin of a search light than I think I'll ever be... Eiffel Tower.
Then, Jordan proceeded to get us lost in a silent Paris. How do we end up in the most desolate area of Paris with literally no food, nothing open, and not a soul nearby? Maps, people. MAPS.
The Indifferent Hostel Experience... Ever?
We got the cheapest hostel. The men (yes, more than one of them) behind the desk hated me, but they seemed OK with Jordan. In fact, when he went to ask for our keys they gave him an upgrade of off what I paid for.
My favorite hostel story, though, involves two French/Italian (ignorant Anna) boys sitting near us while we were using the hostel's computers. They heard we were going to Amsterdam and then spent the next 3 or 4 minutes talking solely to Jordan about all of the great nightlife in Amsterdam. I may have been actively listening-- nodding and even commenting-- but not once did they make eye contact with me. Oh, no, they were quite focused on Jordan... so much so to tell him specifically that there are "plenty of young men" in Amsterdam. Oh. Boy. Did I die. It's fine that they weren't paying any attention to me, seeing as I was now cracking up behind Jordan's back. He just kept nodding and smiling. It was great.
The Best Batobus Experience Ever
Best plan of the whole time: 9 Euros for a full day's worth of hop-on/hop-off of a boat along the river in Paris, where all of the major attractions lay alongside. The Louvre, Notre Dame, Eiffel, The Arc de Triumph, the Champs-Elysees, Hotel deVille, etc etc-- 9 important stops for 9 Euros and no getting lost with our map and tired feet! This isn't to say that we didn't still walk for an insane distance and period of time, but it was SO worth skipping the Batobus stop and just taking the scenic route. We walked from the Louvre (just went inside the ugly glass pyramid and looked at the book containing what artwork was actually in the Louvre... totally a Louvre experience) through this park to this big fountain to this square with monuments and then further down the Paris version of the Magnificent Mile, past the fancy McDonald's and Louis Vitton headquarters, and finally to the Arc de Triumph. Let's just say my white shoes are no longer that.
On the way back, it was so necessary to finally get my pan a chocolate (suggestion courtesy of Juli) and even more necessary to stop at the fence where we could see the zoo's ostriches and take a desperately tired video.
The Best Confused Waiter/Being Ignorant Americans Experience Ever
We deem it necessary to have wine in France. Man, we're geniuses. Duh.
So, after much searching, we find the cheapest but still not creepy place to sit down and have a glass of wine and some cheese. Now, quickly we learn that we don't know how to order this wine. Minutes of staring at the menu have not been at all progressive or successful. So what do we do? Oh, that's right-- we ask the FRENCH waiter with LIMITED English what he suggests. In a different language than his, we request he brings us whatever wine he wants, basically.
Oops.
We swear we were pointing to the "glass" list, not the "bottle", namely because the bottles are so expensive for us to not finish the bottle (let's be honest, am I going to drink more than one glass of wine?). Too bad, so sad. Here happy waiter comes with a bottle of red wine. Thank goodness we had food.
Two hours later, approximately, we do indeed finish the bottle. This is thanks mostly to Jordan, but I did hold my own. Somehow, the bottle ended up cheaper than any offered on the menu, so perhaps French waiter realized ignorant Americans. But, at the end of the day, "ordering" a whole bottle of French wine with a cheese sampler platter after a long day of touristy walking and enjoying it over a couple of hours is much more pleasurable than the fish-tasting cheese that was part of our selection. Really. I think I ate a fish.
The Most Megabus Experience Ever:
As Juli would say, it was the MOST Megabus. It was no sleep. It was uncomfortably small, straight chairs. It was 7 hours long. It was the most Megabus.
The Best Listening to English Experience Ever:
After no sleep and changing clothes/washing up in the tiny bathroom of the Centraal Train Station in Amsterdam, hearing ENGLISH-- yes, the INITIAL POINT OF THIS BLOG-- was incredible. Amazing. Comforting. Sad, yes. But I don't care.
After all of the mean, yes MEAN MEAN MEAN, people in the service industry that I had encountered in Oxford, London, and Paris (yes, many-- I've not talked about it, but it's because it has been too painful), this smiley English-speaking waiter for breakfast in Amsterdam is everything and all we needed after no sleep or showers.
And he put kiwi in my yogurt and granola! What a guy.
The Best Euro-Spending Experience Ever:
Buying a ticket to the Anne Frank Museum/House. I will never forget how moving and important this was. There's not much more one can say.
The Worst Camera Battery Experience Ever:
I think I speak for everyone when I say, "really, Anna? Your camera battery 'died' when you reached the Heineken factory in Amsterdam. Right..." But I swear to you, it did. Otherwise you would be seeing a picture of me in front of that factory-- not just Jordan! If you look at my photos after that point, you will see I had just enough battery, miraculously, to salvage 2 or 3 more pictures and that's it. It is unexplainable why the ones I chose to photograph are what they are. In this beautiful, picturesque city with canals and flowers and millions of unlocked bikes... my sense of battery planning fails me. I'm sorry, self.
And I'm sorry, skeptics, that it really DID die and I WASN'T getting stoned or drunk, so there!
The Best Bubble Experience Ever:
Once again, you'd think we were high, but we weren't: we decided to eat lunch by this central square area that had street performers, the most important of which was the bubble man. You know, the kind that make those HUGE bubbles with two big sticks and a long piece of string, plus some good ol' dish soap. The bubbles were... the most bubbly. And colorful. AND... little kids? Loved it! Us PCP-ers were kind of freaking out. There were just so many enthralled children and happy parents... gosh, maybe we should stop picking dramatic plays and just have a bubble man onstage...
The Worst Chocolate Purchase Ever:
Because it didn't exist.
The REASON I went to Amsterdam-- doubt me if you will, all you skeptics-- was to obtain Droste Famous Dutch Chocolate in the form of their Chocolate Pastilles. My step-mom Sue flies to Amsterdam for United and I noted that from their is where she brings her best chocolates. I looked in every store we went to and found NONE. I began to think, "am I crazy? Have I been telling myself 'Amsterdam... chocolate discs... Netherlands... mecca' for years, planning this chocolate excursion, whilst I have been totally and utterly wrong??" Yes, I told myself. What a failure. Nonetheless, I had a million oodles of fun anyways. Also, of course, nonetheless, I cried to Sue afterwards about my failures and she said, "no, you were right". I just looked in all the wrong places.
And, finally, The Smelliest, the Tiredest, the Worst Airport Experience EVER:
Ugh. I don't even... whatever. I hate this experience, this story... short version, take 1:
6am, Paris.
No sleep again on Megabus. That's now 48 hours.
No shower again. That's also 48 hours.
What would be a straight shot to the airport in Paris, after getting off the Megabus, turns into an almost 3-hour endeavor due to the underground train system NOT being fully underground this summer.
Miss my 9:25am flight to Newark.
Should be panicking by now, but I've learned "chill" tactics in Europe and am putting them into use well.
Miraculously get WIFI and an email from my dad-- try the 11:15 to Chicago!
Let's remember that I'm trying to get to Cleveland.
Hours later, as it was then 8:45am, I stand-by on that flight for the only good 6 hours of that day. Why? Because I was in the 2nd row of Business Class, suckerzzz. That means I not only get all that unnecessary Business Class stuff, but I get to actually choose what I want off the menu because I'm 2nd.
Get immediately punished for that when I step off the plane.
Chicago O'Hare. FOUR HOURS later, dozens of phone calls and texts to my dad, and too many failed gates walked to and fro, I get on a plane... to Milwaukee.
Milwaukee. 45 minute flight. Smallest airplane ever.
Easy connection to Cleveland. Still, I manage to flounder aimlessly around the airport.
Finally make it to the gate. No one is flying to Cleveland. SHOCKER.
REALIZE I LEFT MY JOURNAL OF THE PAST MONTH+ ON THE LAST AIRPLANE.
Chill tactics enact. Not at all freaking out. Kind of.
Board plane. SOME United gate employees are kind individuals who show signs of empathy = they return my notebook to me, on the plane! I'm so gracious.
Get into Cleveland airport. I smell myself. Not purposely.
Drag myself to the baggage claim. Hug my dad. Notice out of the corner of my eye that Sue has her iPhone out posed as a camera. Hide behind all pillars. Basically scream. Make a slight scene about my appearance.
10pm Ohio time. HOME. That's 72 hours, folks-- until, at last, sleep... and shower...
Peace.
THEN I GET TO DO IT AGAIN!
Tuesday's plan to fly back to Chicago: Get to airport before 3pm for a 4:15 stand-by flight! Long story short? I cry a lot (chill tactics NOT in action when you have people who hate their job ignoring you for hours on end), get on a 6:15 flight, and get home around 9pm...
*Wow, guys. That's it. I never want to see another airport in my life, but I've had a pretty darn good time. People keep asking me what my favorite part was. I never know what to say, but I always end up talking about the Globe theatre. Let's be honest, that is pretty cool! It's a good answer. But, you know, there's a moment that's sticking with me more, even though it may not seem like a lot.
Josh, Juli, Danielle, Michael, Gabe, Lindsey, Zach, Angie, and myself all ended up in my room after the dinner, after the disco, after lying in the lawn and watching shooting stars. People were falling asleep left and right, Lindsey and Zach sadly left to get to their bus to London, and the reality of the next day was hitting. Somehow, Juli, Gabe, Michael, and I were the only ones coherent, and we got to playing In the Heights on an iPod. Gabe had rested his head on my lap and Juli had hers in his and, somehow, we end up singing Champagne from In The Heights-- Juli and I sing the girl and Gabe the guy... it's all about leaving and boarding planes and champagne and leaving and sadness but it's also just so good... it was great. I won't forget it.
We all sounded pretty good, too.
Because we're actors.
And that's why we were there.
And now we're better actors.
I'd like to thank the $7,000 I gave to BADA, the hole in my chair in the Schoolhouse, the freezing classrooms, the sweatshirt I lost, the failed attempts to use my phone and use up all my pounds, the stolen apples from the dining hall...
Mainly, I'd like to thank my parents. Thank you for your love, support, time, patience, and, yes, money. Money from them, though, doesn't come in the form of cash. It comes in understanding and approval. I could've never done any of this without them, and I couldn't buy them enough souvenirs to show it. Well, I could've bought my Mom the entire cities of London, Stratford, and Oxford there were so many things to buy her! But all I could really find my dad was a bottle opener from the Heineken factory... I will never learn how to shop for that man. :)
Au revoir! Cheerio, mates! Don't cry! I'll write a play soon, but it won't be funny... ouch. Umm... well... write your own blog.
Love,
Me
