For reasons that are a bit embarrassing, not entirely our fault and much too complicated to explain, my friend, Patrizio, and I missed our bus to Paris last Friday and got stuck in London. So at 11:30 p.m. -- with the next bus leaving at 8:30 a.m. -- we had two options: pay 36 pounds we didn't have to get some sleep in a hostel; or spend the night walking the streets of London where any notion of sleep is non-existent. A sense of discovery and empty pockets made the streets mighty attractive. 11:45 p.m. -- We walk into Leicester Square and come across a troupe of bongo players banging away for a crowd of people. In the crowd, I meet a girl from Turkey. Her name is Itam, which she tells me translates into "moonlight." I think for a minute and then pull her into the dance circle. After all, when will I ever have the chance again to dance in the madness and music of Leicester Square with a Turkish girl named Moonlight? 12:30 a.m. -- Walking about, we see a drunk old man stumble backwards, fall and smack his head on the pavement. We help him up and make sure he isn't bleeding. He seems all right. He turns to me, gives me a warm smile and then, out of the blue, tries to jam his knee into my groin. I guess this proves that around the world, a good turn is never without its rewards. It's just that for some people in Britain, that reward is in the form of the aforementioned knee to the groin. 1:30 -- Patrizio and I are stopped by two women who we think are asking for directions. Swathed in makeup and dolled up in club clothes, they speak an Eastern Bloc language we can't quite identify let alone comprehend. But we understand enough to know what they want. We shake our heads no, say we're very flattered and make a fast escape into the night. 2:15 -- We meet a beautiful Italian girl named Elizabeta who is delighted to find in Patrizio a fellow countryman. As we walk around, men constantly try to grab her and make catcalls. To these men -- with her limited English and thick Italian accent -- she waves her arms and shouts, "When I see you, the question is, 'Who let the dogs out!'" She then goes on to sing the song, complete with the "woof, woof" part. Though definitely unorthodox, it is a highly effective way to get the men to leave her alone. 3:15 -- We're sitting at a bus stop across from the Palace Theatre looking into the eyes of Colette, whose face adorns the theatre's entrance with the words "Les Miserables." At this point we're a bit cold, kind of tired and very hungry. I begin dreaming of coffee and pancakes at the 24-hour diner down the street from my New Jersey home, and try to explain to Patrizio what exactly a diner is. Europeans love to knock America, but until they think of something as perfect as the 24-hour diner, I'll never take what they say seriously. 4:15-6:00 -- To rouse ourselves from our torpor, we decide to take a looping, scenic walk through Westminster to Victoria Station. In this still quiet time of night, in this part of town, the streets become a clear stage where even the most mundane occurrences take on a certain, visual poignancy. A street cleaner lets his bag and stick hang slack as he presses his hand against a display window, staring at the suits and watches inside. An androgynous homeless person -- hair wet, eyes sunken, hands restless -- gazes at bottles of milk just delivered to the door of a coffee shop. Businessmen stop and look up at the train schedule, standing like chess pieces on the checkered floor of the station, waiting to move. Stray red, white and blue balloons -- their helium drained of their buoyancy long before -- slowly tumble on the road in front of Westminster Abbey. 6:00-7:00 -- The McDonald's in the station opens and we get some breakfast. In an hour, we check in our bags and head out. So with a cup of coffee and an Egg McMuffin, my night in London ends. If I ever spend another night on city streets again, especially in London, I'll have to remember a few things. First, I'll dress a little warmer Second, I'll bring a bit more money. And lastly, no matter how tired I am, I'll keep my eyes wide open. There's a lot to see.
The Daily Pennsylvanian is an independent, student-run newspaper. Please consider making a donation to support the coverage that shapes the University. Your generosity ensures a future of strong journalism at Penn.
DonatePlease note All comments are eligible for publication in The Daily Pennsylvanian.