Well, that didn't go quite as I hoped.

Long story short, I missed the bus. There's something about London that kills my ability to find my way around, and so despite giving myself an hour and a half lead time I got to the coach station just in time to see a bus that was most likely mine pulling away. And so I'm not going to lie to you, I stomped around and cried a bit. There's no getting that money back, and there's no other coach until late at night and - well, things keep going wrong in London, and so being there was not at all making me happy.

So I left. I got a reasonably cheap train ticket, for a train ticket - it was less than a hundred pounds, which is still far over budget, but okay. I'll make up for it one way or another. And you know what? It's okay. I've been talking to the lady next to me, and there's wifi on the train (which is where I am right now, in fact - we just pulled through of Durham, I think - I only saw the sign in passing - and it is beautiful), and I'm going to get there earlier than I would have on the coach, and it's okay. It's just money. I have enough, and when I get home I will make some more. It's okay. I'm far from being in the red, which is more than nearly everybody I know my age can say; I must be doing something right.

Anyway, all that happened yesterday was I went to the science and natural history museums. They were pretty good, but all that walking made my feet hurt. And I miss aquariums all the more for seeing all those models. But the science museum has a pretty Exploratorum-esque section full of hands-on stuff. (Also nudity. Whee!) Not a bad use of a day.

Bonus: sammmiches. Tesco may be pretty crap, but they are crap with cheap sammiches. (Although the light egg and cress tastes like nothing at all. I have a cheese and onion here, I will report later.) Cheddar and Branston pickle was nice too. This is one thing the US could stand to introduce, if you ask me. And tonight, I learn about Irn-Bru!

I would tell you all about day eight, but I'm hopefully* going to be getting on a bus to Edinburgh in a few hours, and I'm going to need something to do on the bus, you know? Something like compose an entry.

* "Hopefully" because I'm supposed to have a ticket and I can't find a printer, so I'm probably just going to end up waving my laptop around open to the page and trying to look innocent.

Rest of day seven was uneventful. Got lost. Will stay here tomorrow night, and maybe one more. The end.

A few more backdated entries below. There wasn't a lot of internet in Wales and I was too busy to use it where it was available. I'm not going to promise any of this is interesting, mind. I'll be uploading relevant pictures to http://s279.photobucket.com/albums/kk149/wanderfish/ too.

Day seven.

I can't believe it's been a whole week since I left America. It doesn't quite weird me out to hear American accents yet, I got through an episode of Wait Wait just fine, but hearing Texans the other day at the hostel was a little odd. My own accent is of course shot to hell. I still sound like an American, mainly out of word choice and a tendency for the T to persist, but my vowels are a bit longer and sort of indeterminately British. Maybe. I could never judge my own voice too well. Of course, my word choice is drifting into some vaguely Irish zone thanks to Liam, so after a while I imagine I will just sound like "somewhere not quite here" wherever I go. Luckily nobody has really made fun of me for being such a horrible mess; I've noticed that people only notice the things that differ from their own speech, so nobody says "why are you so British?", only "you are more American than I am used to, you must be from the States". (Except for the London girl who wouldn't believe I wasn't Irish, I guess.) I can't wait to find out where people in the States think I'm from, though.

My legs still hurt a lot from Snowdon and sitting, but I suppose I ought to do something today to make my peace with London. (Also I should probably find a place to stay tomorrow night. Moors? Somewhere north, I think I may as well make for Scotland but it's too far to go in one day.) First, though, I'm going to actually post some of this stuff.

Day six.

Caught a coach to London, which takes about nine hours, so not much to say about this day. Fell asleep, so I didn't get to say goodbye to North Wales (although I saw enough to know I'm rather glad I went to Bangor instead of Conwy); I just woke up and suddenly everything was monolingual again. I kind of miss all the Welsh everywhere. Contrary to Ireland where signs are bilingual seemingly to impress the EU only, I heard many a first-language Welsh speaker. (Well ... at least I figured it was Welsh. Not like I can really tell, I suppose.) I didn't pick up very much, but ... I wonder if I could audit Welsh at Berkeley. I'm sure that would go about as well as trying to learn Irish did.

(Bonus fun fact: it is easier to get a veggie burger in Bangor than in Berkeley. I rather wish I had been hungry enough to try one, actually. The veggie sausages at the hostel were divine. And Welsh yogurt! Amazing! There's ice cream sold everywhere, too, which I also wish I had tried. Maybe I can go back through Wales before I return to Dublin, cost be damned.)

England is very very green and full of cows. This is the main thing I can say about the middle bits.

Got to London eventually. It is very large. The outside bits are nice with their old houses, but I can't say as I loved the bit around Victoria Station. Everything is so dirty and crowded and utterly confusing, and it didn't help that it was so cloudy I couldn't tell which way I was going. Mainly it made me want to hop back on a bus the other way, but I found the hostel eventually and maybe later I'll find more to like. There was cheap sketchy Indian food, at least; I suspect I will live out much of the rest of this vacation on cheap sketchy Indian food.

Got internet, showered, slept. Nothing to see here, move along.

Day five. Feels like forever.

Things to know about Wales:

- Wales is okay very pretty.
- Wales shuts down entirely by 5 PM.
- Wales is full of birds that get up at 4 AM and do not stop and they all sound like they are screaming.

Guess I'd best go do something, then.

* * *

Waaaaaales. It's so gorgeous. There are, in fact, sheep everywhere, but it becomes very soothing to see them. And it's so green, and there are little stone fences between the bits of green. I love it like I love Iowa, and I am well aware that few people share that love. But it adds sea and mountains to that, the two things I miss the most when I am there. Yes, I know, this is too early for me to shout my love from the hills; I only got to spend a day and a half here. Poor planning on my part, I suppose.

Now, the thing that the Isles have up on the places I've spent most of my life is the presence of mountains. (Technically there's Mt. Diablo, which I haven't even tried since I was a youngun [and knowing me I may have dreamed the whole thing anyway], but it's a pain to get to.) Therefore, I figured while I was near Snowdonia I might as well climb one. And the easiest one to get to, and the one with the most options, is the crown jewel, Snowdon, Yr Wyddfa herself. So I figured since I woke up at 4 determined to climb a mountain, I'd best go for that one. Turns out Snowdon is taller than anything else in Wales, England, or Ireland ... but that just makes it more interesting.

On the way to y cloc to catch a bus to Llanberis, where the safest path up starts ('cos I know I'm not prepared for any remotely treacherous climbs, not to mention it was the one with a direct bus) I stopped by the internet cafe to grab something for breakfast. I appear to have stopped really getting hungry ever since I got on that plane, but there's no sense in climbing a mountain on an empty stomach, so I grabbed a raspberry and meringue confabulation. Kids, if you are ever in Bangor for any reason, go to the Orient Expresso. 364 High Street. Tell the lady with the patchwork hair that the girl from California sent you, and get a sandwich while you're at it. Fantastic, and I had her fooled for a U of Wales student so I'm kind of fond of her for that.

Rode the bus to Llanberis down roads not built for more than one car at a time past sheep and grass and ruined stone cottages. There was a convoy of miscellaneous east Asian students being chaperoned by two Welsh farmkids, the girl with her perfect blond plaits explaining her love of God. (At least some of the kids were definitely Japanese, as they were speaking it, but I'm pretty sure I heard some languages I didn't recognize so we'll go with "east Asian". Somewhat unexpected for the middle of nowhere, Wales; maybe they were from the University.) They ended up heading for the train, but I promised the Sligo woman in my cabin that I would walk up Snowdon or not at all, so I headed for the footpath.

The photos I took tell the story from here better than I can. The path from Llanberis is pretty easy most of the way and more tiring than treacherous the rest. Lots of shale to walk on, lots of sheep baaing in the distance, lots of sun, lots of wind. I thought I would get blown off the top once I got there, and it does happen, but not even my immense clumsiness could get me into too much trouble with so many people around. Lest you think I charged up a mountain with nothing but raspberry and meringue in my stomach, I did get a cup of tea at the cafe halfway up. Because who can say no to a cup of tea 570m up a mountain? At the very top is a marker, but everybody crowds around it and parks themselves there and makes it quite difficult to get to, so I didn't stay long. And the battery on my camera ran out, so I have no good pictures of that bit, but I think it's enough to show I did it. (I didn't see Ireland, though; supposedly you can, but it was too misty for it that day, at least.) Going down was the worst, really. I thought my knees were going to mutiny. Let's just say I was very happy to get back on that bus to sit for an hour.

Stopped by the cafe on my way back, since the woman waved at me through the window. I never did get down to the pier on time to get one of their famous scones, since they're only open 10-4 on weekends; if you go, get one for me, would you? Spent the rest of the evening in with a pint of local honey bitter and a Portsmouth woman who mostly said "um, yes" but was fairly likable once you got past all that. Good day, good day.

Fourth day. Mainly travel.

Got going late, which was just as well as Liam's uncle (who had been roped into giing me a ride to the port rather without my request, but I figured by then it was too late to protest) turned up late as well. Also, without any clear idea of where we were going. All in all he reminds me rather of myself, only more charming and more Russian. I quite like him, but he's leaving nearly immediately, alas.) At least I got to try Oatibix. Oatibix is delicious.

Now I'm on the ferry, after saying a hasty goodbye because otherwise we'd be there still. am hoping we get to Holyhead soon, as seasickness is starting to creep in. And this is even considering that I'm about the only person on board between the ages of sixteen and sixty who is completely sober. (In fact, I still have yet to drink anything. Maybe I should get something Welsh tonight.)

It still hasn't really occurred to me that I'm in another country. Another continent, even. I suppose I haven't had time yet, as most of my waking hours have been spent trying to make relatives not hate me (and there are always more relatives). I can see Wales now out the window, and it still hasn't sunk in. Hopefully someone will at least stamp my passport; security was pretty lax getting onto the ferry, but I might be flying out of here and that might look awkward, I guess. I suppose I should be taking pictures, but I doubt they'd come out well through glass.

* * *

Got through fine.

I can see why the Welsh settled in Iowa, although I rather wish they'd brought implemented the stone fence thing there. Everything is so green! and small! and smelling of animal poop! (As the product of a long line of farmers, this is strangely comforting to me even though I was born in a city on the West Coast.)

Holyhead is a cute little place, although I suspect I only saw the bits meant for tourists coming off the ferry. Still, a 4th century Roman fort is none too shabby, and I even managed not to walk on the graves of any 19th century children, probably. Near everything was closed by the time I got there, though, so I can't say a whole lot about it.

Bangor was mainly closed, too, but as a university town there were a few places guaranteed to be open. (Namely the liquor store and a sketchy kebab shop.) Found the hostel, even, thanks to a combination of a blurry map with exactly one legible street name and some rudimentary ability to navigate by the sun. Didn't have time to do much save wander into town for a dodgy samosa, spot a fox (probably) on the way back, and meet the other girls in the room. Mainly some former students (a friendly Welsh girl who said "gorgeous" a lot, a quiet girl I know nothing of save that she climbed, and a Londoner who took me for Irish) and an Irishwoman from Sligo who will be quite disappointed if I don't climb Snowdon tomorrow. Turned in 'round eleven without particular event.