Lauren and I of course had to dance in London. London may be many things: expensive, rainy, full of people who can’t pronounce “aluminum,” but it is certainly not a bad dance town. We went on Thursday evening to a small, new venue run by Simon Selman of the London Swing Dance Society. For such a small sample of dancers, there were many good partners to be had, and we enjoyed meeting the Brits of the local swing scene. Funnily enough, we ran into a guy who had been in Tucson only a few months before at Warehouse Stomp, who is American but works at the base north of London. Strange to see a familiar face in such an unfamiliar place. Music was more geared to boogie woogie and rock and roll, but we had a great time, anyway.

After much encouragement from the other dancers and in the spirit of embracing the opportunity, we also went dancing Saturday night (yes, we had to get up at 4am to get our bus to Gatwick…more on that, later). Thursday’s crowd had promised us that Saturday’s dance would be well worth our while, and wow, were they right. The music was a bit more in tune to what we’re used to hearing: more big band, still a lot of stuff our Djs wouldn’t put on, but a bit more our style. People got gussied up real nice (we didn’t), and we met dancers from all over the place, most of whom were really quite fun and excellent. Although our jaunt down to the river bank to dance again left us literally penniless—er, penceless—and we had to ask a Tube staffer to swipe me through the turnstile, and although we had to run all the way from the Kentish Town underground to Jessica’s apartment so that she could let us into the building at 11, and although we were leaving in only a few short hours for our flight to Amsterdam, it was so worth it.

Thank you, London, for showing us a good time. We did our best to represent Tucson’s scene.

Friday morning we awoke to a dreary London morning. There were ominous clouds overhead, and before we had eaten our Cheerios (which have taken on an entirely new context, being in the land where they can actually say that seriously), rain was falling hard and heavy from the sky. Not like regular English spritzing; this, my friends, was rain. Weather be damned, the players at the new Globe theatre perform in rain or shine, and with that attitude we were off to see one of Shakespeare’s greatest comedies to be performed by one of the greatest troupes of actors in the world: Much Ado About Nothing.

If you know me, you know I love me some Shakespeare (if you have any doubt, evidence can be found here). Tragedy, comedy or history, I treasure them all, and it just so happens that Much Ado is not only one of my favorites, it is also one of the Shakespeare shows I got to perform in during high school. My role was minor, an adapted version of Antonio, Leonato’s brother. I was Antonia, the sister of Leonato and aunt to the slandered Hero. It wasn’t Beatrice, but as they say, there are no small parts, only small actors. Anyway, suffice to say that this play holds special significance to my heart.

Today Apollo shone down on us, because the weather cleared and we watched the best production of a Shakespeare play I’ve ever seen staged before us. The direction and acting were perfect; in the true spirit of the theatre’s space, they used it to their utmost. I have never seen such rapport between actors and audience. I always felt like I was in on some inside joke whenever Beatrice and Benedick sparred—they kept their audience in their gaze so often that it was like we were apart of the conversation, too. I have seen and read that play many times, and they found things in the text that I had never thought to be funny, and there were so many moments of pure comedy based on innovative direction. We had splurged on good seats, and I was glad.

Perhaps the highlight of the show was during the climax of the dramatic action (actually, a monologue I had done back in high school) where Beatrice is upset after Hero’s betrayal and is trying to convince Benedick to challenge Claudio. Beatrice’s outer skirt had come unhitched somehow in the fray of the wedding scene, and as she ramped up to this outburst of emotion, there were whisperings among the crowd. Eventually she looked down and noticed that her skirt was nearly a quarter way down her! A moment like this for an actor is pivotal—after all, the show must go on—and she chose a route that I would never have expected at the Globe: the saw her skirt and burst out laughing. The entire audience roared with her, Benedick helped her fix it, and as the guffaws died down, she asked, “Where was I?” After getting her place, she resumed her monologue and then a few seconds later burst into laughter again. Benedick, staying in the spirit of things (after all, we were all friends after the leading lady lost her skirt), starts to pretend to undo his trousers. It was probably a full minute before they were back on track. In some situations, that would have bombed; they’re professionals, performing at a well-reputed venue, shouldn’t they have some composure when that sort of accident occurs? Sure. But! I really think that it was more what Shakespeare would have done, or, at least, approved of. It got more laughs, and didn’t really ruin any part of the emotion of the scene.

I will never forget my playgoing experience to the Globe. Yes, I know it’s not really the one where Shakespeare performed at, but whatever. It rocked.

We got a late start this morning, but got to the Tower of London around 11:45 and decided to take a guided “Yeoman” tour at noon. We were met by Simon, a ruddy-faced, bearded Beefeater with a keenly British sense of humor. Funniest tour I’ve ever taken, hands down. For an hour, we listened to the history of the Tower of London, which isn’t just a tower, just so you know. Oh, no, it is so much more—it’s like a whole compound. How I didn’t realize this, I’m not sure, but I always just pictured one tour. There are like 20 towers at the Tower of London, including the Bloody Tower, where supposedly two boy princes disappeared (2 bodies matching the ages of the boys were discovered later, hidden under the stairs of the White Tower—technically it’s not scientifically proven who killed them or that it was indeed them, but evidence points to Richard III in the Bloody Tower with the candlestick, or somesuch).

The Crown Jewels were blinged OUT. Seriously. So many diamonds and gold and rubies and and and it was nuts. Their royal dishes were all gold. They had a vat of PURE gold that could hold 144 bottles of wine. Also, there was lots of armor. No, really, lots.

We also got a chance to see something that doesn’t happen regularly at the Tower—a stage combat class from the University of Essex did a little scene in Elizabethan garb. Everyone basically ended up dead, but it was fun to watch them practice dueling!

Our afternoon-long expedition with the Tower came to a close and we strolled over the London Bridge. It happened that we also caught the bridge lifting—reportedly good luck—and also got to see a group of cyclists who ride the gigantic front-wheeled bikes from days of yore pedal across the London Bridge, escorted by police.

A very successful Tower day, if I do say so myself.

We arrived safe and sound and navigated our way through the Tubular waters of London. My lovely and generous friend Jessica, our delightful hostess, met us at the metro and we settled in. In an attempt to get rid of the jet lag as soon as possible, we decided to take a walk to the Vodafone store (unsuccessful—my phone is still not functioning despite 3 trips), look around Camden Town and get a pint at a pub. A real British one! So that’s exactly what we did. A veggie burger, pint and 2 DVDs later, we were sound asleep at the reasonable hour of midnight.