16 September: London.

It's noon. I am lying on my back staring at my watch, trying to comprehend where and when I am, when the Canuck taps at the living room door (he slept on our host's bedroom floor last night). "Come in," I hiss, so as not to bother Mitchey, who is still inert. "I just woke up."

"Me too," he mouths.

"I'm awake," mumbles Mitchey. We are awake, it is noon, we are in England. We had plans to do a bit of sightseeing with the Canuck today, but he has some prep to do for his presentation tomorrow, and we have a hostel to locate. So, given the hour, we agree to part ways. Our host offered to let us leave some of our stuff at his place, so we cram overnight essentials into Mitchey's pack and head for the station.

Mitchey secures us two beds in a hostel via pay phone. Then we find a cafe which serves a decent Traditional English Breakfast. Have I mentioned what a brilliant meal this is? The other amazing thing is tea served English style. It is the nectar of the gods. What does America think it's doing, playing around with bags of Lipton in tepid water? Bah!

The hostel is in Earl's Court, a lot closer to London than where we've been staying. We check in and secure the pack in a locker. I like the hostel; it has a good vibe, looks clean, and the lady at the counter is patient with our one million questions. Our room has six beds; a woman is lying in one of them, reading. We whisper so as not to bother her.

Now it's time to See London, quickly, before we run out of daylight. We've been told that Bus #11 will take us past most of the major sights of downtown London. We take a bus to a very confusing bus depot, where the 11 is supposed to stop. There's a man in a kiosk who appears to be there for the purpose of assisting people. Mitchey approaches him and starts to ask a question, but before she can finish, another man pops up in the booth and says, "I'd like roast beef on rye. And a diet drink."

"Wha...?" says Mitchey.

The man points to her shirt. It's hot pink and has a dinosaur on it. The dinosaur is saying MAKE ME A SAND WICH. Ohhh, right. He and his co-worker proceed to dizzy us with hilarious banter for the next four minutes, while simultaneously answering all our directional questions. There is a lag between the moment they say something and the moment we comprehend their obscure, heavily accented wit, so we must come across as fairly dense. This only makes the whole thing more entertaining for everyone involved. We'd probably stand there being confused by them all day if it weren't for other people wandering up with questions of their own.

So we get on the 11, and we get off at Westminster, which has closed for the day. We take pictures. I take pictures of people taking pictures. It's late enough in the day that mine mostly come out dim and blurry. I want Mitchey to see the stuff she wants to see, but I'm pretty apathetic about The Sights, about photographing things that are photographed thousands of times a day. I follow her over a bridge, which is scenic and probably famous, and from which we have a nice view of the London Eye, Big Ben, and some really pretty stone lions. I realize I'm apathetic because I didn't research any of this beforehand, so I don't know what I'm looking at or why it's important. This is probably terrible, because I know that everything here is important and historic and laden with weighty meaning. But right now, I'm really just along for the ride. Been here, done this.

Mitchey wants to see Trafalgar Square. The first time she mentioned it, she called it Traffle-gar, and I thought it was so cute I almost didn't correct her. It's pretty dark by the time we get there, so we take underlit pictures of fountains and statuary. Mitchey's camera is better at this than mine, fortunately. Kids are climbing on the big lions at the base of the monument; we want to do this too, but we're daunted by their sleek shiny sides. It's just an awful long way to fall.

Neither of us really know what this whole Trafalgar thing is all about, to be honest. Having consulted her guidebook, Mitchey informs me that's Lord Nelson at the top of the giant column. Oh, I say, I've heard of him. What did he do? Mitchey asks. I wrack my brains. I guess he won the battle of Trafalgar, I finally reply. Mostly what I know is that Russell Crowe spoke of him reverently in "Master and Commander." Note to self: skim a few Wikipedia articles when I get home.

We go back to Earl's Court, get dinner at a little Indian place and drinks at a pub that closes just as we're emptying our glasses. I'm glad we're staying at Earl's Court; it has all the resources we need within a few blocks, and it feels good to be self-sufficient tonight.