Accompanied By Myself: Discarding the rose-colored glasses

Even when travelling to new and exotic lands, the banal cannot be avoided.  Last week, I woke up at five in the morning nearly every day, and while I had several lovely strolls through the early London fog, I could only at times jealously dwell upon my snoozing roommate who seemed not to suffer from insomnia as I did.  On Friday, as I went on a walking tour around Buckingham Palace, I continually chided myself for having only shelled out five pounds instead of fifteen on an umbrella, for if I’d paid more I surely would not now be wandering around looking like a drunken cat.  Sunday morning, as I took in the delightful sounds and tastes of the Chinese New Year, I was nearly crowd-crushed several times and found myself silently cussing out the entire human race (and cussing out myself for being a part of said human race and not, say, the drunken cat that I already looked like several days ago).  Yesterday evening, as I watched Simon Russell Beale give an outstanding performance in the National Theatre’s King Lear, I continuously wondered when the next musical interlude would break through the long dialogue – not because I wasn’t loving the show, but because I’d come down with a cold and needed to blow my nose constantly but did not desire to disturb the communal silence of the theatre.  And the list goes on.
 
Even though I logically know that my insomnia, my penny-pinching tendencies, my dislike of large crowds, and my weak immune system accompany me wherever I go, I didn’t think about these things when I first started contemplating my time in London (I mean, who does?).  Instead, I fantasized about visiting all of the archaic cathedrals, finding every single free museum, trying all varieties of English ale, crashing through Platform 9 ¾ and finally attending Hogwarts (don’t laugh), and seeing every single West End and Off-West End show currently running.
 
And while I have done, or have started to do, all of the above, I have also been – for better or worse – accompanied by myself wherever I go.
 
It would be easy for me at this point to write that, oh, well, such is the experience of traveling, and from now on I will embrace both the commonplace and the joy of my time abroad.  But I don’t want to try and delude myself that it’s that easy.  I don’t think it’s ever possible to fully embrace the mundane.   What I believe is possible is to experience both the mundane and the extraordinary.  Because of my insomnia – while it is hardly enjoyable to fall asleep at half past one in the morning only to wake up four hours later – I have some novel memories of wandering London in the early morn, headache behind my nose and wonder in my eyes.  Because of my broken umbrella and the subsequent downpour, I got completely drenched last Friday, and I’m not going to pretend that I enjoyed the experience – but at least I know now to invest in a better umbrella, and besides, now I can say I’ve been in a proper London rainstorm. 
 
Maybe in a few years time, these memories will naturally give themselves rose-colored glasses, and all I’ll remember of those early morning walks is the beauty of the fog-streaked sky and the towering architecture.  For now, however, I’m going to choose to remember the good and the bad, the stunning architecture above me and the tension headache behind my eyes.  For now, I accept that living in London means dealing with throbbing headaches and broken umbrellas even amidst experiences of wonder and joy.  And rather than let these things take away from the joy, or try to convince myself that they overrule the joy, I’m going to just let them exist.
 
And hey, tomorrow evening I get to see King Lear again, with the talented Beale and my congested head and all.  

[photo taken by me during a bout of insomnia. Said insomnia is probably fairly self-explanatory due to a) the Tim Burton-esque dark circles beneath my eyes and b) the fact that I intended to take a picture of the view and totally did not realize until after I took this selfie that I had not, in fact, captured the view. Alas. 'Tis a good insomniac story, at least.]