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Fast forward through all of winter quarter '06, to 12:27 PM on Saturday, March 18th: I found myself sitting on a plane at SFO, bound for Heathrow Airport.  I found it tough to sleep on the 10.5-hour flight -- I got no more than fifteen minutes of very poor-quality rest -- but fortunately, as seems to be my wont on trips, jet lag didn't come to get me the following day.

Fast forward again -- this time while turning the clock eight hours ahead -- to 6:55 AM London time, early Sunday morning.  United Flight 930 landed at Heathrow, and it was time for the day to begin.  One small problem though: I had to get out of Heathrow first.  Never in my life have I spent so much time at an airport after landing: I spent an hour-and-a-half in the passport line, over half an hour waiting in line to get money (only to ultimately learn that, for reasons that remain unbeknownst to me, my ATM card didn't work in Britain), and another half an hour waiting in line to get my ticket for the Underground (London's railway system, also known as the Tube).  Maybe it was just the Perfect Storm of airport arrivals, but the people ahead of me in these lines spent well over 10 minutes apiece at the counter, haggling over who knows what.  Needless to say, by the time I boarded the eastbound train at 9:00 AM, I was rather sick of Heathrow Airport.

The first Briton-to-Briton conversation I heard on the trip started within minutes of my boarding the Tube.  Two girls standing at the end of the train car launched into a very raunchy, detailed, and LOUD chat about their respective sexual exploits (keep in mind that nobody else on the train was talking, so everyone could hear every word they were saying).  For a minute, I thought that British people were some combination of horny and insane, but the increasingly flustered looks on my fellow passengers' faces informed me that the insanity was limited to this pair of girls.  When the duo finally got off the train, there were expressions of profound relief all around.  The early portion of this first morning in London had turned out to be quite a bit crazier than anticipated.

Finally, at 10 AM, I arrived at South Kensington station and made my way down the street to Ishaan's apartment in Chelsea.  Judging from the reactions of friends and my British professor, I had figured Chelsea was a pretty nice neighborhood (Ishaan likened it to Palo Alto's University Avenue, except without the university).  I was pleased to find on this pleasant Sunday morning that those reactions were not far from the truth.  I lugged my stuff up to Nell Gwynn House and took the elevator up to Ishaan's pad, which turned out to be quite nice:

After calling Bernard and agreeing to a meeting spot for the afternoon, Ishaan and I headed out and boarded the Tube for Alperton station.  I had heard rave reviews about London's Indian food -- with one friend even deeming it superior to Indian food in India -- so trying out an Indian restaurant was the first order of business.  Arriving at Alperton, we walked down to the nearby Indian district.  It was a busy Sunday, with locals milling to and from the many Indian stores, markets, and restaurants; after considering a few different options, we decided to eat at a little place called Dadima.

There, Ishaan and I both had Thali lunches, along with samosas and pani puri.  The meal was quite good, with some elements -- such as the sauce for the samosas -- done differently (and better) than their equivalents in the U.S. 

After an enjoyable first lunch in London, it was time to head back to the heart of the city and meet up with Bernard.  At about 2:30 PM, we found ourselves amidst the hustle and bustle of Leicester Square:

As you can see on the right, there is no shortage of American fast food in London.  Burger King, McDonald's, Pizza Hut, and KFC are pretty much all over the place, and Starbucks is ubiquitous.  Unfortunately, as far as restaurants go, the "best" American import I saw the whole trip was T.G.I. Friday's.  Needless to say, I avoided all of these places (just as I would at home).

After some back-and-forth on the cell phone, we finally met up with Bernie.  We began an impromptu walking tour of the city that took us through Chinatown...

Piccadilly Circus...

Trafalgar Square and the National Gallery...

St. James' Park and Buckingham Palace...

Big Ben...

the London Eye...

the Tate Modern...

Shakespeare's Globe Theater...

the Tower Bridge...

...and, finally, a ride on one of London's famous double-decker buses.  (If I'm not looking too good here, keep in mind that by this point, I had been up for over thirty consecutive hours.  Oof!)

How do you top off a day like this?  How about with some Belgian food?  In one of the biggest shockers of the whole trip, Belgo -- a Belgian import near Covent Garden -- turned out to be one of the best food experiences I had in London.  Ishaan, Bernie, and I feasted on Green Thai Mussels, Haddock Hoegaarden (haddock with buttered sugar snap peas and broad beans, served with tartar sauce and fries), Magret de Canard a la Mirabelle (roast breast of duck, served with a light spring onion mash and plum beer jus), and Bouchee aux Champignons Sauvage (a puff pastry filled with wild mushrooms and button onions in an Orval beer and truffle cream sauce).  All this was complemented by a Belgian specialty: fruit beer, which is just like it sounds -- sweet beer that comes in raspberry, banana, strawberry, mango, passionfruit, cranberry, cherry, raspberry, honey, and coconut flavors.  I guess the concept of beer as a guy drink is foreign to the Belgians, but damn, the stuff sure is good (I had three beers: raspberry, coconut, and cherry).  All in all, it was an amazingly scrumptious dinner.  A fitting end to a fun first day to the trip.

Map of London