They can't take that away from me

Yesterday I went to Harrods, where you can buy anything from a ₤1,000 Prada bag to an original Andy Warhol piece. The store is absolutely obscene in terms of prices and size, but is nonetheless mesmerizing. I found myself actually contemplating a visit to the shoe department, to see if they have a pair of brown boots that weren't too expensive. Hah. I'm glad I decided otherwise. If I started seriously looking at shoes, the clerks would take one look at my grubby Adidas and politely ask me to stop handling the merchandise. The point is, before long, you understand the lure of over-the-top fashion and actually respect (well, appreciate) a place like Harrods.

Afterwards, on a shopping high, I mingled with London's elite and curious tourists and went off in search of sales. Before any major damage was done, I snapped out of it and came to the realization that even a clearance on Brompton Road is still nowhere near my price range.

I strolled around Green Park for a while and before heading back to campus, I decided to visit Notting Hill. By the time I reached Portobello Road, it was dark and all of the street vendors were packing up and leaving. Since returning to London, one of my favorite walks is from the Notting Hill Gate Underground station to the end of Portobello Road, a route I took every day when I was here in December.

Notting Hill really is an absolutely charming area, more diverse than one would expect, and always bustling with people, no matter the time of day. As tourists with their arms full of purchases from the market were leaving, pubs and restaurants were beginning to fill up with locals. I love the familiarity of Notting Hill, and the memories it holds. Every time I visit, I immediately remember what it felt like the first time. Notting Hill was literally the first area I saw when I came to London, Portobello Road the first street I walked along in a foreign country. Being there reminds me of how lucky I am and how much I have to be thankful for.

I decided to walk to the Ladbroke Grove station, which is nearby Portobello Road. I turned down a lovely side street lined with beautiful townhouses, big by London's standards. I was immediately smitten and promised myself that if I ever became successful enough, I would live there. I'd already dreamed about living in Notting Hill some day, but that fantastic little street sealed the deal for me. In all likelihood, I will remain a hard-working and underpaid journalist for most of my adult life (which is fine by me), but, if by some random act of God, I hit the big time with a book or a few Pulitzer Prize-winning pieces of journalism, you'll soon find me in a charming little flat on Cambridge Gardens. (Yes, I looked the street name up. I am serious about this.) For now, I'm content with visiting and revisiting Notting Hill, enjoying the feeling it gives me every time.

I also went to a party last night, hosted by my friend Jason. I just realized this, but I was the only American there. The evening before, Jen and I were the only two Americans in a group of fourteen. A major goal of mine before coming here was to hang out with British students (or any non-American students, for that matter) as much as possible. Goal accomplished.