It has been six months since I was last on an airplane. It's taken me this long to recooperate from my trip to London in November. It was a nightmare from start to finish, but somewhere in there was a pretty magical day. One I continue to day dream about.

Westminster Abbey, March 2012


The Catching Fire premiere was in the middle of my trip, and as always it was a long, cold, rollercoaster of an event. I've learned no two premieres are exactly alike - at least from my experience - and this one might have been the most bizarre. I found myself at 4:30AM going beyond the boundary of the garden in which we were being kept. I took a stroll down to the National Portrait Gallery, where I could see that familiar blue rooster and the monument for Mandela. There was a small group of teenagers sitting on the steps and off in the distance, in all it's glory, was Big Ben. There were some voices in the distance behind me and due to the events that had transpired earlier in the week, I decided to head back to my sleeping friends by way of the lit streets, and not the dark alleys from which I had come.

I passed the museum and walked a deserted road that had seen millions of footsteps a mere twelve hours beforehand. Whenever I visit "sleepless cities", it always strikes me odd that indeed they do have their moments of solace. Eventually everyone retires to a club or an exclusive after party or a warm bed. That occassionally you can take one left turn and wind up in a dystopian wasteland.

I rounded the corner and found myself standing in the majesty of Picadilly Circus: the Times Square of London. In every direction as far as I could see I was alone. There were no speeding taxis, no gang of teenagers, not even obnoxious club music permeated my bubble. The only sound came from the billboards above me that hummed with the same elctricity that was coursing through my veins. I felt alive and in that moment those buildings and that street and the whole night belonged to me and there was no one I had to share the moment with and there was nothing I wanted to do but to bask in those shining lights safe in the knowledge that I was alive and I was in my favorite city and amazing things were about to happen.

(I wish I had taken a picture, but I didn't bring my camera and my phone had already been stolen at this point.)

Accidental Eavesdropping

For four hours I had been waiting for my friends to arrive outside the Odeon in Leicester Square in London. We were planning to camp out for the Les Miserables world premiere which was taking place the next day. I had flown in from Seattle specifically for this event - taking a few days beforehand to experience London during Christmastime. This was my last day in London, so I had already checked out of my hotel. My bag sat at my feet and my phone rested in my frozen hand.

"We'll be there in an hour!" They told me.

Cold, anxious, and starving, I went into the nearby Costas for a bit of a warm up. First of all, let me say that their hot chocolates are amazing not only for taste but for presentation. The barista used a Christmas tree cookie cutter to get the best shape with the powder cocoa he sprinkled over the foamy top. And then he covered it all with a lid! Remarkable.

So, freshly warm with Costas and an outlet to charge my phone, I awaited my friends and tried not to overexcite myself with the following day's events. The only other premiere I have camped out for - or attended at all, for that matter - was The Hunger Games in March 2012. The friends I was currently waiting for were the same friends I met that night. But tomorrow, oh tomorrow was Les Miserables. I grew up watching the 10th Anniversary Special and I couldn't wait to see the stars and hear how Cameron Macintosh revamped this classic for the silver screen.

"We just got off the train! We'll be there in five!" My phone illuminated.

I gathered my things and headed for the cashier.

"Can I use the restroom?" I asked.

I was met with a very confused look - ask for the toilet, the loo, the WC, even the bathroom. But the 'restroom' is not a European phrase.

"Uh...the toilet?" I corrected myself.

He told me a labrinthian path up the back stairs and beyond multiple corridors. After having gotten lost multiple times, I deduced that I was indeed in the Odeon theater and was supposed to use their bathroom. Because it was warm and my friends had yet to arrive downstairs, I took my time. I brushed my hair in the mirror, added extra layers for the impending cold December night, and brushed my teeth. As I began washing my hands, a voice penetrated the bathroom walls. Quiet at first, and then growing stronger.

"God on high, hear my prayer-"

I stood frozen where I was.

"-In my need you have always been there"
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I grew up listening to Colm Wilkenson belt out this familiar tune, and now the voice was quite different. My hands shook with excitement. I tried to surpress a squeal. I grabbed my bags and went to find the source.

There, just beyond the door to theater #8, the movie was playing. This movie that I have waited years to see. This movie that I was camping in an English winter to celebrate, was right in front of me.

I cracked the door just barely. Just enough to see a full crowd and Hugh Jackman - face the size of a billboard - singing at the barricade.