from Lax to Heathrow

Taking a 12-day Western European escapade felt incredibly indulgent. It probably was. But, my gosh, reason and guilt be damned.
It was amazing, and hard, and good, and so unbelievably clarity-inducing. And now, we shall re-live it in all its real life glory.
My flight was direct (and long) from Los Angeles to London. I must've been exhausted upon landing, and yet... I was far too concerned with reuniting with Rachael! The lovely lady was kind enough to meet me at the airport and lead me back to her flat for a much-needed shower. Then, we set out to check off the one thing on my touristy London to-do list: visit the Tate Modern.
Although I found half the galleries to be exceedingly broad in curation (the opinion of a total non-expert), I really, really enjoyed our visit. And not just because it was totally free. And not just because I was there with Rachael. And not just because we had to walk through certain parts of the collection twice in order to get a good look at them since we were appropriately too focused on catching up with each other on absolutely everything. That said, all those parts were pretty damn wonderful, too.
We finished at the museum just as it was closing and set out to meet my sister for dinner. As I mentioned, Deanna is studying abroad. As I hadn't mentioned, she moved into her Notting Hill flat (with five roommates!) four days prior to my arrival.
Thanks to Freya, I knew of a perfectly convenient spot for dining: The Churchill Arms, where Irish beer and Thai food are plentiful.
Once I'd devoured five spring rolls, a full plate of pad ped, and bites of everyone else's meals After eating, we stopped by my sister's flat. I was so glad to see where my sister will be living for the next few months, as well as meet with whom. Oh, to be 20 again.
From there, my heart and tummy full, I followed Rachael to two of her favorite haunts in Shoreditch: Callooh Calley and Happiness Forgets. How I managed to drink cocktails at each bar without promptly passing out, I may never know. Adrenaline is magic.
Nonetheless, I did pass out at Rachael's flat by midnight, with the help of a trusty sleeping pill. The joys of a 9-hour jet lag, I tell ya! Stay tuned.