My day started with a taxi trip beginning at 4:30am. Which, of course, meant that I had to be packed and at the gate by 4:30am. Not as much fun as it might sound. I woke up at 3:45 (thank you, new alarm widget for my dashboard), tried to get as ready as possible, and dragged myself and my suitcase out to the taxi in 40 degree weather. This should be the point where you tell me, "But, Sydney, you do know it's significantly warmer in London than Belfast, don't you?" If I hadn't been going crazy about the whole trip in the first place, I probably would have thought of that. Instead, I packed warm layers.

The taxi leaves me at the bus centre exactly six minutes later. I always try to pad my time a bit, but it turned out that my lovely idea left me standing outside the bus centre for nearly 25 minutes. Why outside? Because my bus left before the bus centre opened. The bus did eventually come, and I traveled the 35 minutes to the airport. I had to pay for my checked bag (£16 each way) and go through security, which was oddly packed considering it was early morning.

I would like to take the opportunity now to address any of you who may run airports. It is extremely helpful to your nervous, frazzled travelers if the tickets you give include the gate at which their airplane will depart. I know these things often change, and I don't usually complain about running from one gate to another. I would like to have some indication as to which part of the airport I need to wait in for my flight. It appears that the Belfast International Airport decides on the fly at which gate the flights will be stationed. This fact meant that, once it was advertised which gate I needed, I had 11 minutes to run to the other end of the airport.

The flight was bumpy, the passengers were noisy, and I had a terrible pain in my upper right jaw as we descended. (Anyone who might know what this is, please tell me. It started as a little prick around one tooth, and grew until it felt like someone was chiseling off my teeth from front to back. It happened on the way back to Belfast as well, and I'd like to prevent it from ever happening again.) Landing in London was wonderful, as I've never wanted off of an airplane so badly. Of course, I stepped off the plane to find that my wool coat was already making me sweat. Lovely.

From the airport, I took a bus into London. I could have taken a train and cut the travel time down by nearly 2/3, but I would have paid three times more. The bus ride took almost two hours, and I think I might have actually dozed off for a few moments along the journey. From where the bus dropped me off, I took the tube to a station close to the hotel I had been booked into. I left by what seemed to be the wrong exit, and I was immediately lost. I had no map, no phone, and no idea where I was. After wandering for a bit, dragging my suitcase behind me, a taxi slowed down and asked if I was lost. I'm sure a lost tourist was a great opportunity for him, but it was also a way to make sure I got where I was going.

It turned out I was very near the hotel, and the taxi fare was only £3 to get there. I didn't have the fare in coins, and the only bill I had was a £20 note. He offered to let me out for free, but I felt bad and gave him what coins I had. He was very kind and, knowing that I was lost, could have taken me on a scenic route to get there. I wasn't able to check in that early at the hotel, but I was able to check my bag with the porter and use the free wifi in the lobby and lounge. When I could finally check in, I finished the last chapter of the book I was reading, took a short nap, and headed back downstairs.

Over the course of the next few hours, I met several of the Fulbrighters. (For future reference, when looking for Fulbrighters, go where there is free wifi. We will be there.) I had dinner with a few of them, but, more importantly, I had dinner conversation with a few of them. I was immediately impressed. Not only were they able to speak well on their own subjects (as I should hope), but they also spoke very intelligently about a variety of other topics. It must be said that a Fulbrighter that is a TMNT fan is definitely a friend of mine. The trip was looking up.

The orientation was off to a start the next morning, and we all got to know each other through an exercise called "autograph bingo". I was a little disappointed that my square read "Whose passion in life is Irish Literature?". I mean, it is true, but I was hoping for something more exciting, like "Who threw javelin?" or "Who has been on an expedition to Antarctica?". We also got to meet Michael and Elizabeth, who have been the saints guiding us here from the beginning. We had lectures, discussions, and a pub quiz in the evening. My team was called "The Winners", and the name came awfully close to the truth. We had to go to a double tie-breaker, and we lost. Valiant effort, nonetheless.

On Tuesday, we had an opportunities fair. Unfortunately, there didn't prove to be many opportunities for me without flying back and forth to England. No one I talked to offered anything in Northern Ireland. We also attended a panel, where we heard prominent speakers on economics, politics, social issues, etc. The topic of Northern Ireland was actually broached, and we were told that England just wants Northern Ireland to go away and leave them alone. This statement deeply troubled me, especially considering the period I am studying is the one that includes Northern Ireland's conception and inclusion in the UK. I'm not going to get into all the nitpicky details, but I think these comments were glib, at best. Later that day, we toured the RSA house and heard a lecture given by a Fulbright alumnus on Churchill and the "special relationship" between the US and UK. Though he didn't mention it, I feel like we Fulbrighters are part of that special relationship.

On Tuesday night, we decided to follow Kenneth to his favourite restaurant in London -- an Indian joint near Piccadilly Circus. There were 10 of us, including Michael's three children. We wound up in the wrong part of town (especially for the children in tow), and had to quickly backtrack to a makeshift wonderful Indian joint. Fortunately, the kids seemed less fazed by the surroundings than most of us, and we wound up having a great dinner anyway.

On Wednesday, we finally got to have some tourist fun. We started the morning with a cruise down the Thames. We got to, very briefly, go into the British Maritime Museum and see the Prime Meridian. My camera batteries decided that, since I was finally getting to take pictures of London, they would die. Here are the pictures that I managed to take. Our meetings were held in the Citibank building on the 37th floor. From there, we could see the entire city. I was supposed to meet up with my friend Dan, but our meetings ran long and I had to cancel. That night, we found an Italian restaurant for dinner. We were put in a group room in the basement with eight drunken nurses who had all won an award that day. They were fascinated by us, and we were definitely entertained by them. We hung out the rest of the night in Kenneth's room; I don't know that we could have actually fit another person into the room.

On Thursday, an optional day for orientation, some of us took a tour of the Globe Theatre and ate lunch at the cafe in the Tate Modern. I didn't have much time to spare, considering all the methods of transportation I had to use to get back to Belfast. I left as soon as we got back to the hotel.

I expected the Fulbright group to be bright and well-spoken. We're told that we have to be bright and well-spoken in order to get the grant. I did not necessarily anticipate the level of kindness, generosity, and all around awesomeness of the people I was to meet that week. By Thursday, I felt like I was surrounded by friends, and I honestly hope that I can continue to say that for years to come. We were told we were rockstars, tomorrow's leaders, and world-changers. Despite everything you hear about the youth (and the people that actively teach and shape them), I felt good thinking that my future may lie partially in their hands. And, a little scared at the sheer number of fart jokes I heard. Can't win them all.