Arriving in London had become routine by this point and the only surprise I encountered was the fact that there had been someone sleeping in the bunk below mine. We did not bother to make much small talk because about twenty minutes after this fact became evident, neither of us would ever talk to the other again.

Once again, the same routine. I went to the local room reservations desk to inquire about a bed at a hostel and I was politely informed that there were none left. Just great. Fortunately, they had a nice one-bed hotel room. Unfortunately, it was going to set me back another 40 pounds (about $60-$65).

I managed to get myself to the hotel easily and I was surprised at the quality of the place. I seem to remember it was less expensive than the place I stayed on my last stop through London, and it was a much nicer place by virtue of the lack of winos sleeping in the doorway. Yes, my last hotel room had been about $70 and it was a dive. On a side note, I should mention that, when I heard from Lindsay in November, she was excited about going to New York for the sightseeing and, I’m not making this up, "lots of cheap shopping". Another travelling tip: if you want your money to go far in London, take it to the top of the Millennium Wheel and throw it across the Thames.

I checked into my room, left a message for Lindsay and put together my plan for the day: The British Museum.

After my usual navigational procedure of looking at the map in my hotel room, remembering the names of a couple streets and never looking at the thing again, I managed to get myself lost in London amongst the throngs of people who were, as far as I could tell, engaged in the duty of making London a very busy, noisy place. Where they were going and where they had come from were all beyond my comprehension, but for some reason walking the streets while talking on cell phones was an important part of their business day.

As usual, I accidentally found myself at one of the doorways to (insert appropriate trumpet fanfare) the British Museum and entered before I had the chance to lose the place again. The Museum is, technically, free, but they ask for a donation of a few pounds, which I paid because I am, technically, an idiot.

The British Museum is a remarkable place. An expansive space filled with myriad rooms, themselves filled with all manner of collections from all over the world. The Muslim collection was mostly pottery, though it had a section devoted to literature and some interesting examples of strange weapons. There were a wide variety of pieces from Greece, as well as a significant Roman collection. The Viking collection included the unearthed artifacts from Sutton Hoo, itself including a Viking ship. The large Egyptian section was easily the most crowded because of the fact it included actual people. Sure, they were dead people, but the macabre fascination of real mummies was hard to deny. I was hoping to see the Rosetta Stone, but I think they had relocated that by the time of my arrival; it is now found in the Great Court, which was not yet open while I was there. The Indian collection was extensive, the section on China included a stairwell looping around a gigantic statue of some manner of Chinese ruler or something and the Japanese collection mostly consisted of tapestries. In my explorations of the place, the one place on earth that did not seem to be represented in the British Museum was, well, Britain. This is either some sort of oversight, or one serious, nationwide ego problem concerning just what encompasses "Britain". Either way, the British Museum is the one place on earth that best sums up the concept of "to the victor go the spoils" and Britain spent a long, long time not losing.

With the remarkable collection, it is almost impossible to tell you everything I saw. However, one interesting occurrence was while I was walking through the Roman collection and I heard something that sounded like a fountain, but I couldn’t seem to find the thing anywhere. Then I looked up to some large, engraved stones hanging on the wall and realized that the ceiling had sprung a fountain and was pouring water, very artistically, over some engravings from ancient Rome. A few museum workers were standing in front of it, talking on walkie-talkies and staring with confused expressions that could best be described as, "I was not trained to deal with this." Later, I passed by the same place and found the answer to the problem was for the workers to cover the stones with duct tape and trash bags. It’s good to know that some problem solving techniques manage to easily cross international boundaries.

I finished some other various sightseeing, but none of it was anything new or particularly memorable, especially considering I can’t really remember any of it.

I returned to my hotel room to find a message waiting for me from Lindsay. I immediately called her, talked to her and found out that I would not be able to see her at any point during my final sojourn in London because she had plans for that evening and she would be going to a wedding the following day. This was, as most readers are well familiar, not the least bit surprising.

It was late, I was tired. I reserved my room for the next day, as I decided to stay close to London and I did not want to screw around with trying to find a room on my Saturday. I adjourned to my room, plotted my plan for the next day, completed my Kerouac and went to sleep.