This past weekend, I decided to take a little break between classes and escape to London with a few friends.
Stepping off the plane, we threw ourselves with glee on the first sign we saw in English, spoke in poor British accents for three hours straight, and got down to business: Wimbledon.
We not only spent our first night in London on park benches, but we befriended some sassy British kids, we endured 16 consecutive hours of rain, and we spent a grand total of $620 between four people. Oh, and we got front row seats to Wimbledon. Front row seats to Wimbledon. Unless you got married this weekend, that’s pretty hard to beat.
Sam David, a senior engineering and biology student and fellow Hawkeye, was one of my traveling buddies for the weekend. Sam is really easy-going and a huge sports buff. He decided last minute to join us, and we’re all happy he did. We sat down afterwards to recap the weekend.
Ann Colwell: Overall evaluation: incredible. We are never going to forget this experience, barring Alzheimer’s, of course. What was the best part for you?
Sam David: There’s an allure to being at Wimbledon. You see the wall of champions and you know that you’re in a place where so much history has been made. I went thinking I’d get ground seats and walk around the grounds, see a few matches of lesser quality. Never did I think I would be in the front row of a match that actually mattered. A week from now we might be saying that we saw the Wimbledon champion play. To see something that important in sports was pretty cool for me.
AC: Let’s talk about that night we spent outside. When we arrived at the queue at the Park, it was about 1 a.m. the morning of the tournament. I remember a drunk Brit yelling, “Welcome to the queue!” with such enthusiasm, and I knew that it was going to be an interesting day. What was running through your head?
SD: We got our queue cards, which reserved our spot in line to buy tickets. We were #450 in line, and that pretty much guarantees a spot on the Center Court or Court One, the best places to watch tennis. I noted that the weather wasn’t too bad. We were warned by another drunken British man that because we didn’t have a tent, we were going to get “wet bum.”
AC: Now why would we want a tent? Oh yes, because it was freezing.
SD: Everyone else in the queue had tents, thermoses, sleeping bags, pillows, coffee — basically five star accommodations compared to what we had. We had nothing else to do, so we wandered off to find a place to sleep and ended up in what I think was a rose garden.
AC: Fast forward to 4 a.m., when it began to rain.
SD: We found some random house in the park and crashed on the porch under the overhang. We had marginal success sleeping there, minus the frost that accumulated on our clothes while we slept.
AC: Comfortable?
SD: Absolutely not. I think those three hours earned me a few trips to the chiropractor.
AC: That’s why I have my masseuse on speed dial. You never know when you’re going to wake up all sore from sleeping on some random park ranger’s porch in London. We rejoined the queue at 6 a.m., right in front of the British kids.
SD: They were a riot — the kind of guys who could actually make you laugh after spending a sleepless night in a rose garden, and ruthlessly commandeering clothes from your friends in an attempt to stay warm. We were so out of it; everything was funny.
AC: Don’t worry, I won’t ever tell anyone that you stole my pink shawl and didn’t want to give it back. But eight to nine hours of queuing was worth it in the end. Remind me again where our seats were?
SD: The front row: the perfect location for being mesmerized by Maria Sharapova. She’s ranked the second best female tennis player in the world. Sharapova is a past champion of Wimbledon and the US Open — that’s a pretty big deal for anyone, let alone a 20-year-old. She is also very good looking.
AC: Sam, how would you describe the sound Sharapova makes when she hits the ball? It sounded to me like a tribal call that got confused with a mating call.
SD: (laughs, and thinks for a moment) It’s as if someone punched her in the gut while she was having sex. Yeah, that’s exactly how it sounds. It’s the type of sound a girl that hot should never make.
After a lot of sleep and a change of clothes, Sam and I took some time to create a mini-playlist of the songs that would best describe our day in paradise.
Songs for a Wet Bum:
The Kids Aren’t Alright — The Offspring
Dead Leaves and the Dirty Ground — The White Stripes
In the Cold Cold Night — The White Stripes
Comfortably Numb — Pink Floyd
Where is my Mind? — The Pixies
Up All Night — Counting Crows
London Bridge — Fergie (Just kidding. Sam says that Fergie has nothing on Sharapova, but seriously, we can’t resist the way she spells her name.)
Here Comes the Sun — The Beatles
London Calling — The Clash
The Clash said it best.
Ann
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