Summary Paragraph: Regent’s Park Out on the south of the Inner Circle there is a park with the fine views of Westminster and the city. There is a wide range of facilities including a Open Air Theatre which hosts a various amounts of plays. The Italian Gardens include several different types of plants and flowers that fill the air with a fresh aroma that is soothing to the scenes. The most impressive aspect of this part is not the aesthetics though, it is the friendly atmosphere of nearly a thousand people meeting up after a day at work for recreational purposes. They play sports such as softball, rugby, and soccer to get a good amount of exercise after a day at the office. A range of colorful blankets, some new and some worn from many visits to the park, cover the grounds as people unpack their picnic baskets and distribute food portions to their family and friends. I lock eyes with a beautiful brunette who tastes a sip of wine as she continues her conversation with her male companion. The dark stain of her lips as she smiles from something her companion says makes me miss Regent’s Park even before I leave. The truth is this park that releases such a beautiful vibe does not exist in Wake Forest, North Carolina. As I walked through the park, I felt welcomed and thought to myself, this would be a great way to end the day after a day of teaching in the states. Therefore I left the park envious by the sense of camaraderie and friendships that I observed between the Londoners at such a beautiful area of the world, aesthetically and spiritually. __________________________________________________________________
Expressive Writings: The Rosetta Stone Visiting the British Museum is like taking a step into the past. So many exhibits that you have to begin the visit by saying “I can’t possibly see everything today.” As soon as you come to this realization, you can map out what you want to cover that day and begin your experience. I decided to focus on Egypt and Greece and try to take a chronological approach to one of my hopefully many trips to the British Museum. When I approached the Rosetta Stone I saw a large group gathered around its glass case taking pictures with their camera that would only capture their own image from the reflection of the glass. Standing here, getting shoved and elbowed by observers eager to get a look, is the moment I decided to take in the experience of finally seeing this stone that I have learned so much about through my years of schooling and
watching the History Channel. Seeing the stone was one of the objectives I wanted to check off my cliche “bucket list� when I visited London. The rest of the exhibits were quite engaging but did not live up to the moment of standing in front of the Rosetta Stone. Another elbow lodges in my side as a teenager forces his way to the front. Usually I get annoyed by so many people surrounding me but I am too locked into what I am about to experience, witness. Chills filled my body; the hair on my legs stood erect even though the warm body heat from the visitors made the room stuffy. The noise of the room quietly faded away from my perception as I began to concentrate on how seeing this stone is symbolic, representing such an influential piece of the history behind mankind. Seeing the Rosetta Stone set the tone for my trip to the museum that day. Every representation of history had a starting point where it derived from. The Rosetta Stone began the timeline of history and the time I visited the British Museum. As I headed to the exit because of the closing time that was quickly approaching, I came to the realization that I may never have the opportunity to visit here again. But I am content. I can rest easy after my visit to the museum knowing I had a moment in front of the Rosetta Stone. ___________________________________________________________________ Expressive Writing: Back Home I am back home now and I am not happy. Nothing can take the place of Europe. Every morning was a preface to an adventure. The cool, crisp mountain air of Spain that fills your lungs, slowly breathing deeply, calmly. The succulent lips of the dark complexioned Spainiard across from me at the cafe. Her every move, predetermined, as she puts the espresso filled cup to those lips. Those lips that make you feel in the moment, heart beating harder. Vivid thoughts of passion. Fantasizing and day-dreaming in the burgundy of her lipstick that stains the cup. But I am back home now. No beautiful woman across from my living room. No smell of freshly roasted coffee beans in the energized cafe. No local newspapers in an unfamiliar language to remind me of the adventure that I am going experience for the rest of the day. Just an empty kitchen, unclean. A staleness left over from before my travels when their was an excitement. Just an empty kitchen with the smell of an instant coffee maker that makes insipid instant coffee. Just an empty living room with a desk and a computer screen that kills time. Wasted away with searches trying to fill
a void. A void of a dreamlike place, filled with a fairy tale setting. Filled with adventure and more importantly, the unknown. Back at home I know what is coming next. Bore me with this routine; opportunity is possible because I recall that cafe in Spain was open daily.