Graduation. Well not quite. It’s a “presentation” ceremony, the degrees are issued by the University of London, not the LSE, and rather than being handed a rolled scroll with a ribbon I’ll get my sheepskin via the mail likely in an envelope stamped “do not bend.” I didn’t bother to attend the graduation of my Bachelor’s, even though it took me 4 years to complete, I just couldn’t be bothered to fly 5 hours across 3 time zones to listen to a list of names. Of course my folks are a different story, which is why they flew almost 7 hours to London at insane rates just to see me prance around in my magician’s robes.
I believe the last time my folks saw each other was my high-school graduation, about 6 years ago, suffice it to say I’m hoping this time it works out better. We start off by meeting my dad for breakfast at the Rock Garden café in Covent Garden. He’s pretty sharp looking but his face looks strained, similar to that of someone in a dentist’s chair. He must be more stressed than I am. We order a very sub-standard and over-priced English breakfast, why is it that the touristy places have to be expensive AND crap, the best English breakfast comes from the little smoky diner on your local corner.
I arrive at the LSE and pick up my robes, and then its paparazzi time, click click click. After a few dozen shots we go into the hot stuffy theatre for the ceremony. Its long, boring, and dull. We re-emerge to head to the foyer for the reception, champagne orange juice and little sandwiches, huzzah. Of course it wasn’t the ceremony that I came for, I came for my friends, and it is good to see them again. We meet at the White Hart on Drury Lane for some proper pints (versus the 25cl goblet you get in Brussels) and laugh and joke. The bar is full of the dense smell of smoke that reminds me that here in this centuries old bar in England there's still a little character, versus the sterile cookie-cutter chic yuppie bars so popular back home. For me the year at the LSE is much more than the end day in which I shook the hand of a director I never knew, but the hundreds of days before that where I met the people and had the experiences that shaped and changed me.
The next day Tatevik and I overeat at the buffet breakfast, a very bad choice since today is the designated meal day. The folks probably would have wanted to have a formal dinner on Wednesday after grad but my father made clear that he couldn't tolerate a common dinner, besides I wanted to see friends at the bar. It starts off with Dim Sum with my dad, he eyeballs a restaurant near Russel Square but I ask if we can go to Shanghai Blues near Holborn, my favourite Chinese place in London. With a posh decor and an entire menu page dedicated to teas, it can come off as pretentious but the food is damn good. Without a reservation we have to settle for a small table but its fine for only 3 of us. Tatevik's never had Dim Sum, or used chopsticks for that matter, so I enjoy watching her as the strange and colourful dishes come. After the meal we walk around Oxford street and then head to the Natural History Museum for ice skating. Unfortunately I accidentally take us off the tube at Knightsbridge so we walk quite a ways only to find the rink is a giant puddle and closed off. We wander the small market near the museum and then go in for the power tour as Tatevik drags us through all 4 sections of the museum in around 1 hour.
Even though its been almost 6 hours I'm still nowhere near hungry enough for what's coming next, but I wouldn't miss it for the world. I asked John to book "someplace expensive", and he indulges me by booking us a table in the Picasso room of l'Escargot in Soho. My cousin Casey and his wife are there, the powerhouse couple they're both loaded professionals working in the city, plus John, Mum, Sammy and Tatevik. Through the all the wine, food and laughs the 3-4 hour long dinner is exactly what I had in mind. Afterwards Casey, Lora, Tatevik and I grab a martini across the road. Unfortunately the combination of English, Chinese, French, and a lot of booze does a number on me that night, still it was all well worth it.
I believe the last time my folks saw each other was my high-school graduation, about 6 years ago, suffice it to say I’m hoping this time it works out better. We start off by meeting my dad for breakfast at the Rock Garden café in Covent Garden. He’s pretty sharp looking but his face looks strained, similar to that of someone in a dentist’s chair. He must be more stressed than I am. We order a very sub-standard and over-priced English breakfast, why is it that the touristy places have to be expensive AND crap, the best English breakfast comes from the little smoky diner on your local corner.
I arrive at the LSE and pick up my robes, and then its paparazzi time, click click click. After a few dozen shots we go into the hot stuffy theatre for the ceremony. Its long, boring, and dull. We re-emerge to head to the foyer for the reception, champagne orange juice and little sandwiches, huzzah. Of course it wasn’t the ceremony that I came for, I came for my friends, and it is good to see them again. We meet at the White Hart on Drury Lane for some proper pints (versus the 25cl goblet you get in Brussels) and laugh and joke. The bar is full of the dense smell of smoke that reminds me that here in this centuries old bar in England there's still a little character, versus the sterile cookie-cutter chic yuppie bars so popular back home. For me the year at the LSE is much more than the end day in which I shook the hand of a director I never knew, but the hundreds of days before that where I met the people and had the experiences that shaped and changed me.The next day Tatevik and I overeat at the buffet breakfast, a very bad choice since today is the designated meal day. The folks probably would have wanted to have a formal dinner on Wednesday after grad but my father made clear that he couldn't tolerate a common dinner, besides I wanted to see friends at the bar. It starts off with Dim Sum with my dad, he eyeballs a restaurant near Russel Square but I ask if we can go to Shanghai Blues near Holborn, my favourite Chinese place in London. With a posh decor and an entire menu page dedicated to teas, it can come off as pretentious but the food is damn good. Without a reservation we have to settle for a small table but its fine for only 3 of us. Tatevik's never had Dim Sum, or used chopsticks for that matter, so I enjoy watching her as the strange and colourful dishes come. After the meal we walk around Oxford street and then head to the Natural History Museum for ice skating. Unfortunately I accidentally take us off the tube at Knightsbridge so we walk quite a ways only to find the rink is a giant puddle and closed off. We wander the small market near the museum and then go in for the power tour as Tatevik drags us through all 4 sections of the museum in around 1 hour.
Even though its been almost 6 hours I'm still nowhere near hungry enough for what's coming next, but I wouldn't miss it for the world. I asked John to book "someplace expensive", and he indulges me by booking us a table in the Picasso room of l'Escargot in Soho. My cousin Casey and his wife are there, the powerhouse couple they're both loaded professionals working in the city, plus John, Mum, Sammy and Tatevik. Through the all the wine, food and laughs the 3-4 hour long dinner is exactly what I had in mind. Afterwards Casey, Lora, Tatevik and I grab a martini across the road. Unfortunately the combination of English, Chinese, French, and a lot of booze does a number on me that night, still it was all well worth it.
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