I swear we're doing more than eating.

Raclette: from the French verb "racler" meaning to rake or scrape. Raclette is a Swiss dish of melted cheese---in this case, Ogleshield--- piled over boiled new potatoes with lots of ground pepper. Usually served, as it was here, with sweet gherkins and pickled onions. (Ick to the last part but, yes please, to the cheese and potatoes.) I saw a half a wheel of cheese sitting cross-section side up and being melted under a flame and I knew I was in. "That one's gonna plague us later," Dan said.

It's 11:30pm. I'm not sleeping. We've been running around all day---walking until our dirty flip-flopped feet were aching---and I feel way too awake right now. I don't think I ever adjusted completely to the time difference and at this point I think that might be a good thing. (On the flip side, I slept until 9am today and I haven't done that in a while.) Our schedule has been 12 (the time we get out in the world) to 12. Some life. At first I was beating myself up for not getting out earlier but this schedule seems to be working and we're getting it all in.

The past few days have been fantastic and I've been writing about all of it on bits of paper and bound notebooks---just not here. I meant to. I've been keeping a log of every day's journey so maybe at the end of the trip (or when I'm home and wanting to relive it) I'll get it all on here.

For now, a series of highlights:

1) Saturday we went to Burough Market---London's oldest food market---and it was so ridiculously wonderful that I may have to go again this weekend. I was surrounded by stalls and booths and makeshift shops filled with foods from all over the place. Barrels of olives with giant wooden ladles. Ostrich and Kangaroo burgers. Cakes and tarts and nuts and berries. Crates and coolers of veggies and fruits. Tables and sacks of fresh breads and giant wheels of aged cheese. Chorizo and Rugelach and meat pies all in one place.

We tried to go from salty to sweet and washed it down with fresh sangria. Mostly, we tried to eat as much as we could: Crispy strips of pork belly served in a baguette slathered with apple sauce. Rose flavored Turkish Delight. Honey and Lavender ice cream. Homemade toffee and hot ginger fudge. Red chicken curry and creme caramel pots. And, of course, raclette. (Ironically, after a day of such feasting, I am now down four of the six gained pounds. I also found flax seed at the market---I have been looking for it since I got here---which may have contributed to the loss. When I found the flax, Dan asked "Are your insides doing a little happy dance?") This foodie has never been so happy as I was at that market. I really might have to, at least, swing by there this weekend to try the rose, cardamom and almond ice cream.

2) The Imperial War Museum--- I was totally rolling my eyes about having to go to this place as it was Dan's pick and it's my job to be difficult, but it was incredible. I learned more history in three hours here (They actually had to kick us out! We got kicked out of a war museum!) than I did in four years of high school. It's so interesting to see how much of an impact World War II had on England. Not even just The Blitz and the physical damage, but the fear. We went to see the Cabinet War Rooms and the Churchill Museum last week and will be coming home giant history geeks. We may even go back to the museum because we didn't really get to explore the area concerning WW I and had to rush through the Holocaust exhibit which was the main reason for our going there. The Holocaust exhibit, well, what's to be said? Dan and I could barely speak to each other afterwards. There is nothing you can even say, it's so upsetting.

3) This made the fact that we had to go from there to see Sister Act (the musical) in Oxford Circus, feel very strange. Earlier in the day we had procured 9th row seats to the show which is previewing in London and Broadway bound. Fortunately we had some down time in between for coffee and collection of self. The show was great fun. It took us a minute to get into it (as it was on the heels of the magic that is Billy Elliot) but it was a sweet and funny night at the theater. The lead, Patina Miller, was fan-friggin-tastic and it was the kind of show---and this doesn't happen often at the Thee-A-Tah---that really does get you on your feet for dancing and not just the standing ovation. I've used the word fun twice (well fun and funny) and I'll use it again: This show is friggin' fun. And sometimes the Thee-A-Tah should be that, too.

4) Lots of other fabulous moments were had that will hopefully be documented but as it's now so late, will have to wait.

5) Which brings me to tonight---July 28, 2009---the night I was supposed to see Michael Jackson in concert. Dan had been saying all week that we should go to the O2 Arena on this day (mostly 'cuz he wanted to check it out) but I hadn't been into it. When MJ died, this trip became something else. Something fantastic, but something other than realizing a childhood dream. There's loss there. So I wasn't really into the idea of going there, but went with it since we were only a few tube stops away from the arena.

(We spent most of the day at the Tower of London which was sort of disappointing if I'm being honest, mostly because---and Dan and I figured this out while we were there---while we both love kids, we're sort of snobby vacationers and don't dig being around families or tourists, both of which were swarming the place. And I know we're tourists too---believe me, we analyzed and chastised ourselves for all our judgments and prejudices---but it's the truth. If we could have removed all children and their parents and all the people who flat tired me during the Beefeater tour---I totally had a crush on our Beefeater and am fascinated by the community of Yeomen Warders who live there---the Tower would have been neat. It is a thousand-year old prison and stuff.)

So, MJ... In the end, I'm glad we went. We were there at the same time we would have been there for the concert and talked about how I would have been sick with excitement at that moment if things were different. There was a wall outside the arena covered in pictures and Sharpied notes and typed letters. There were roses and candles and a handful of crying fans sitting on the pavement, looking at the wall. I watched. I read some of it. I wrote my thing. I felt it, which maybe I needed to do.

When I bought the tickets and in the months since, I imagined how it would feel to hear him sing "Man in the Mirror." How I knew I would cry like a teenager; How absurd and incredible and brimming with emotion that moment would be. I thought about that tonight, looking around the place. (With tons of restaurants, a rollerskating rink, exhibits and attractions, the place is huge---but it was so empty. It was so depressing. A mall with a giant stage.) I thought about that moment that never was; How beautiful it would have been; How I'll never really know how it would have felt but was so close. It's frustrating and sad and sometimes maddening and unbelievable. I am in friggin' London on a trip planned this year---the year of his death---around seeing him in concert. I was so close.

But close will have to be good enough. Maybe "close" is half the fun. The stuff of the journey.

Anyway, I'm glad I went. This business of closure and all.

It's almost 2:30 now...I don't think tomorrow is going to be the be day we get an early start.