Como?

After heading to bed with an unshakable pit of loneliness in my stomach the night before, I have to admit that I wasn't optimistic about my second day alone in London, despite the gorgeous blue skies that peeked out from behind my hostel curtain.

My agenda for the day included plenty of musuem hopping, coffee drinking, and unscripted meandering but its most important bullet involved, "passing the time really fast so Mike gets here soon."

By the end of it, however, I almost treasured my solitary existence.

I started the day by heading over to Westminster to check out the Cabinet War Rooms, an underground maze of control rooms, bunkers, and meeting places from World War II. When I emerged from the Tube outside Westminster Abbey, I took in one of my favorite parts of London. Forgive me for being cliche or even a viser-wearing, digital-camera-toting tourist, but there is something about looking over the Thames at the London Eye and then catching sight of Westminster as a double-decker bus flies by that just feels like London. It might not be as authentic as the South or as vibrant as Brixton but it makes me giddy nonetheless.

When I got to the CWR - and forked over, regrettably, my £8 admission fee - I had high hopes. After the British Musuem, however, I was prepared to be disappointed.

Instead, I found my new favorite place in London.

The Cabinet War Rooms were designed to serve as the underground nerve center of London's political and military power during World War II and, most notably, the London Blitz. As bombs rained down overhead, military commanders could lay down policy in the map room, talk on secure lines to their comrades in the field, get on a "hot phone" to the United States, or simply get a good night's rest. Six tons of concrete and steel seperated the bunker from the destruction overhead. (Not that that really mattered to Churchill, who often climbed up on the roof of the building to watch the blitz.)

After VJ day, the rooms were simply abandoned. With no need for them anymore, the commanders, officials, and secretaries literally got up from their desks, grabbed their personal items, and walked out the doors.

They weren't opened again until the Imperial War Musuem stepped in in the 1970s.

What is left today, therefore, is an almost perfect replica of the command center from the 1970s. Walls have been removed, manequinns put into action, and some rooms dismantled to make space for the Churchill Musuem but otherwise, it's easy to imagine exactly how the rooms looked.

The best part, however, is that the entire exhibition is led by an audio guide. When you arrive at a room, you simply put your guide up to your ear, key in the appropriate number, and you can hear a description of what you're looking at, down to anecdotes about arguments or particular items. Even better, those descriptions are often supplemented by reenactments.

It was, for lack of more sophisticated words, pretty cool to imagine the BBC transmitting Churchills speakers from 200 meters under ground. Or to envision the long lines of telephones in the command center bringing news from the front lines. It was especially cool to see a room marked "toilet" which actually disguised the entrance to a secure line from which Churchill could call Roosevelt. The sign always said "engaged" so most people just dismissed it as the prime minister's personal bathroom below.

In addition to preserving the center, the IWM also created a musuem of Churchill's life, documenting his role during the war, his life attacking communism, and his rise to power. It was, by far, the best multimedia musuem highlighting the 20th century that I've ever seen. (These days, I think, it's harder to build a contemporary musuem based entirely on artifacts. This one weaved photographs, sound, video, and interactive displays phenomenally.)

I learned that Churchill counted wallabies among his personal pets, that he actually lost reelection while the war was going on, and that he was a noted journalist before entering politics. Also, he loved to paint and often remarked that when in heaven, his first 2,000 years would be spent painting.

With a renewed spring in my step and a sense of validation that I am, indeed, a halfway decent historian, I headed to the Imperial War Musuem.

I'd actually seen much of the musuem when I came to London in March with Rachel. (I did it alone on the day that I had to haggle with Heathrow about my plane ticket.)

This time, however, I wanted to check out one of the special exhibits on "Great Escapes," which highlights the escapes of POWs from German camps during WWII.

Thankfully, since it was a weekday during the off season, the exhibit was pretty deserted so I could spend as long as I wanted exploring the halls. I could tell that it had been designed with children in mind -- along the way you could fabricate your own papers, build your own ropes, climb through a tunnel or "disguise" yourself in German uniforms.

What the heck, I thought as I surveyed the hallway, No one is around anyway.

So I jumped in. Making fake papers, assembling a rope, getting my fat rump caught in the tunnel recreation. I even dressed up like a German officer. When I got to that stage, in fact, I was deligted to discover a floor length mirror to check myself out in. Now, on any day where I was dressed in prison garb this would be a treat, but today, particularly, I also had a new haircut to admire. So, I spent a bit of time in front of the mirror.

OK, quite a bit of time.

I took my hair down, fluffed it, checked it out from the back. Sucked in my stomach, struck a few poses. Tried the hat from different angles. Perhaps even did a runway strut from one room to the other. It was grand fun.

Until, as I hung up the hat at the conclusion of my show, I noticed a small sign under the mirror.

GOTCHA! YOU'RE ACTUALLY LOOKING IN A TWO-WAY MIRROR! YOU DON'T KNOW JUST WHO MIGHT BE LOOKING BACK AT YOU!

Oh God, I thought, my mouth slowly turning dry. Who could have seen that? Mortified, I grabbed my bags and continued on, the heat never leaving my face.

Then, I realized, there was no one else in the exhibit so who cares?

Turns out, the mirror didn't face out into the exhibit -- it faced out into the main musuem lobby so ANYONE and quite probably MANY PEOPLE probably watched my show. I could have sworn I saw a smirk on the security guard's face when I walked past.

Embarressment aside, the exhibit was fascinating as it detailed the various ways that British Intelligence assisted POWs during the war. They would often deliver tiny games or cigarettes or even shaving kits with tiny maps, papers or instructions hidden inside. Even without the help, the efforts of the escapees were admirable. In one case, prisoners assembled a hollow wooden pummel horse to use in the excercise yard. Unbeknownst to the guards, two men would hide inside it each day and dig a tunnel under the exercise yard and past the prison gates. As the men lined up to jump past, they had no idea.

It took 105 days but it worked!

I used up the rest of the daylight walking around St. James Park, reading and often writing. (St. James is pictured above -- you can see why it's the perfect place for writing and reflection.)

I headed back to the hostel early, deciding that I might spend the evening in the bar as I waited for Mike. When I got back to the room, the only person still inside was, "Girl who speaks no English Girl" (I have GOT to start remembering names.) We had talked, briefly, the night before and she explained that she was from Uruguay and didn't know much English.

"Hola! Como estas?" I said, breezing past her bunk.

She looked startled. "Tu hablas espanol?"

"Un poco," I admitted, thinking "hey, this could be fun."

She squealed and her eyes widened. At the time, I thought she was relieved. Today, I think she looked like the proverbial cat who caught the mouse.

She said she was headed down to the "chill out room" to watch a movie so I decided to join. We chatted a bit as "Forces of Nature" came on and I learned she was trying to meet up with a boy, Shane, whom she'd "met" the night before. He was English and spoke very little Spanish. She speaks no English. You can imagine what their "conversations" were like.

I helped her explain to him that she was in the chill out room watching a movie but that perhaps he should come by later.

Then, Venettia, an Australian girl, game in with a bottle of wine.

"I've had the worst week," she said.

Mmmm, I said in agreement, "Me too. I got here two days ago to take a trip with a friend but he's not coming until tonight! Ridiculous..."

She smiled sympathetically and then shared her woes.

Turns out, her ex-boyfriend has been stalking her, forcing her to move out of her flat and change her number. Today, she walked to the fourth floor of her job and discovered he'd gotten a job there. Then, she dropped her Tube pass - worth £40 - and the staff said they could do nothing to assist her. And, to top it all off, she just discovered that a nodule on her foot is most likely cancer.

Yup, I felt like a huge idiot.

She did tell me, however, that she told her ex-boyfriend's best friend that she'd tested positive for an STD. She's fairly certain he'll relay the bad news and prompt the punk to get a test. A test, which I've been told, involves a very painful Q-Tip procedure.

Try relating that to someone in Spanish.

Many misunderstandings and laughs later, I decided it was time to go to the bar. So, girl who speaks no English girl, in tow, I headed to see what St. Christopher's Greenwich had to offer.

As we sat down, I waved to Ach (or Choo?) and he smiled but turned away. Odd, I thought, but perhaps he didn't see me.

I ordered a beer, chatted with the fella next to me and settled in. I turned to girl who speaks no English girl.

"Getting anything?"

"No dinero."

"Ah, I think I left the rest of mine in the room."

"Oh?" she said, perking up. "So this is for me?" She proceeded, then, to latch on to my pint and drink it down.

I would have demanded its return had she not left strange streaks on it and had I not been deathly afraid of drinking after a random stranger in the bar.

Glumly, I sank down into my seat, practically choking in her cigarette smoke, and surveyed the room for a better drinking companion. Then, Ach (or Choo) got up from his seat and left with a group of friends.

"ARGH!" girl who speaks no English girl said. "Boys are so stupido!"

"Eh?"

"Boys! ESTA STUPIDO!"

"Ah," I said, suddenly getting it. "That was Shane?"

For the remainder of our bar evening, therefore, I sat - imprisoned - as girl who speaks no English girl puffed cancer in my face, licked the bottom of my pint glass, and dug her false nails into my wrist at every BEEP BEEP of her blasted cell phone.

"Como?" she would say as I stumbled to translate.

Then, "YOU DO IT" as she thrust the phone back into my hand.

Time after time, sigh after sigh, I translated. Clearly, I began to realize, this guy does not want to hang out with her anymore.

How does, "He's just not that into you," translate in Spanish?

Defeated - me by my lack of pint, her by her English stud snub - we retreated to the room after midnight. As I walked back out to hit the bathroom, girl who speaks no English girl a mere red fingernail behind, the door to the right opened and out came Shane, shirtless, with a rather cute redhead behind.

Oh God, I thought as I slowly backed into our room, hoping to block the view, I will never get to sleep tonight if she sees this.

Luckily, Shane realized the potential damage as I did, heaved the redhead back into the room and walked with us to the bathroom with no harm done.

As I started to leave, Shane practically crushing my heels on the way out, I heard, "AHEM."

Shane and I turned. Girl who speaks no English girl, apparently, wanted to have a little talk.

"Eh, I'm, eh, ir, a la cuarto," I said, sneaking out before she could say, "COMO!"

Shane's eyes lowered as he struck out his hand to stop the door from closing.

"Wait a minute..... Are you Spanish?" he asked.

"Er.. urhm... American, actually. I just speak a bit of Spanish."

"YOU!" he said, his eyes suddenly very wide.

"Er, sorry," I squealed as I slinked out into the hallway.

Whew, I thought, disaster averted. I crawled under my sheets, set me alarm to coincide with Mike's expected arrive at 2 a.m. and feigned sleep.

Two hours later I felt the distinct jab of acryllic in my arm.

"Eruhrmsusms...." I mumbled.

"COMO?" I heard.

You have got to be kidding me, I thought as I propped myself up to read the latest message from Shane. A door opened and shut in the hallway as feet pattered past the door.

Text: Hey, sorry about earlier. Want to talk now?

Typical guy......