But London! Was there ever such a city!

Try to imagine, if you will, a place in which everything you could ever want, have ever desired, is spread out in front of you, through a tangle of snow-laced streets and a dark and dripping, but efficient subway system. Imagine that, through the myriad buildings which form this place - many of which were erected long before the German Blitzkrieg decimated much of the city - you find, just by walking through a door, on a whim, access to concerts, theatre productions, films, museums, libraries, access to which often costs, perhaps, ten pounds or fewer. Imagine grocery stores where store brand curry costs nine pence a can and seven chicken drumsticks from the poultry section cost a pound fifty. Imagine a city where, when people brush past you or bump into your shoulder, actually turn around to face you and call out a quick, "Sorry!"

Such is London. And the joys are so great that one feels practically guilty thinking about the lows: the fact that the wind, when it blows, is deadly cold and enough to freeze the ears right off your head; or the fact that the hot water in our dorm was broken for the first three days of our stay, meaning that showers were reduced to huddling outside the stall and sticking our fingers in the freezing spray, hoping, wishing, praying that the temperature would rise enough that stepping inside would not result in hypothermia.

Funnily enough, the blessing of London is actually its largest curse: that there is so much - too much - to do, to see, to experience. There are over a hundred different theatre performances per week here, and just as many - if not more - concerts. And even for us - students, with a program designed to give us more free time than we will ever have again in our lives - mapping out what to do is often an agonizing decision. An introduction to Scottish dancing or a performance of the Mozart Requiem? Vivaldi's Four Seasons at St. Martin's In The Fields or Phoenix? Avenue Q or Cirque du Soleil? Do I sacrifice sixty pounds to see Ennio Morricone in concert, conducting his most famous film scores? Or twenty pounds to hear Handel's Messiah performed on Good Friday by the Royal Choral Society? We've not even been in London for a week, and we've already been to see a fantastic Tom Stoppard play - "Every Good Boy Deserves Favour" - and to hear the phenomenal a cappella group The Swingle Singers perform. Tomorrow night we're going to see "War Horse," a massive, three-hour, award-winning play in the West End. And we're just getting started.

This program is most likely going to spoil us all rotten, but it's the best way to be spoiled possible. And, after all, we have this opportunity sitting in front of us. If we don't take it now, then when?