A Patchwork Palace

Isn't it funny how different a place can seem with different people? I'm going to tell you about two trips, both of which I actually took with other people. This is one of the few instances in which I did not just venture off on my own. The first time I went to Hampton Court Palace was during my first week at Royal College of Music. I went with three friends; two British and one other American girl who was there for her Masters degree. It was beautiful outside; summer had stretched out into September and not even a hint of fall's chilly tendrils could be felt in the air.
We had a fantastic time. Took the bus, got lost, walked a few miles, finally found the castle and had some lunch before we started exploring. The palace itself was incredible. It's a bit of an architectural hodgepodge, if you will. Half of the palace was built by Cardinal Wolsey and given as a gift to Henry VIII. The other half is distinctly baroque in style and was added during the reign of William III, intended to rival Versailles. Though no one can do ornate like the French, I must say, William gave them a run for their money. The gardens are divine, perfectly symmetrical, perfectly manicured; the corridors, ballrooms and bedchambers are all the picture of luxury. When little girls dream of their Cinderella palaces, this is what they dream of.  
My friends and I spent the whole day at Hampton Court Palace. It was a lovely day, one of the best I had during my time in London.
My second trip to Hampton Court was in January, with a friend that came over from the US to visit me. The gardens were still just as lovely then, as the grass in England is always green, it was just a bit cold out. But nothing really to stop us from having a good time. But we didn't; I took my friend there to share the joy of the first experience I'd had there. He, however, simply wasn't interested. His indifference left a sour taste in my mouth. It's strange; I shouldn't have let that bother me, but somehow, the fact that he didn't enjoy it at all tinged my last happy trip with an odd sort of sadness. It was sort of like what had made me happy before wasn't good enough anymore. I felt betrayed, and disappointed, as if I had failed. He wasn't even just happy to be with me, he was more concerned with being unhappy with where I had taken him. The whole thing was very disappointing.
Looking back on the two now, the happy overshadows the disappointing, and I'm thankful for that. I think the sadness was swept off with the rest of the clutter I dusted out of my life in March. But that's a story for another day. Maybe I'll sneak that in with the British Museum. Now, pictures!