A Day In The Journey

Alrighty. Finally, Day 5. Sheesh. I do apologize, my readers, for taking such a long, drawn-out time to write this chronicle. I have only the excuse of feeling uninspired to write on which to fall back, and it is a sorry excuse, indeed.

At any rate, day 5 began with packing and checking out of the hotel. Bittersweet, it definitely was. This is a city that captures you and a country that woos. We left our luggage at the hotel desk and proceeded to Trafalgar Square. Our day was to begin with a visit to the National Gallery, apparently.(I'll be totally honest: my entire memory of this timeline is weirdly messed up. I am told, and it makes logical sense to me, though, that this is, in fact, what happened. For some reason, I have never been able to place the NG visit into Sunday. My timeline is contaminated. haha) First, a stop at Pret for an early lunch to be eaten on the square while watching the crowds. This involved watching a rather intrepid pair of girls try to touch the bottom of the fountain without falling in or getting their sleeves wet. They also enjoyed a moderately illicit walk along the fountain wall--quite the balancing of it all. The National Gallery could have used a few more hours of exploration. The rooms were massive and filled with some truly amazing pieces. Pleasantly, the walls were often painted in colors to complement the art so carefully arranged on them. The incredible range of art that I was able to see on this trip was really breathtaking. Artists and pieces I had not yet had the pleasure to enjoy were beautifully complemented by paintings I had studied and taught about but had never thought to actually see. I love that. (It's also why I would love to revisit the Metropolitan in NYC--there just wasn't enough time....) This was a time when I was grateful to have a companion to keep me from spending the entire day in one museum, though. After all, the Tower awaited. Honestly, if I were to describe my walk through the gallery, it would just a be a catalog of paintings, etc.; therefore, I will merely mention something I inadvertently learned through my experience there and move one. As a teacher of World Literature, I should have already known this, nevertheless I did learn this: it is quite the disservice both to your story and to your audience to attempt to tell a story of a Old Testament hero while diminishing the concept of the Hebrew hero, ordained and empowered by God. *Sigh* It just doesn't work quite right. It's like trying to describe a Greek tragedy while minimizing the hubris of the hero. Ah well. Lesson learned and noted for the next time.

Now we moved on to grab some yummy lunch goodies (well, second lunch--that probably makes it technically "tea" haha) and to Bank station. Exiting Bank station brought us to the heart of The City and a very powerful corner in the landscape of London: here stands Mansion House, the official residence of the Lord Mayor of London, the Bank of England building, and The Royal Exchange, now a shopping center (keeping things strictly in the realm of the financial, after all. haha). I would like to mention at this point that the last two days we were in London, we consistently ran into this purple t-shirted school group from the continent. Seriously. Everywhere we went they were either arriving or leaving. We even rode in the same underground cars with them once. It was very odd. Certainly, they never realized, but it felt moderately like stalking. It was also highly hilarious. I mention it here because I distinctly remember them gathered about on the plaza in front of The Royal Exchange eating lunch. It's making me laugh again just thinking about it. The Royal Exchange, by the way, was founded in 1565. This is the second building as the first was burned in the Great Fire. The Bank of England is relatively young, not having been established until 1694, and the Mansion House wasn't built until the first half of the Eighteenth Century, thus both were spared the ravages of the fire. From there, we passed down King William St. to find the Monument. And here I offer praise, yet again, to Sir Christopher Wren. It may be an unsophisticated way to say it, but this guy was all win. The Monument is 202 feet tall and stands exactly 202 ft. from the bakery on Pudding Lane where the Great Fire of 1666 began. The fire spread rapidly, burned for three days, and although the death toll is officially believed to be only eight, destroyed 436 acres of the city. This section of land contained not only the major financial buildings and the original St. Paul's Cathedral, it also contained an estimated 13,000 homes which resulted in the homelessness of an estimated 7/8s of the population of the time (a great number of them poor tenement dwellers). The fire was certainly an event with long to be felt repercussions. The Monument is quite fitting (have I mentioned Sir Christopher was a genius, yet?): a tall doric column with golden torch-flame adorning the top. Still distinctive even in the modern, skyscraper-filled city.

From The Monument, we ventured down along the Thames to the Tower of London. We stopped for a nice little picnic in front of an office building and then off to view history and destruction. Really, it says so very much that despite only intending to stay there for a couple of hours and then make our way to Harrod's or the Natural History Museum, we were there for four and a half hours. It is a really amazing place. Viewing the developing of British history and the monarchy through the growth and evolution of the Tower complex is fascinating. Also, there were super cool weapons. And when I say, "super cool," I mean a collection of some of the oldest, most unique, and most beautiful weapons and suits of armor I have ever seen. The history of the Tower as a prison is both fascinating and heart-wrenching. Carefully carved graffiti in the walls gives testimony to the dark history of religious persecution of which the Tower was a part. Then, of course, the Crown Jewels. Now, I do have to say that it was moderately hilarious to me that you were smoothly ushered past the collection of Crown Jewels on a conveyor belt. Ok, a "moving sidewalk." That was interesting. I will admit to blatantly walking briskly back up the conveyor (with a partner in crime--I was not the only bender-of-rules) to have a second whisk past the truly stunning array of priceless royal accessories. It's honestly the kind of thing that is almost incomprehensible. So many, many priceless stones in one place; such a collection of skillful workmanship and unimaginable wealth. Amazing. And then there are coronation robes encrusted with diamonds and embroidered with gold. At some point, you stop trying to absorb it and just gape. Really. It's one place I'm glad you can't take pictures as I'm absolutely certain the pictures would only be disappointing; that they could never capture what you see when you are conveyed along past the glass cases. The Tower is most definitely a worthwhile way to spend an afternoon.

Following the trip through the Tower, dinner was grabbed (really good pizza) at The Dickens Inn. (Yes, that was a passive voice sentence.) Then, pictures at and a walk across the Tower Bridge (Famous bridge checklist: Brooklyn--check; Westminster--half check; Millennium--check; SF Bay--no check. Ok. The last on is unrealistic. Moving on.) and down Tooley Street to the London Bridge station, and an attempt to wander through Harrod's. This attempt was to result in failure, however, as our prolonged (and worthwhile) meander through the Tower had put us into the early evening. ON a Sunday in Britain, that means no shops for you! Instead, there was a lovely walk and conversation through Knightsbridge and Kensington Palace Gardens. All too soon, we were trudging about through Paddington station, and I was bidding Phillip goodbye. Thing I learned at that moment: when you spend five days with a good friend, you get used to them. Realizing that you won't have said friend around the next day is a very odd feeling. I scrounged up a bed at London Central Hostel (really neat building, really Londonish ambience inside) and about 6 hours or sleep. In the morning, it was back to Paddington (why yes, it is the place where Paddington Bear was found by his nice family) and then on to Heathrow. And then, hours of fun flight back to the US.

For the record, going through Customs at an airport that is not your final destination is un-fun. Why there isn't a way to proceed from Customs to the terminal without going through security, I don't know, but there isn't. It's blargh. Also, Newark Airport is an interesting experience. It was fun to add a new airport to my list, though, for what that's worth. Also, being surrounded by American accents again was a really strange feeling. Also, the flight from Newark to Houston was absolutely freezing. Freezing. And no blankets as it wasn't a trans-Atlantic flight. About half-way through, the lady next to me looks over and says, "Are you freezing, too? Is it just incredibly cold in here?" To which I heartily agreed. I slept all the way from Houston the New Orleans (the jet lag and return to sleep schedule was way more brutal returning than going), but still managed to notice the middle-aged guy across the aisle slid his iPod between his legs to hide it rather than turn it off when we were told to turn off our electronic devices and that he had his music up so loudly I could hear it over my own music. Good job, grown up; good job. At any rate, I arrived to the sweltering heat and humidity (a good 30º warmer than the city I left), gathered my bags, and pondered how I was going to find my parents sans phone. We managed to connect just about the point when I was about to get rid of my pull-over in favor of just my tank. I definitely was missing the weather already. haha. Weather aside, I was now basically home, safe and sound, remarkable journey ended. That sentence sounds as bittersweet as I felt. It was quite a trip, and one I'm decidedly glad I made.

Photos of my last day in London

Posted by Renee at 10:54 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Saturday dawned bright and early, and yet we did not. haha. Saturday was to be another late-morning start, but no mind: this was an architecture and absorption day. Exiting at Charing Cross, we made our way down the Strand. Our goal was to see the Royal Courts of Justice and the Temple. We ended up being partially thwarted in our design, but that is far a later part of this blog.

Walking down the Strand, we passed a few landmarks of note. The first was the Savoy, a 120 year old Edwardian and Deco hotel known for its luxury. This was a partial success: we were able to glimpse inside, but not able to go in as the hotel has been closed for reconstruction. It's set to open in October, to much aplomb, I'm sure. At any rate, I did wish that I could have seen the interior as the glimpses I got were stunning. Another time. Further down the block is King's College. Notable alumni of King's College: Desmond Tutu, John Keats, Thomas Hardy, Virginia Woolf, and numerous influential politicians and leaders, among others. Furthermore, the nursing school started by Florence Nightingale is a part of King's College. Across the street is Somerset House, a beautiful neo-Classical building used for both performing and stationary arts exhibits. Before long, we arrived at the Royal Courts, a building I would never have guessed to be the courthouse had I been guessing. The Victorian interpretation of Gothic architecture reminds one more of a church complex than a courthouse. It's very impressive, and I would have enjoyed going inside, but we were thwarted by the early closing down of all things legal on a Saturday.

I did get a nice and unexpected surprise though: across the street from the Royal Courts of Justice is the Twining's Tea shop. Founded in 1706, the shop is small and quaint and filled with amazing, lovely smells. I bought some. I was dreadfully tempted by the tea for one sets but feared trying to pack that and have it arrive home in one piece. Or well, the proper pieces in which it began. Instead, I took Phillip's souvenir suggestion and purchased a fun variety of sample tea singles. They are a win-win: lovely, delicious, solve-all-your-problems cups of tea; Twining's wrappers to go in my souvenir-holding pockets. (I'll be sure to take pictures of my UK Trip souvenir/map/memory pockets. I don't have the patience, etc., to do scrapbooks. haha) After the lovely Twining's diversion, we headed down the street towards the Temple. The Temple is a partially residential area that serves the needs of law students, interns, and barristers. It also has grown to house a good many private law firms as well. It is here, at the bounds of the Temple, that you can find the Temple Bar Monumet. This griffon-topped monument marks the boundary between the City of London and Westminster. This is probably the best place to pause and briefly summarize the geo-political makeup of London. What most people think of when they think of London is actually a conglomeration of a number of cities and towns that have been annexed into the larger metropolitan area, much like NYC is really five distinct boroughs or New Orleans is made up of a number of distinct suburbs and towns all close enough to be considered one area. Interestingly, the City of London retains a very Medieval political structure as well as a high degree of autonomy. It is actually run by a corporation of the Lord Mayor, city aldermen, Court of Common Council, and two sheriffs. It's all quite Middle Ages carried into modern times, really. At any rate, all that to note that the City of London is an entity within the entity of Greater London (all the other amalgamated cities and towns together) and is marked by a roughly square mile boundary. The Temple Bar monument is part of that boundary. It used to be an archway called the Temple Bar which was removed for better traffic flow. It sat around in a park for a while, but is now being restored and replaced within the City, though not in its original location. It will, instead, reside in Paternoster Square in the shadow of St. Paul's--a fitting place as it was purportedly also designed by Sir Christopher Wren. Final historical note before returning back up Fleet Street and the Strand: Fleet Street is the famous former home of the entirety of the British News Press until very recently (2005 saw the exit of the final major news house). "Fleet Street" continues to function as metonymy (as when we say "Washington" and mean the federal government) for the British press and journalism.

Tracing our steps back up the Strand, we crossed over to Covent Garden Market. Covent Garden is where Eliza Doolittle sells her flowers in G.B. Shaw's play, Pygmalion (and the movie adaptation, My Fair Lady). For much of its history, it was solely associated with fruits and vegetables: first as an area of monastery gardens and later as a fruit and vegetable market. For a while, in between its use as a fruits and vegetables market, it was a market for other things--well-known as a red-light district. Interesting comma in its history, for sure. Now, it does house food market booths in front, but the market hall is filled with boutiques and restaurants. Covent Garden Market is also home to a variety of street performances, the Royal Opera House, the London Transport Museum, and St. Pauls, an Italianate style church designed by Inigo Jones, British architect of note and the first modern scenic designer (the latter being what I always associate with him, naturally haha).

After enjoying Covent Garden, we wandered through the theatre district to Piccadilly Circus (London's Times Square). Sadly, the signage was down and scaffolded for repair. The juncture itself is open and busy and interesting, though. Wandering back around through Leicester Square (a lovely park surrounded by all the cinemas in London--at least it feels that way. haha), we found London's Chinatown. While it has some similarities to New York's, it was distinctly British, really. Airy, less street vending, but still busy and definitely a world within a world, London's Chinatown is worth a walkthrough. We picked up a very nice dinner (at which time I learned that Phillip is very bad with chopsticks, and I clung tightly to that one small triumph I have over him. :-P) that would be carried back to the hotel in time to watch the World Cup match. Part of our route home included a walk down Regent Street and a visit to Hamley's Toys, a super gigantic toy store where the employees play with the toys and build super amazing LEGO displays. Now I can add Hamley's to FAO Schwarz Chicago on my "visit massive toy stores" list. Interestingly, Hamley's does bears as well; Hamley's is 150 years older than FAO Schwarz, though, so its bears probably win. haha

Hamley's was followed by the trip back, Chinese food (I used chopsticks, by the way), watching Denmark win, and sleep. Day 4 accomplished; tomorrow would hold more art, monuments, and the Tower. *insert creepy dungeon noises*

Photos of Day 4

Posted by Renee at 06:27 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Day three was going to be busy. I awoke super excited about one of the plans: seeing the Scottish Play at the Globe. *excited giggle* The day would be filled with other fun and exciting things, though. We started mid-morning (The rather late night on Thursday did not lend itself to early rising. haha) We began at the Old Street station which had a rather interesting, spread out exit situation due to the rather spread large traffic circle situated above. A few blocks down Old Street (And past the only gas station I noticed while in London), and we arrived at De Santis, an amazing Italian place, for some carry-out. (I will take a moment here to meet a comment I feel coming already: technically, I should've written "petrol station" and "take-away." :-P) This section of town felt rather suburban, actually. It was really the only section of London that felt particularly that way in all the days I was there--or at least like the typical American mid-city suburb. I suppose the presence of the gas station helped with that perception. Previously, I had only seen gas stations on the motorways, and then I'm sure I saw less than 5. At any rate, after gathering our to-be-eaten lovely carry-out, we traveled down the street and around the corner to Smithfield Market, London's largest and oldest meat market. Due to the sleeping in a bit, the market was done for business that day, yet, it was quite impressive. I failed to take any pictures, however, a fact I blame on the container of pasta I was holding at the time. :-) The Market is very large and very sophisticated, really. The Victorian design details are almost unexpected on such a pragmatically used building.

After Smithfield Market, we wandered over to the Barbican, a rather cold-war-esque residential construction a block over from the market. Apparently, it's the latest and greatest place to live if you're part of the nouveau riche. It's also ridiculously ugly. It also houses an art gallery, concert venue, and conference hall in its Barbican Centre. It's still ugly. I regret that I didn't take a picture of it from St. Paul's, then you could truly appreciate the molded concreteness of it all. At any rate, it is unique, and the area around it was worth the walk-through: odd little side-streets and circling lanes. And then: St. Paul's. Earlier in my posts and pictures, I mentioned the Sheldonian Theatre in Oxford as Sir Christopher Wren's first design. St. Paul's is by far his most famous. First of all, it is absolutely huge. The building is both majestic and powerful, dominating the square in which it sits. It reminded me of the utter solidness projected by the York Minster only on a much more magnificent scale. The interior did not disappoint. Unfortunately, St. Paul's does ask that pictures not be taken inside, and furthermore a Eucharist service was in progress while we were there (a time most cathedrals ask for visitors to refrain from picture taking), so I have no pictures to show you of the interior. They can be found online, though, should you wish to see it. The interior was, frankly, ornate. There isn't really a word other than that to describe it. It was particularly interesting for me to see the difference between the nave, where the congregants worship (ornate in a plain way) and the quire/high altar/apse, where the clergy would sing/worship (visual-overload ornate). St. Paul's is certainly a testament to Wren's artistry and skill. Despite the high levels of ornate decoration, the entirety has a balance that a lesser architect would have failed to find. The massive size requires just the right amount, an amount Wren was able to get right. Of course, St. Paul's isn't known just for its incredible architectural beauty. Our next stop was the Whispering Gallery. At almost 100 ft. (about 10 stories) above the cathedral floor, this one is a little nerve wracking. Something about being that high up, inside a building, over the center of the floor makes your feet go tingly. The Whispering Gallery earned its title from the fact that whispers carry around the wall to the other side, over 100 ft. away. Impressive. This means that you can talk to more than just your neighbor during church. :-P I have to say that the Whispering Gallery definitely made me nervous; I certainly was feeling uneasy about traveling another 170 ft or so up the far-too-many steps to the Golden Gallery. We started up. The majority of steps to the Whispering Gallery were broad and wooden, the kind you almost have to take two steps on at the outside edge. The first set of steps to the Golden Gallery were not. These steps were narrow and stone, and unevenly worn by hundreds of years of foot traffic. Several sections up, I had a moment of panic. Now, it is important to realize that once you head up, there is no going back down; thus, whatever I was thinking at the time was not logically connected to the fact that I was essentially required to continue due to the nature of the stairs themselves. The thing is, my legs were tired, so going up that many stairs suddenly struck me as an impossible task that I would fail by clumsily falling backwards, and to boot, our destination was insanely high (nearly 30 stories). This all combined to a moment when I was sure I couldn't go another step. I said as much. Phillip said I could do it. I said I couldn't. Phillip won. I steeled my mind and quavering leg muscles and continued, secretly quite glad he had won. I didn't want this thing to beat me. haha. Then there was a section of several disjointedly connected spiral metal staircases. It's hard not to look down. Then more, ever tinier stone stairs, a dangerously low lintel, and out onto the Golden Gallery. (We bypassed the Stone Gallery.) Now, this was another difficult moment, mainly because Phillip did indeed try very much to get me to walk right out to the railing. I was having none of it. It's stupid high with just a neat little waist-high railing there. I'll be honest, for about a full minute, I was borderline terrified. I am not a fan of heights. This is something that I have tried to face when I can. This facing almost got the better of me. After a minute or so, I did begin to feel more comfortable. Comfortable enough to take a step away from the wall to take a picture; comfortable enough to begin walking around the gallery. By the time we walked around to the other side, I was feeling almost myself. I even stepped close enough to the railing to put my hand on it. haha. Yeah, I know, I'm a wuss. The view was magnificent. Worth every one of those painful steps. I would definitely climb them again. Then came the long climb downward by the other set of stairs. Down is much easier for me that up, mentally, for some reason. I suppose it's the fact that if I get exhausted and fall down them, at least I'll see where I'm going. haha. We took a moderately abbreviated walk through the crypt which holds several interesting tombs such as those of William Blake, Lord Nelson, and, of course, Sir Christopher Wren. It is a strange feeling not only to walk over the places where people have been buried, but also to note how the passage of time and humanity serves to wear away the names of those laid there. Such a memorial to the transience of life. Whitman would probably approve.

Following St. Paul's there was ice cream from an ice cream truck (oh so good) and a walk across the Millennium Bridge (yes, that is the bridge destroyed by Dementors at the beginning of Harry Potter VI). I particularly like this bridge. Like the Eye (really big ferris wheel in the skyline), it seems like it should be incongruous to the city: white and modern and almost ascetic. Yet, it's beautiful. In fact, in many ways, it reminds of a neo-Classical aesthetic brought into the 21st century. At the other end, more delicious food treats: sugared chestnuts. Oh. my. goodness. Firstly, I had somehow made it to this point in my life without ever eating a chestnut. Chestnuts are very good. Rather like a walnut and peanut crossed on steroids. (Don't you love my sophisticated description?) Then there's the sugary, roasted, caramelized yumminess added on. I liked them enough to look for recipes when I got home. Yeah. I won't be making them anytime soon. It takes about four days. I'm not kidding. They are delightfully good, though.

And now for the headline event of the day: *drumroll* a performance of Macbeth at the Globe. Please excuse me while I become a fangirl for a moment. I know that my fellow Lit and Drama friends/alumni will completely understand my absolute giddiness. Everyone else, well, I'll just point out to you that few things can actually make me giggle and gasp with delight more than once in the same day. Seeing one of Shakespeare's most brilliant tragedies in his rebuilt theatre as a groundling is definitely one of those things. This production was ingenious and enthralling. The stage was nearly bare for the entire play. The single permanent set piece was a huge iron wheel that rotated from the canopy. From the wheel was hung a large black sheer that could be drawn around or bunched in one place. I have to say, the director did a fantastic job utilizing the sheer to denote emotional changes, setting changes, and the interference of the witches. The costumes, the atmosphere, was dark as the director took the concept of the bloody play and flung it out to be seen by all. Then she did something quite unique that was incredibly powerful: she took this illustration by Gustave Doré from the Divine Comedy and built her atmosphere around it. For her, the Macbeths' descent into anguish and horror resulting from their terrible grab for power is a hellish thing. The groundlings became a part of the infernal audience watching Macbeth's descent. The dead spirits speak to Macbeth from the infernal regions, cloaked in the gore of their death. It was very simple and very powerful. The acting was superb. I was moderately unsure of Macbeth before the Intermission. He seemed to be a weaker man than I supposed he ought. This was to some extent due to the incredibly powerful and strong Duncan overshadowing him, though. And, as Macbeth grew through the play to his final brazen duel with Macduff, I felt that his weakness at the beginning was right. Indeed, Duncan was the stronger, more confident man: the great king to whom all willingly were loyal. Macbeth, though a brave and successful warrior, has no thought beyond thanedom until the witches prophecy thus. In the end, Macbeth won me over. Lady Macbeth was lovely to watch. She was younger and more fragile than I had expected, but this only served to amplify her grasp for power and her horrific break with reality all the more. I was drawn in by them; I felt a stake in the progression of events; I sobbed when Lady Macduff screamed at the loss of her children. In the end, I wanted Macduff to win, not because I knew it was coming, but because it was right. What better result can there be for troupe than to have their audience wish for the ending that's coming because it feels right? In all, the entire cast was a convincing unit, comfortable with the text, allowing it to inform their choices yet owning and conveying it through their performances. It was an amazing experience. Truly amazing. (Even though all the steps + three hours of standing = really sore heels. haha)

As if iconic architecture and astounding performance art wasn't enough, we then walked the short distance down the bank to the Tate Modern. The Tate is interesting not only because of the impressive collection it houses, but also because of the building in which said collection is housed: the former Bankside Power station. Not only does this lend to an interesting labyrinth of gallery rooms, it offers the unique exhibit area known as Turbine Hall. As its name suggests, this is where the generator turbines were housed when the building was a power plant. The huge amount of open space allows for unique art exhibitions, a great opportunity for fortunate artists who can exhibit there. There was, unfortunately, no installation there when I visited, but the room itself was impressive without anything in particular there to see. I don't remember if I've mentioned in a previous blog, but generally speaking, British museums feel different than American ones. That sounds like a very strange thing to notice, I'm sure, and I can't quantify the difference for you in words, but there is something in the way exhibits are displayed, placed, and lighted that is just different than American ones. The Tate Modern gave me this feeling far less than any other museum or gallery I was in, but even so, I noticed it here just a bit. I know it's very unsatisfying for me to toss out that observation without really being able to explain it. All I can say is, they feel different. But that the Tate Modern felt the most like what I expect a museum to feel like. In all, the collection was enjoyable. We didn't make it through the entirety as it became a matter of battling sore feet for authority. The feet won once they started teaming up with the stomach. One last thing to note about the Tate Modern: there was more than one gift shop (score for them having multiple places to entice buying haha), one of which had a significant section of art supplies and tools. This was really ingenious. It also rather went along with the implication throughout the museum that everyone should try art. You should try art. Even if you are terrible at it, it's fun and good for the brain and soul. This is the message that the Tate Modern wants to pass along to its patrons, and this is the message solidified by the presence of a good selection of quality art supplies in their shop. It was a good thing.

Finally, we headed to Brick Lane, found an Indian restaurant (ok, not so much "found" as "picked"), and had a really good dinner while watching the England-Algeria match. As we returned to the hotel, I knew my feet were going to have revenge on me the next morning. haha. Ah well. Every bit of adjusting-to-the-day foot pain in the morning was worth it. Day 3 crossed off--on to Day 4.

Once again, photos of Days 2 and 3.

Posted by Renee at 11:22 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)