London
London. One year ago today I was there; such a contrast in relation to weather. Yesterday was rainy and horribly windy with a frigid chill, today is warmer but there is such a dense fog that visibility is limited to only several yards. Last year, as I remember, it was warm enough for me to walk around with just a t-shirt and jeans. The day I arrived it was partly sunny and warm for British standards. I remember leaving the train station and heading towards the nearest tube station. Thinking back on that whole experience, I am surprised how I did not require a map to get around. I memorized how to get from the train station to the tube station by combination of Google Earth and Mapquest. I believe I did quite good; I stopped for a sit on my luggage and to have a granola bar. I hadn't eaten anything that morning and I was quite starved. It was nice to sit for a bit and take in my surroundings before I had to get up and face the tube again. I found the station, just as I had memorized it, and headed into the deepening gloom of the London subway system.
I arrived at Paddington station and stepped back out into the daylight; I pictured the Mapquest map in my head and rounded the corner to reach St. David's Hotels, not much more than two blocks away. I checked in and shown to my room; it was a nice room, small, but comfortable. I opted for a room with a bath inside and was unpleasantly surprised at finding an airplane-type shower. As I found out, after taking a shower everything within a two foot radius was soaked. Slowly I learned how to lessen the water outtake and I think I made the cleaning lady happy. I thoroughly enjoyed my view of Norfolk Square; I had a small balcony (enough to just stand on) in which I could survey the entire Square. I enjoyed taking in the beautiful white Victorian buildings surrounding me as well as the small park opposite the street. There were mornings, as I recall, that included a duet of angry voices yelling about some thing or other. I was a little frightened they would brandish weapons their talk was so rough and fierce.
The after the long cramped train ride I was ready to see the city I so desperately loved three years ago. I wasn't planning on traveling quite far, I wanted to see Big Ben again, and the Thames so I hopped on the Tube at Paddington and headed over to Westminister station. I emerged to sunshine and the huge tower that holds Big Ben. It was quite amazing; into the crowds swelling and elbowing each other to get the perfect picture to bring home and show their families that yes, they were there and yes, they took a picture to preserve the scene more than a mere memory would. Memories are just as flimsy as pictures, digital or print, but I believe pictures oftentimes restrict our memories. If you only took pictures of a vacation, years later would you remember the wonderful dinner you had in a restaurant filled with souvieners from various shows headlining on the Strand. Or a particularily scenic walk along the Thames observing the wide variety of people and statues that line the embankment. Of course video can capture more than photos can but I believe memories, aided by journal writing, are the best sources of rememberances for any and all occasions.
I went with the flow, not really caring where I was going or what I was seeing, and crossed the busy intersection to the Westminister Bridge. Passing several gaudy tourist souviener stands, I chose to walk the route I had previously walked on the first trip I took to London. I recalled walking along the Victoria Embankment but soon we veered off and went up Whitehall. I chose to stay on my course along the Thames; it was such a beautiful and partly sunny day that I did not want to leave the murky brakish waters that supplied life to this magnificent city for centuries. I took pictures of the skyline: the London Aquarium, the London Eye, various large buildings, and place called Sea Containers House with an interesting sea design on the roof. Along the Embankment interspersed every couple of yards or so were tall black lamp posts with sea serpents lining the base. There were large clear light bulbs strung from each lamp post. It was all very Victorian and Disney-like at the same time. Out on the water there was a large barge floating near the Embankment; a large sign said "I EAT RUBBISH."
There, across the brown-littered water, the Tate Modern. On impulse and further memory of the wonderful installation titled The Weather Project I began my crossing of the Milennium Bridge. It was a bit windy over the water; there were the typical sweetened nuts vendors at the end of the bridge but I paid no attention as I headed into the massive art museum. The entrance was as I previously remembered but I wanted to see the Turbine Hall once again. I knew what the installation was before I even left for London; I was sufficently wowed by the slides that twisted into weird curly metal noodles. They ranged from one story to three; people paid an admission price according to the level they wanted to slide down from and used rough burlap sacks to sit on. The tops of the slides were partially covered with a clear plastic cover. As much as I did not want to slide down, I could not help watching people scream and giggle as they flew down to the bottom.
I took some pictures and then wandered through the collections; I had an agenda and I knew what paintings I wanted to see so that I would not have to spend hours there. I sat in the Rothko room for some time; it was dark and lightly cooled. I enjoyed the dark muted colors and the immensity of the canvases that surrounded me. I sought out Chegall, which, as I would later learn, belongs on a canvas and not on the dome of a Parisian opera house. Of course I had to stop by the pop culture icon Roy Liechenstein and the muted elegance of Monet.
I headed out of the Tate by way of the Turbine Hall; I gave one last look at the smooth concrete sloping slabs and left the Tate forever. Over the Milennium Bridge once again I trailed behind a couple of girls a couple years younger than me. I was meloncholy; it wasn't so much that I wanted my friends there but that I wanted to be apart of a group, I wanted to be comfortable in the city, I wanted to know London like the back of my hand. I didn't want to worry about getting sick and finding a bathroom, I didn't want to worry about the cost of things and conversion. I continued to feel this way all the way up to St. Paul's Cathedral. I did not go inside because, as I remember, it didn't seem worth the cost. I took the Tube at rush hour which took me forever to get back to my hotel. I stopped in a little grocery by my hotel and picked up a Weight Watchers turkey and stuffing sandwich with a side of pasta and milk. After the long day I had I felt a little deserved relaxation was in order and so as I ate my delicious dinner I watched Houses Abroad, 2 1/2 Men and CSI: Las Vegas.
The next day I took a shower as well as the rest of the little cubicle of a bathroom and then headed out to face another day of being a tourist in London. I decided to start out in Hyde Park. From what I remember, I think I took the Tube to Hyde Park station but realized that I could have easily walked there, well, maybe not that easily, but I had already purchased the tube tickets and why not get my full use out of them? I started out across the street from the station; I walked around a pigeon poop spattered concrete walk around a bunch of fountains. It was a bit cloudy and I wished the sunshine would come out so my pictures would look more cheery. After studying the statues and watching some foreign family's children run around and giggle as they splash the water. I don't think I had a clear map of the park and so I wandered, staying to the main walk, until I reached a sign post pointing several different directions towards the various places in the park that were of interest. The main reason why I went to Hyde Park again was to see the Peter Pan statue like I saw in the movie 'Hook.' Well, I found it alright and I took about ten pictures of the statue because it had so much detail that I wanted to have a complete 360 in pictures.
Following the trail through the park I found myself in the middle of an ongoing argument between two middle-aged men. From what I could decipher, it seemed as though the men were both upset about something that transpired between their dogs. The whole process was quite an experience, one that most American tourists are not privy to, and I had the infinate joy of storing it in my head until I got back the hotel to record it all. This fight went as follows; one man would walk ahead of the other man and stop to yell arguments back at his opponent. The opponent would continue the argument, not wanting to back down from a fight in which he knew he was right. They would go on like this for several yards, I was stuck in the middle, unfortunately, and I believe that my being there (and their wives restraining them) kept the two men from going at it right there in the park. It was all very trivial to me, one man was angry the other man did not have his dog on a leash and the dog roamed wherever it wanted. The funny thing about it was that the argument seemed to be over and then about two or so yards later someone would shout something and the argument would begin all over again.
I finally left the turbulent atmopshere behind me and headed over to the Princess Diana fountain. Alas, the fountain was not on or working it seemed because there were a crew of people working on the mechanics of it. I would have liked to have seen what it looked like when it was fully functional but that I must save for another day, another trip, another time. The weather was pleasant; warm but cloudy. I relaxed by the Serpentine for a little while. Behind me was a little restaurant with chairs and tables set out for summer dining in the park. The Serpentine was a beautiful calm; farther down was a boat house set up with all sorts of recreational equiptment but it looked closed for the season. I had come too early it seemed. As I sat on the little bench, I studied the water before me; it looked like a beach of sorts (no sand, mostly pebbley stone pavement) but who in their mind would want to bathe in the Serpentine is beyond all comprehension by me. I knew this to be a beach/swimming area on account of the ropes strung a couple yards out to keep the swimmers in. A gaggle of geese and a pair of ducks swam through the swimming area; it was shallow enough for the ducks to dive to the bottom for scraps of food. I know Lake Michigan is nothing to brag about but at least it is a lake, I mean the Serpentine is an enclosed man-made pond so where is the drainage and runoff? Where does the goose poop go? Where does the feathers and garbage go? No where is where it doesn't go and yet parents allow their children to play and splash in the disease-infested waters of the Serpentine. No wonder London had such problems in the 17th century, what with the Great Plague and such. I digress.
Since it was not a Sunday (alas! Will I never get to Speaker's Corner?) there were no demonstrations or speakers on soapboxes for me to gaggle at. I would very much like to experience a Sunday there. Marble Arch was a quick jaunt from the corner and so I headed over to take some photos on account of my previous trip the entire Arch was under bright blue construction tarps. Moving across the street I had a nice little lunch at my favorite London restaurant, Pret. The cheese and roast tomato sandwich was quite wonderful as was the diet Coke and fudge brownie which accompanied it.
After a Pret lunch I decided to wander around the neighborhood; I happened on a square with a couple of large administrative buildings. One in particular stood out to me; it had a large golden eagle and an American flag flying. On closer inspection the sign designated the US Embassy. I cannot deny that it made my heart flutter a bit; I did some research and discovered that the Rolling Stone's song 'Street Fighting Man' was written about an incident that happened in front of the US Embassy in London--the very same embassy that I was standing in front of. Apparently, so the story goes, Mick Jagger was inspired by an anti-war rally at the US Embassy in London where mounted armed guards were wading through the throng of protesters and subsequently wrote 'Street Fighting Man' from that experience.
Later that afternoon I had a mind to take a walk down Regent Street from Oxford Circus; don't ask me why I did because I cannot remember; I think there must have been some shops I wanted to patronize. Also, it isn't a typical tourist sort of thing to do. The pavement was crowded with British shoppers and as much as I tried to go with the flow, the flow kept changing and so I felt like a salmon in the seasonal runs upriver. The traffic was of course due to the high volume of moderately priced shopping venues such as: Clarks, Lush, Next, and Hamley's Toys. I walked all the way down to Piccadilly Circus and found a nostalgic feeling creep up inside of me; I stood there, looking up in amazement at the bright neon lights three years ago. Turning back to Regent Street I consulted my city road map for Brewer Street; now I did not want to seem like a tourist during my time in London but to find a side street in Oxford Circus--a place I had not previously explored until then--was going to take a little more than memorization.
After a few back street right turns, left turns, past Chinese food restaurants and tea rooms I finally found Brewer Street. The reason for my little journey into the 'other' regions of London was on account of a wonderfully reviewed store I found in my London travel book. The Vintage Magazine Company is the kind of store I had been searching for; as the name implies, they sell a variety of vintage magazines, movie posters and prints, mounds of film and music memoribilia, t-shirts and anything else you can think of. I spent quite a bit of time in that store; I bought myself a notepad and postcards from The Bates Motel. I bought Alex a Bob Dylan and Blues Brothers picture and for Katie I bought a Grease movie photo.
I made my way back to my hotel in Paddington Station and rested for a little bit before I headed out to Bloomsbury. Why Bloomsbury? Why not? Actually, there were two stores I wanted to check out in that area; besides, Bloomsbury brought back some fond memories from the last time I was there. However, the time I spent looking for the stores was not pleasant; it was warm--I was warm--and there were these patches of gnats hovering above the middle of the pavement just waiting for an unsuspecting tourist to walk straight into them and feel the little buggars squirming to get out of her hair. It was quite gross and I felt gross and I had not yet found either store. I resigned to my map again and eventually figured out where I was and the appoximate location of the two stores. I finally found Faulkner's Fine Papers across the street where I had been walking. Inside there were rows and stacks of book bindings, papers of all sizes and textures. I took a peek at some of the journals and they were a bit too pricey for my likes; besides I had already purchased a journal in Chester and I still had a small leather journal from Italy. With no spending at the paper store I decided to try my luck at Fancy That of London--the official tourist souvieneer store.
I found Fancy That near the British Museum--a relic of a place where I experienced my first letdown of the mystery and excitement of London on my previous trip. Back in 2003, I had imagined the British Museum to quite ancient with musty rooms filled with collections from around the world. I imagined a dimly-lit paradise where history and life mixed daily. I pictured worn marble staircases winding to the upper floors where even more ancient treasures lay hidden. All in all, I imagined it to be much like the British Museum portrayed in the film 'The Mummy'. So there I was, a wide-eyed American tourist; first time in London, first time traveling internationally, ready for the all ancient wonders that the British Museum could offer. I was sorely disappointed; the museum was nothing like what I expected--it was clean, bright and bustling full of people. I was so letdown that I spent less than an hour there; most of it was spent looking at the gift shop, eating and waiting in line for the bathroom.
Now that I have almost completely digressed from my most recent trip, let's get back to where I left off. I was determined to buy all my London souvieneers at Fancy That, and I did. I bought two bags there--a black plastic bag with the skyline of London in white and a plastic Union Jack purse for Katie. I got dad a t-shirt, mom a water globe, and a couple of little keychains. I walked around the area for a while before I started to head back to my hotel. I wanted to wait so that I wouldn't hit the Tube during rush hour so I took my time. I ran into a woman who asked me if I knew how to get to Covent Gardens. I had never been there before but I had a map so together we figured out how she would get there. After helping her and feeling quite good, I headed for the Tube only to be dismayed by having not missed rush hour at all. Rush hour on the Underground is not a pleasant experience; there are crowds of people pushing, shoving, trying to get to the train before anyone else. You travel with them and clammor down the steps. The crowd swells around you like a great wave before it crashes against the wall at the bottom of the stairs and separates like two great diverted rivers to the platform to the right or the one to the left. Once to your platform the crowding continues and grows worse as the train comes into view. If you are lucky enough to get onto the train the first time, you'll be packed so tightly sweat breaks out the instant the doors close.
I arrived at Paddington station sweaty and gross; I walked the block to my hotel and on the way was called 'love' by two guys hanging out on a stoop. Frankly I was angry but a little surprised, I mean, come on, I probably looked horrible--make up all shiny and face greasy, hair matted down and stringy--but somehow these guys were interested in talking to me. I sound pretty needy, huh? I did not indulge them, in fact, I ignored their calls and just kept on walking.
I freshened up in my room and, having stepped out on my balcony to see if the stoop guys were there (they weren't), I locked my door and headed out to forage some food for dinner. I didn't want to go back towards Paddington Station; there was a lot of construction going on for the new station and I didn't feel like dealing with people. I took only what I needed--my room key and a couple pounds in my purse. I walked around the neighborhood in search of a cafe or restaurant that sparked my fancy. Walking further from my hotel I realized I was headed deeper into a residential section of the city with no hope of a place to eat. I took a couple of wrong turns and ended up 'lost'. I say it in quotes because I was able to find myself again and I didn't panic. The closest I came to panicking was when I realized I did not have my Tube pass (and therefore could not find the closest Tube station to hop on and get back to Paddington), hardly enough money to buy a pass, no debit or credit card and no map. I realized that if I panicked it would get me nowhere and I'd probably just end up embarassing myself somehow. I spied a park bench and took a seat to calm myself down; I knew I couldn't get lost in London--I would eventually recognize a street or landmark or something. I got up and tried to find my way back and eventually hit Hyde Park to my infinate surprise. From there I knew how to get back to my hotel; I ended up back at Paddington Station. I resigned to the burger place near the Tube station; I ordered a falafal burger and a twix bar. I headed back to my hotel and watched 'Legally Blonde'.
April 12th began languidly; I watched 'Just Shoot Me' and 'Friends' as I got ready to face another day in London. I took the Tube to Lancaster Gate and walked to Westminister Abbey. As I headed towards the Abbey a woman was handing out Peonies for a cost; she saw me coming and I fixed her a stare that quite literally told her to sodder off. She did not accost me with her paper flowers. Feeling like a true Londoner, I set off for the line to get into the Abbey. I had had the opportunity to go the first time I was in London but declined and instead of going with the group, I went with a another girl on a day trip to Stonehenge, Bath and Windsor Castle. I was ready to be wowed with delight that is Westminister Abbey.
To the Abbey's credit, I thought I was worth the trip and cost of seven pounds. What I found thoroughly fustrating and annoying was the sign which declared no cameras or camcorders allowed. Honestly, why have that rule? I can understand perhaps no flash but why no cameras at all? I wrote as I walked along with the tourist crowd, noting interesting tombs and statues. There was a tomb of a knight sleeping peacefully--nothing special except that at the end of the tomb a lion was carved and the way both the lion and knight were carved, it seemed that the knight was kicking the lion. I do not think that is what the knight had in mind when he commissioned his tomb. On another tomb a knight was carved looking like he was just resting--his legs were crossed at the bottom.
I arrived at Paddington station and stepped back out into the daylight; I pictured the Mapquest map in my head and rounded the corner to reach St. David's Hotels, not much more than two blocks away. I checked in and shown to my room; it was a nice room, small, but comfortable. I opted for a room with a bath inside and was unpleasantly surprised at finding an airplane-type shower. As I found out, after taking a shower everything within a two foot radius was soaked. Slowly I learned how to lessen the water outtake and I think I made the cleaning lady happy. I thoroughly enjoyed my view of Norfolk Square; I had a small balcony (enough to just stand on) in which I could survey the entire Square. I enjoyed taking in the beautiful white Victorian buildings surrounding me as well as the small park opposite the street. There were mornings, as I recall, that included a duet of angry voices yelling about some thing or other. I was a little frightened they would brandish weapons their talk was so rough and fierce.
The after the long cramped train ride I was ready to see the city I so desperately loved three years ago. I wasn't planning on traveling quite far, I wanted to see Big Ben again, and the Thames so I hopped on the Tube at Paddington and headed over to Westminister station. I emerged to sunshine and the huge tower that holds Big Ben. It was quite amazing; into the crowds swelling and elbowing each other to get the perfect picture to bring home and show their families that yes, they were there and yes, they took a picture to preserve the scene more than a mere memory would. Memories are just as flimsy as pictures, digital or print, but I believe pictures oftentimes restrict our memories. If you only took pictures of a vacation, years later would you remember the wonderful dinner you had in a restaurant filled with souvieners from various shows headlining on the Strand. Or a particularily scenic walk along the Thames observing the wide variety of people and statues that line the embankment. Of course video can capture more than photos can but I believe memories, aided by journal writing, are the best sources of rememberances for any and all occasions.
I went with the flow, not really caring where I was going or what I was seeing, and crossed the busy intersection to the Westminister Bridge. Passing several gaudy tourist souviener stands, I chose to walk the route I had previously walked on the first trip I took to London. I recalled walking along the Victoria Embankment but soon we veered off and went up Whitehall. I chose to stay on my course along the Thames; it was such a beautiful and partly sunny day that I did not want to leave the murky brakish waters that supplied life to this magnificent city for centuries. I took pictures of the skyline: the London Aquarium, the London Eye, various large buildings, and place called Sea Containers House with an interesting sea design on the roof. Along the Embankment interspersed every couple of yards or so were tall black lamp posts with sea serpents lining the base. There were large clear light bulbs strung from each lamp post. It was all very Victorian and Disney-like at the same time. Out on the water there was a large barge floating near the Embankment; a large sign said "I EAT RUBBISH."
There, across the brown-littered water, the Tate Modern. On impulse and further memory of the wonderful installation titled The Weather Project I began my crossing of the Milennium Bridge. It was a bit windy over the water; there were the typical sweetened nuts vendors at the end of the bridge but I paid no attention as I headed into the massive art museum. The entrance was as I previously remembered but I wanted to see the Turbine Hall once again. I knew what the installation was before I even left for London; I was sufficently wowed by the slides that twisted into weird curly metal noodles. They ranged from one story to three; people paid an admission price according to the level they wanted to slide down from and used rough burlap sacks to sit on. The tops of the slides were partially covered with a clear plastic cover. As much as I did not want to slide down, I could not help watching people scream and giggle as they flew down to the bottom.
I took some pictures and then wandered through the collections; I had an agenda and I knew what paintings I wanted to see so that I would not have to spend hours there. I sat in the Rothko room for some time; it was dark and lightly cooled. I enjoyed the dark muted colors and the immensity of the canvases that surrounded me. I sought out Chegall, which, as I would later learn, belongs on a canvas and not on the dome of a Parisian opera house. Of course I had to stop by the pop culture icon Roy Liechenstein and the muted elegance of Monet.
I headed out of the Tate by way of the Turbine Hall; I gave one last look at the smooth concrete sloping slabs and left the Tate forever. Over the Milennium Bridge once again I trailed behind a couple of girls a couple years younger than me. I was meloncholy; it wasn't so much that I wanted my friends there but that I wanted to be apart of a group, I wanted to be comfortable in the city, I wanted to know London like the back of my hand. I didn't want to worry about getting sick and finding a bathroom, I didn't want to worry about the cost of things and conversion. I continued to feel this way all the way up to St. Paul's Cathedral. I did not go inside because, as I remember, it didn't seem worth the cost. I took the Tube at rush hour which took me forever to get back to my hotel. I stopped in a little grocery by my hotel and picked up a Weight Watchers turkey and stuffing sandwich with a side of pasta and milk. After the long day I had I felt a little deserved relaxation was in order and so as I ate my delicious dinner I watched Houses Abroad, 2 1/2 Men and CSI: Las Vegas.
The next day I took a shower as well as the rest of the little cubicle of a bathroom and then headed out to face another day of being a tourist in London. I decided to start out in Hyde Park. From what I remember, I think I took the Tube to Hyde Park station but realized that I could have easily walked there, well, maybe not that easily, but I had already purchased the tube tickets and why not get my full use out of them? I started out across the street from the station; I walked around a pigeon poop spattered concrete walk around a bunch of fountains. It was a bit cloudy and I wished the sunshine would come out so my pictures would look more cheery. After studying the statues and watching some foreign family's children run around and giggle as they splash the water. I don't think I had a clear map of the park and so I wandered, staying to the main walk, until I reached a sign post pointing several different directions towards the various places in the park that were of interest. The main reason why I went to Hyde Park again was to see the Peter Pan statue like I saw in the movie 'Hook.' Well, I found it alright and I took about ten pictures of the statue because it had so much detail that I wanted to have a complete 360 in pictures.
Following the trail through the park I found myself in the middle of an ongoing argument between two middle-aged men. From what I could decipher, it seemed as though the men were both upset about something that transpired between their dogs. The whole process was quite an experience, one that most American tourists are not privy to, and I had the infinate joy of storing it in my head until I got back the hotel to record it all. This fight went as follows; one man would walk ahead of the other man and stop to yell arguments back at his opponent. The opponent would continue the argument, not wanting to back down from a fight in which he knew he was right. They would go on like this for several yards, I was stuck in the middle, unfortunately, and I believe that my being there (and their wives restraining them) kept the two men from going at it right there in the park. It was all very trivial to me, one man was angry the other man did not have his dog on a leash and the dog roamed wherever it wanted. The funny thing about it was that the argument seemed to be over and then about two or so yards later someone would shout something and the argument would begin all over again.
I finally left the turbulent atmopshere behind me and headed over to the Princess Diana fountain. Alas, the fountain was not on or working it seemed because there were a crew of people working on the mechanics of it. I would have liked to have seen what it looked like when it was fully functional but that I must save for another day, another trip, another time. The weather was pleasant; warm but cloudy. I relaxed by the Serpentine for a little while. Behind me was a little restaurant with chairs and tables set out for summer dining in the park. The Serpentine was a beautiful calm; farther down was a boat house set up with all sorts of recreational equiptment but it looked closed for the season. I had come too early it seemed. As I sat on the little bench, I studied the water before me; it looked like a beach of sorts (no sand, mostly pebbley stone pavement) but who in their mind would want to bathe in the Serpentine is beyond all comprehension by me. I knew this to be a beach/swimming area on account of the ropes strung a couple yards out to keep the swimmers in. A gaggle of geese and a pair of ducks swam through the swimming area; it was shallow enough for the ducks to dive to the bottom for scraps of food. I know Lake Michigan is nothing to brag about but at least it is a lake, I mean the Serpentine is an enclosed man-made pond so where is the drainage and runoff? Where does the goose poop go? Where does the feathers and garbage go? No where is where it doesn't go and yet parents allow their children to play and splash in the disease-infested waters of the Serpentine. No wonder London had such problems in the 17th century, what with the Great Plague and such. I digress.
Since it was not a Sunday (alas! Will I never get to Speaker's Corner?) there were no demonstrations or speakers on soapboxes for me to gaggle at. I would very much like to experience a Sunday there. Marble Arch was a quick jaunt from the corner and so I headed over to take some photos on account of my previous trip the entire Arch was under bright blue construction tarps. Moving across the street I had a nice little lunch at my favorite London restaurant, Pret. The cheese and roast tomato sandwich was quite wonderful as was the diet Coke and fudge brownie which accompanied it.
After a Pret lunch I decided to wander around the neighborhood; I happened on a square with a couple of large administrative buildings. One in particular stood out to me; it had a large golden eagle and an American flag flying. On closer inspection the sign designated the US Embassy. I cannot deny that it made my heart flutter a bit; I did some research and discovered that the Rolling Stone's song 'Street Fighting Man' was written about an incident that happened in front of the US Embassy in London--the very same embassy that I was standing in front of. Apparently, so the story goes, Mick Jagger was inspired by an anti-war rally at the US Embassy in London where mounted armed guards were wading through the throng of protesters and subsequently wrote 'Street Fighting Man' from that experience.
Later that afternoon I had a mind to take a walk down Regent Street from Oxford Circus; don't ask me why I did because I cannot remember; I think there must have been some shops I wanted to patronize. Also, it isn't a typical tourist sort of thing to do. The pavement was crowded with British shoppers and as much as I tried to go with the flow, the flow kept changing and so I felt like a salmon in the seasonal runs upriver. The traffic was of course due to the high volume of moderately priced shopping venues such as: Clarks, Lush, Next, and Hamley's Toys. I walked all the way down to Piccadilly Circus and found a nostalgic feeling creep up inside of me; I stood there, looking up in amazement at the bright neon lights three years ago. Turning back to Regent Street I consulted my city road map for Brewer Street; now I did not want to seem like a tourist during my time in London but to find a side street in Oxford Circus--a place I had not previously explored until then--was going to take a little more than memorization.
After a few back street right turns, left turns, past Chinese food restaurants and tea rooms I finally found Brewer Street. The reason for my little journey into the 'other' regions of London was on account of a wonderfully reviewed store I found in my London travel book. The Vintage Magazine Company is the kind of store I had been searching for; as the name implies, they sell a variety of vintage magazines, movie posters and prints, mounds of film and music memoribilia, t-shirts and anything else you can think of. I spent quite a bit of time in that store; I bought myself a notepad and postcards from The Bates Motel. I bought Alex a Bob Dylan and Blues Brothers picture and for Katie I bought a Grease movie photo.
I made my way back to my hotel in Paddington Station and rested for a little bit before I headed out to Bloomsbury. Why Bloomsbury? Why not? Actually, there were two stores I wanted to check out in that area; besides, Bloomsbury brought back some fond memories from the last time I was there. However, the time I spent looking for the stores was not pleasant; it was warm--I was warm--and there were these patches of gnats hovering above the middle of the pavement just waiting for an unsuspecting tourist to walk straight into them and feel the little buggars squirming to get out of her hair. It was quite gross and I felt gross and I had not yet found either store. I resigned to my map again and eventually figured out where I was and the appoximate location of the two stores. I finally found Faulkner's Fine Papers across the street where I had been walking. Inside there were rows and stacks of book bindings, papers of all sizes and textures. I took a peek at some of the journals and they were a bit too pricey for my likes; besides I had already purchased a journal in Chester and I still had a small leather journal from Italy. With no spending at the paper store I decided to try my luck at Fancy That of London--the official tourist souvieneer store.
I found Fancy That near the British Museum--a relic of a place where I experienced my first letdown of the mystery and excitement of London on my previous trip. Back in 2003, I had imagined the British Museum to quite ancient with musty rooms filled with collections from around the world. I imagined a dimly-lit paradise where history and life mixed daily. I pictured worn marble staircases winding to the upper floors where even more ancient treasures lay hidden. All in all, I imagined it to be much like the British Museum portrayed in the film 'The Mummy'. So there I was, a wide-eyed American tourist; first time in London, first time traveling internationally, ready for the all ancient wonders that the British Museum could offer. I was sorely disappointed; the museum was nothing like what I expected--it was clean, bright and bustling full of people. I was so letdown that I spent less than an hour there; most of it was spent looking at the gift shop, eating and waiting in line for the bathroom.
Now that I have almost completely digressed from my most recent trip, let's get back to where I left off. I was determined to buy all my London souvieneers at Fancy That, and I did. I bought two bags there--a black plastic bag with the skyline of London in white and a plastic Union Jack purse for Katie. I got dad a t-shirt, mom a water globe, and a couple of little keychains. I walked around the area for a while before I started to head back to my hotel. I wanted to wait so that I wouldn't hit the Tube during rush hour so I took my time. I ran into a woman who asked me if I knew how to get to Covent Gardens. I had never been there before but I had a map so together we figured out how she would get there. After helping her and feeling quite good, I headed for the Tube only to be dismayed by having not missed rush hour at all. Rush hour on the Underground is not a pleasant experience; there are crowds of people pushing, shoving, trying to get to the train before anyone else. You travel with them and clammor down the steps. The crowd swells around you like a great wave before it crashes against the wall at the bottom of the stairs and separates like two great diverted rivers to the platform to the right or the one to the left. Once to your platform the crowding continues and grows worse as the train comes into view. If you are lucky enough to get onto the train the first time, you'll be packed so tightly sweat breaks out the instant the doors close.
I arrived at Paddington station sweaty and gross; I walked the block to my hotel and on the way was called 'love' by two guys hanging out on a stoop. Frankly I was angry but a little surprised, I mean, come on, I probably looked horrible--make up all shiny and face greasy, hair matted down and stringy--but somehow these guys were interested in talking to me. I sound pretty needy, huh? I did not indulge them, in fact, I ignored their calls and just kept on walking.
I freshened up in my room and, having stepped out on my balcony to see if the stoop guys were there (they weren't), I locked my door and headed out to forage some food for dinner. I didn't want to go back towards Paddington Station; there was a lot of construction going on for the new station and I didn't feel like dealing with people. I took only what I needed--my room key and a couple pounds in my purse. I walked around the neighborhood in search of a cafe or restaurant that sparked my fancy. Walking further from my hotel I realized I was headed deeper into a residential section of the city with no hope of a place to eat. I took a couple of wrong turns and ended up 'lost'. I say it in quotes because I was able to find myself again and I didn't panic. The closest I came to panicking was when I realized I did not have my Tube pass (and therefore could not find the closest Tube station to hop on and get back to Paddington), hardly enough money to buy a pass, no debit or credit card and no map. I realized that if I panicked it would get me nowhere and I'd probably just end up embarassing myself somehow. I spied a park bench and took a seat to calm myself down; I knew I couldn't get lost in London--I would eventually recognize a street or landmark or something. I got up and tried to find my way back and eventually hit Hyde Park to my infinate surprise. From there I knew how to get back to my hotel; I ended up back at Paddington Station. I resigned to the burger place near the Tube station; I ordered a falafal burger and a twix bar. I headed back to my hotel and watched 'Legally Blonde'.
April 12th began languidly; I watched 'Just Shoot Me' and 'Friends' as I got ready to face another day in London. I took the Tube to Lancaster Gate and walked to Westminister Abbey. As I headed towards the Abbey a woman was handing out Peonies for a cost; she saw me coming and I fixed her a stare that quite literally told her to sodder off. She did not accost me with her paper flowers. Feeling like a true Londoner, I set off for the line to get into the Abbey. I had had the opportunity to go the first time I was in London but declined and instead of going with the group, I went with a another girl on a day trip to Stonehenge, Bath and Windsor Castle. I was ready to be wowed with delight that is Westminister Abbey.
To the Abbey's credit, I thought I was worth the trip and cost of seven pounds. What I found thoroughly fustrating and annoying was the sign which declared no cameras or camcorders allowed. Honestly, why have that rule? I can understand perhaps no flash but why no cameras at all? I wrote as I walked along with the tourist crowd, noting interesting tombs and statues. There was a tomb of a knight sleeping peacefully--nothing special except that at the end of the tomb a lion was carved and the way both the lion and knight were carved, it seemed that the knight was kicking the lion. I do not think that is what the knight had in mind when he commissioned his tomb. On another tomb a knight was carved looking like he was just resting--his legs were crossed at the bottom.