The Days are Just Packed! Pt II of II
Okay, where was I?
Day Five (London Eye, Star Wars Exhibition, Spamalot!)
The London Eye is something like Seattle's Space Needle. It was brought in for a millenium celebration and became such a popular attaction that they just kept it up.
No amount of digital alteration could brighten this overcast London day
It spins so slowly that one revolution takes 30 minutes, and they don't even stop it to load you on and off -- a bit challenging with a 2-year-old and all her accompanying accoutrements. Good thing "challenge" is my middle name. I took tons of pictures, but all through the very visible glass walls of the pod, and nothing you can't see better versions of on a postcard.
We had lunch at a sidewalk sandwich shop. The experience was only slightly marred by flying rats.
Everyone who's anyone should know by now that there's no love lost between me and pigeons. These fuckers were so aggressive they'd literally strafe your head, stopping just short of snatching the food out of your hand. Nasty.
Real friends stuff their faces with ice cream together
They had gooooooood ice cream over there. It's pumped full of air to whip it into a super creamy texture, Jeff said a ploy by Margaret Thatcher to make less look like more. "Well, she can't be all bad then," I said.
All along the Thames beneath the Eye are these street performers that fascinated me as much as the kiddies.
Putting coins in Merlin's bag made him come to life and tap a child's head gently with the tip of his staff
Smaller children preferred the Duchess, who only curtsied and blew them a kiss
Jeff thought these people needed to get real jobs, but I can't imagine standing motionless for hours at a time being gawked at is all that easy.
The original plan was to go to the aquarium, but none of us could resist the allure of a Star Wars exhibition of props and costumes next door in the County Hall.
Stormtroopers were on hand to put a stop to any shenanigans
I was thankful for the change of plan, not least of which because otherwise I might never have encountered the best hand dryer in the whole world. Hear me out.
In the ladies room of the County Hall they have installed a Dyson Airblade™. I wasn't enough of a tourist to take a photo, but fortunately they have a website. I don't normally get excited about hand dryers. Motion sensors activate a stream of air so powerful it feels like a physical entity, rendering your hands so dry you might never have washed them, in about 10 seconds. It made me giddy, I tell you. The exhibit was almost anticlimactic by comparison (I said "almost").
Anakin's pod racer
Wookiee Sandwich!
Boba Fett didn't look nearly so gay in the movies
Roxana started fussing in Darth Vader's room, so Jeff did what any father would
Photography was difficult with the low lighting and glass cases. Carbonite!Han was about the only display that worked with the camera
It was very cool, although we all wished the emphasis hadn't been so heavy on the prequels. No sign at all of Luke Skywalker or even my favorite, Old School Chewbacca. Poop.
There was another Dali exhibit in the Hall, and they had these fabulous sculptures outside:
Later that night was Spamalot!
I liked these posters. Jeff rolled his eyes at how easily amused I was. He's so jaded
Did you know in England you can pre-order your intermission (or "interval", as they call it) drinks to avoid the mob scene at the bar? Why can't America be that smart? (Or maybe I'm going to the wrong theaters.)
We had amazing seats (6th row). As the overture began, I noticed a teenaged kid in front of me pretending to conduct, obviously intimately familiar with the music. I imagined him buying the soundtrack and listening to it day and night before finally getting to see it live. I loved his geeky little heart. Something else I noticed was that the audience was overwhelmingly American, which didn't surprise Jeff in the slightest. I'll bet none of them had their own personal native guide to the city, though.
We agreed the first act was a bit disappointing, replacing beloved scenes from the movie with new Vegas-like numbers. Of course, a scene-by-scene translation would be boring, and the Lady of the Lake, whose role was expanded exponentially (well, since she was an off-screen reference in the film, she had nowhere to go but up), was phenomenal. Act III II more than made up for it though. I won't give anything away, especially not the ending (surprising but more satisfying than the original). You'll just have to go to London or Broadway (or Denver, coming soon Tery tells me) yourself.
We grabbed dinner at Satsuma, a swank Japanese restaurant that looked impossibly hip but was affordable and delicious, and we actually got to sit in the upstairs dining room with the "beautiful people."
All in all, a pretty perfect evening!
~*~
Days Seven and Eight (Edinburgh Fringe Festival)
We were going to go to Ireland, but not having any clear idea where in Ireland, we turned to the internet. Apparently unless you want to drink authentic Guiness in a pub or look at lots and lots of pretty countryside, Ireland's sights are spread out pretty haphazardly for just a day trip.
Back before I bought my ticket and Jeff was planning out our itinerary, he had suggested seeing "what's-his-name" in a new show he was performing that was getting rave reviews. "He plays a god and people are saying it's the role he was born to play." "Sounds good," I answered. "I love what's-his-name." Well, "what's-his-name" turned out to be Alan Cumming. Hard on the heels of learning his identity, however, was the disappointing-in-the-extreme announcement, "Oh, never mind. He's only playing in Scotland."
Now, had this conversation taken place a year ago, I would have taken this much, much harder. Not that I wasn't sad, but my love for Alan Cumming has been replaced pretty decisively with my love for Alan Rickman (I am so, so fickle). Still, I never forgot it, so when Ireland looked to be a bust I asked hopefully if Scotland was right out. It wasn't, but it turned out Alan's run in The Bacchae ended practically the day before we got plane tickets to get up there (see TDAJP Pt I for the curious phenomenon of just-missed activities), and was undoubtedly sold out anyway. But the Festival on the whole looked promising enough that we planned a trip, Alan or no Alan.
It was a let-down that I didn't get an extra stamp in my passport to go to Scotland; but as Jeff put it, England considers them all the same country, though don't let a Scotsman hear you say that. Edinburgh is more laidback than London, smaller, more room to breathe, more manageable. We had booked a room overnight at the Edinburgh First at the University, which was actually a dorm room when classes are in session.
My camera died before I could get a picture of the dorms, but this was the view just behind the University. Lovely
The people of Scotland:
Pipers (naturally)...
...knights...
...and...Native Americans?!
Edinburgh has its share of street performers, especially at the Festival.
We didn't stop to read why he's standing on his head in a bucket
The Fringe is all about comedy shows and plays, but we took time out to visit the Andy Warhol exhibit at the National Galleries of Scotland.
The building was quite eye-catching
Big cans of soup!
Unfortunately the exhibit itself didn't quite live up to the building front, and we decided that Warhol is pretty overrrated.
We saw shows too:
The Book Club: All-New Fighting Years -- This was a very last minute choice by Jeff, demonstrating his unerring instincts when it comes to humor. A group of quirky comedians band together to review, and occasionally act out, really, really horrible pulp novels and poetry anthologies found in thrift stores. This guy in particular almost made me wet myself with his interpretive dance in a forensics suit (looks like a Hazmat spacesuit) of the poem "The Haunted Chair" found in an anthology of bombastic outer space-themed poetry. No kidding.
Debbie Does Dallas: The Musical -- The classic 70's porn with musical numbers replacing sex scenes (though not completely). More nudity (male) than I expected. Funny! Though no "Book Club."
Rhod Gilbert: "Who's Eaten Gilbert's Grape?" -- Stand-up comic who based this show loosely on the story of how What's Eating Gilbert Grape? brought him and his current girlfriend together. Edgy, hilarious, and evidently a huge liar (or is he?) The recommendation of Caroline, Jeff's wife, who has similarly unerring comedic instincts. I think it's the British gene pool.
Hedwig and the Angry Inch -- A last minute choice by me when I overheard two Irish girls talking about it in the loo. The venue was virtually impossible to find, tucked away in the basement of a church on a VERY darkened street. It was essentially the movie condensed and revised until it's just a very long story told by Hedwig (played extremely well by some young guy), with her band glaring resentfully from the stage and performing the songs. I suspect this is what the show was originally before John Cameron Mitchell got a movie deal. The funniest thing was three handicapped guys who sat in the front row, gazing adoringly at Hedwig and singing along enthusiastically. I thought it was a very moving performance (well, I cried), and as we left Jeff said this was what the spirit of the Fringe was meant to be -- the feeling that you'd just seen something amazing that no one else knew about.
Then it was back to the room to grab some sleep before day two.
Breakfast was cafeteria-style. I braved a bite of haggis ("nae the best I've had" murmured a Scotsman as I scooped it onto my plate) but just the idea of it was enough to make me gag (it wasn't even proper haggis, just the filling that goes inside the casing). The rest was just like the "full English" I had in London, if slightly greasier.
We sat beside an older couple who sounded American. I resisted the urge to ask where they were from in America, good thing because it turned out they were from Canada, touring Scotland with 120 other parading pipers.
Today was a lot lighter on the shows, probably because it was proving quite expensive (each show was between £8 and £12) and we didn't want to chance missing our return flight.
John Hegley -- A favorite of Jeff and Caroline. He's a poet, which I thought might be boring, but his dry delivery and unexpected turns of phrase were so entertaining that I bought a CD (autographed). He has clips on YouTube as well, I highly recommend you check him out. Here's my favorite poem (so far) from the CD:
I Wouldn't Say My Brother-in-law is Fat
I wouldn't say my brother-in-law was fat
because he is quite thin
He's as miserable as sin but not as interesting
but he thinks he is great
He isn't beautiful, he's horrible
He eats crisps in the cinema as a matter of principle
In a previous incarnation he was a beer crate
If he does you a favor, then you know that you're in debt
If you want someone to help you out, he's a very outside bet
If you were in a lifeboat and someone had to go and my brother-in-law was there
You wouldn't exactly need a ballot
He's ten stone in his pyjamas and that's ten stone overweight
He's not exactly an artist but they should hang him in the Tate
And whatever age he dies at will be far too late
(I don't like him)
Something Blue -- Unfortunately this was the last show we saw (paid). I won't even provide a link because we didn't think it was that great, in fact, the more we thought about it the angrier it made us. It was five women performing skits about life as a woman -- which sounds promising enough, but a) the venue was set up so you could barely see anything unless you were in the first three rows (we weren't) and b) the skits were hit or miss at best. Struggling so hard to see mediocre performances in a cramped, un-air conditioned room was not very conducive to positive feelings.
So we spent the rest of the day wandering about. There were plenty of free street shows to watch. Actually the last last show we saw was a funny busker from Australia who juggled machetes blindfolded on an 8-foot unicycle. He was raunchy and skilled (though not TOO skilled. The element of uncertainty makes it more exciting), and drew a huge audience. His request for tips must have netted him close to £500, by the time we got to the hat. I was too enthralled by his act to take a picture.
Pretty Edinburgh street
These girls were stretched out languidly on the sidewalk to promote a performance of "Twelfth Night"
The crowd was insane. This is one tiny portion of High Street, the center road that's more or less the hub of Fringe activity. Multiply this picture by about 10 and you'll begin to get an idea how many people were there
A schlocky souvenir shop. Jeffy's disgust in being forced to pose here is written clearly all over his face. He is SO my bitch
We left Edinburgh reluctantly. There is so much to see and do, I imagine it would be quite easy to spend the whole month (and several hundred dollars) there. But we were both quite tired, due to the fact that every single street in Edinburgh is a fairly steep uphill (never downhill) climb, as statistically improbable as that sounds.
~*~
Day Nine (Stonehenge, Avebury)
Just like I HAD to visit the Palace, I felt obligated to check out these famous big rocks.
I chose this pic because all my others just looked like postcards with no people in them
The Church of Latter-Day Druids (even though the audio tour claims that actual druidic connection to Stonehenge is a fallacy)
Stonehenge sheep, unaware of the mystic forces that surround them
I broke Jeffy #2
Cheapskates who didn't want to pony up £6 to get inside
Not far from Stonehenge, but far less popular, is the sleepy village of Avebury. It was built in the center of a larger circle of stones that isn't considered as remarkable, perhaps because there are no triptychs like its more famous cousin. You get the feeling the townsfolk prefer it that way. Thoroughly isolated, you get the feeling they couldn't care less what the rest of the world is up to.
Roxana and I tried to push over one of the stones...
...but Mommy said no
Jeff decided this should be my first album cover when I make it big
Tery was impressed with my composition in these shots (wholly unintentional, I assure you):
A nice, low-key way to wind down my trip.
~*~
Day Ten: Going Home
My journey home was notable for a few things. First, Jeff's maddening lack of urgency (coupled with getting a bit lost) got me to Heathrow later than I would have liked. Not a big deal, but it meant my only option for seating was a middle seat, a far cry from my luxurious flight in. Terminal 4, which apparently handles all international flights, looked like a Cairo street market, with lines forming for who knows what and people EVERYWHERE. Jeff hung out for my check-in, but left me to the security line, which stretched down the entire length of the terminal.
Once on board, I was squashed into the middle seat. To my left, a Connecticut housewife type whose husband and two sons occupied the row behind us. She saw nothing wrong with hollering conversation at them over the top of my head throughout the flight. She ordered white wine with her meals, then spewed forth horrible obscenities when she couldn't quite negotiate her way out of the seat to the restroom with the glass perched on her tray table.
To my right was a mousy, unassuming British man. He seemed normal enough, but then the plane took off and he stuck his head between his knees anxiously. He relaxed once we were at altitude, but then started watching one of the movie channels. Whatever he was watching caused him to emit high-pitched, cackling giggles and made him twitch and stroke his goatee compulsively in a heightened state of excitement I'm quite sure was never anticipated by the moviemakers. I wasn't at all reassured when he covered himself neck to toe in his blanket and I could still see fidgety movement underneath in the mid torso region. He fortunately stopped this behavior long enough to wolf down his lunch in about 30 seconds. Then almost immediately upon him finishing, the plane hit an unusually big pocket of turbulence, lurching and dipping sharply. At this, he again put his head down, moaning and grunting alarmingly. So help me, I was sure he was going to vomit. Why god? Why me? He didn't, which is about the best thing I can say about this leg of my adventure.
When we finally landed in Denver, I realized there might be an unexpected perk to sitting in the middle: I could choose which aisle to use to leave. However it didn't quite work that way. The line to the right (British freak side) wasn't moving at all. To the left (entitlement housewife) people were moving swiftly, practically running past us from behind. But Wifey wasn't making any move to get up at all, probably hanging back until her entire family was ready. I suddenly decided this was intolerable, stood up and asked, "Do you think maybe I could get out?" To my surprise, she snapped irritably, "Well, yes, if you'd just give me a chance to stand up first!" Rich, when as I said she wasn't making the slightest move to get up before I said anything. I thought after almost 10 hours of wrestling for some armrest space, trying to time my bathroom breaks to her convenience and being kicked in the back by her stupid offspring, if anyone had a right to be snippy it was me. "Thanks very much, bitch" I said as I escaped, making damn sure she heard the last part (although looking back, I almost wish I'd used the "C" word). She made no response, or if she did I was long gone. I'd like to think there was none to be made, since I was after all only calling a spade a spade.
Not the best ending to my trip to be sure, but I have plenty of other happy memories to counter it.
That night I was a bit tired, and thankful Tery had replaced me at the hospital. Saturday I felt right as rain. Sunday my jet lag hit me like a concrete wall. It came over me so suddenly Tery was consulting WebMD.com with my symptoms (as with every other condition, their advice was to seek medical help immediately. Not a terribly useful site), but it turned out I just needed sleep very, very badly.
So that's it. My London Extravaganza 2007! Hope it was as enjoyable to read about as it was to experience.
Day Five (London Eye, Star Wars Exhibition, Spamalot!)
The London Eye is something like Seattle's Space Needle. It was brought in for a millenium celebration and became such a popular attaction that they just kept it up.
No amount of digital alteration could brighten this overcast London day
It spins so slowly that one revolution takes 30 minutes, and they don't even stop it to load you on and off -- a bit challenging with a 2-year-old and all her accompanying accoutrements. Good thing "challenge" is my middle name. I took tons of pictures, but all through the very visible glass walls of the pod, and nothing you can't see better versions of on a postcard.
We had lunch at a sidewalk sandwich shop. The experience was only slightly marred by flying rats.
Everyone who's anyone should know by now that there's no love lost between me and pigeons. These fuckers were so aggressive they'd literally strafe your head, stopping just short of snatching the food out of your hand. Nasty.
Real friends stuff their faces with ice cream together
They had gooooooood ice cream over there. It's pumped full of air to whip it into a super creamy texture, Jeff said a ploy by Margaret Thatcher to make less look like more. "Well, she can't be all bad then," I said.
All along the Thames beneath the Eye are these street performers that fascinated me as much as the kiddies.
Putting coins in Merlin's bag made him come to life and tap a child's head gently with the tip of his staff
Smaller children preferred the Duchess, who only curtsied and blew them a kiss
Jeff thought these people needed to get real jobs, but I can't imagine standing motionless for hours at a time being gawked at is all that easy.
The original plan was to go to the aquarium, but none of us could resist the allure of a Star Wars exhibition of props and costumes next door in the County Hall.
Stormtroopers were on hand to put a stop to any shenanigans
I was thankful for the change of plan, not least of which because otherwise I might never have encountered the best hand dryer in the whole world. Hear me out.
In the ladies room of the County Hall they have installed a Dyson Airblade™. I wasn't enough of a tourist to take a photo, but fortunately they have a website. I don't normally get excited about hand dryers. Motion sensors activate a stream of air so powerful it feels like a physical entity, rendering your hands so dry you might never have washed them, in about 10 seconds. It made me giddy, I tell you. The exhibit was almost anticlimactic by comparison (I said "almost").
Anakin's pod racer
Wookiee Sandwich!
Boba Fett didn't look nearly so gay in the movies
Roxana started fussing in Darth Vader's room, so Jeff did what any father would
Photography was difficult with the low lighting and glass cases. Carbonite!Han was about the only display that worked with the camera
It was very cool, although we all wished the emphasis hadn't been so heavy on the prequels. No sign at all of Luke Skywalker or even my favorite, Old School Chewbacca. Poop.
There was another Dali exhibit in the Hall, and they had these fabulous sculptures outside:
Later that night was Spamalot!
I liked these posters. Jeff rolled his eyes at how easily amused I was. He's so jaded
Did you know in England you can pre-order your intermission (or "interval", as they call it) drinks to avoid the mob scene at the bar? Why can't America be that smart? (Or maybe I'm going to the wrong theaters.)
We had amazing seats (6th row). As the overture began, I noticed a teenaged kid in front of me pretending to conduct, obviously intimately familiar with the music. I imagined him buying the soundtrack and listening to it day and night before finally getting to see it live. I loved his geeky little heart. Something else I noticed was that the audience was overwhelmingly American, which didn't surprise Jeff in the slightest. I'll bet none of them had their own personal native guide to the city, though.
We agreed the first act was a bit disappointing, replacing beloved scenes from the movie with new Vegas-like numbers. Of course, a scene-by-scene translation would be boring, and the Lady of the Lake, whose role was expanded exponentially (well, since she was an off-screen reference in the film, she had nowhere to go but up), was phenomenal. Act III II more than made up for it though. I won't give anything away, especially not the ending (surprising but more satisfying than the original). You'll just have to go to London or Broadway (or Denver, coming soon Tery tells me) yourself.
We grabbed dinner at Satsuma, a swank Japanese restaurant that looked impossibly hip but was affordable and delicious, and we actually got to sit in the upstairs dining room with the "beautiful people."
All in all, a pretty perfect evening!
~*~
Days Seven and Eight (Edinburgh Fringe Festival)
We were going to go to Ireland, but not having any clear idea where in Ireland, we turned to the internet. Apparently unless you want to drink authentic Guiness in a pub or look at lots and lots of pretty countryside, Ireland's sights are spread out pretty haphazardly for just a day trip.
Back before I bought my ticket and Jeff was planning out our itinerary, he had suggested seeing "what's-his-name" in a new show he was performing that was getting rave reviews. "He plays a god and people are saying it's the role he was born to play." "Sounds good," I answered. "I love what's-his-name." Well, "what's-his-name" turned out to be Alan Cumming. Hard on the heels of learning his identity, however, was the disappointing-in-the-extreme announcement, "Oh, never mind. He's only playing in Scotland."
Now, had this conversation taken place a year ago, I would have taken this much, much harder. Not that I wasn't sad, but my love for Alan Cumming has been replaced pretty decisively with my love for Alan Rickman (I am so, so fickle). Still, I never forgot it, so when Ireland looked to be a bust I asked hopefully if Scotland was right out. It wasn't, but it turned out Alan's run in The Bacchae ended practically the day before we got plane tickets to get up there (see TDAJP Pt I for the curious phenomenon of just-missed activities), and was undoubtedly sold out anyway. But the Festival on the whole looked promising enough that we planned a trip, Alan or no Alan.
It was a let-down that I didn't get an extra stamp in my passport to go to Scotland; but as Jeff put it, England considers them all the same country, though don't let a Scotsman hear you say that. Edinburgh is more laidback than London, smaller, more room to breathe, more manageable. We had booked a room overnight at the Edinburgh First at the University, which was actually a dorm room when classes are in session.
My camera died before I could get a picture of the dorms, but this was the view just behind the University. Lovely
The people of Scotland:
Pipers (naturally)...
...knights...
...and...Native Americans?!
Edinburgh has its share of street performers, especially at the Festival.
We didn't stop to read why he's standing on his head in a bucket
The Fringe is all about comedy shows and plays, but we took time out to visit the Andy Warhol exhibit at the National Galleries of Scotland.
The building was quite eye-catching
Big cans of soup!
Unfortunately the exhibit itself didn't quite live up to the building front, and we decided that Warhol is pretty overrrated.
We saw shows too:
The Book Club: All-New Fighting Years -- This was a very last minute choice by Jeff, demonstrating his unerring instincts when it comes to humor. A group of quirky comedians band together to review, and occasionally act out, really, really horrible pulp novels and poetry anthologies found in thrift stores. This guy in particular almost made me wet myself with his interpretive dance in a forensics suit (looks like a Hazmat spacesuit) of the poem "The Haunted Chair" found in an anthology of bombastic outer space-themed poetry. No kidding.
Debbie Does Dallas: The Musical -- The classic 70's porn with musical numbers replacing sex scenes (though not completely). More nudity (male) than I expected. Funny! Though no "Book Club."
Rhod Gilbert: "Who's Eaten Gilbert's Grape?" -- Stand-up comic who based this show loosely on the story of how What's Eating Gilbert Grape? brought him and his current girlfriend together. Edgy, hilarious, and evidently a huge liar (or is he?) The recommendation of Caroline, Jeff's wife, who has similarly unerring comedic instincts. I think it's the British gene pool.
Hedwig and the Angry Inch -- A last minute choice by me when I overheard two Irish girls talking about it in the loo. The venue was virtually impossible to find, tucked away in the basement of a church on a VERY darkened street. It was essentially the movie condensed and revised until it's just a very long story told by Hedwig (played extremely well by some young guy), with her band glaring resentfully from the stage and performing the songs. I suspect this is what the show was originally before John Cameron Mitchell got a movie deal. The funniest thing was three handicapped guys who sat in the front row, gazing adoringly at Hedwig and singing along enthusiastically. I thought it was a very moving performance (well, I cried), and as we left Jeff said this was what the spirit of the Fringe was meant to be -- the feeling that you'd just seen something amazing that no one else knew about.
Then it was back to the room to grab some sleep before day two.
Breakfast was cafeteria-style. I braved a bite of haggis ("nae the best I've had" murmured a Scotsman as I scooped it onto my plate) but just the idea of it was enough to make me gag (it wasn't even proper haggis, just the filling that goes inside the casing). The rest was just like the "full English" I had in London, if slightly greasier.
We sat beside an older couple who sounded American. I resisted the urge to ask where they were from in America, good thing because it turned out they were from Canada, touring Scotland with 120 other parading pipers.
Today was a lot lighter on the shows, probably because it was proving quite expensive (each show was between £8 and £12) and we didn't want to chance missing our return flight.
John Hegley -- A favorite of Jeff and Caroline. He's a poet, which I thought might be boring, but his dry delivery and unexpected turns of phrase were so entertaining that I bought a CD (autographed). He has clips on YouTube as well, I highly recommend you check him out. Here's my favorite poem (so far) from the CD:
I Wouldn't Say My Brother-in-law is Fat
I wouldn't say my brother-in-law was fat
because he is quite thin
He's as miserable as sin but not as interesting
but he thinks he is great
He isn't beautiful, he's horrible
He eats crisps in the cinema as a matter of principle
In a previous incarnation he was a beer crate
If he does you a favor, then you know that you're in debt
If you want someone to help you out, he's a very outside bet
If you were in a lifeboat and someone had to go and my brother-in-law was there
You wouldn't exactly need a ballot
He's ten stone in his pyjamas and that's ten stone overweight
He's not exactly an artist but they should hang him in the Tate
And whatever age he dies at will be far too late
(I don't like him)
Something Blue -- Unfortunately this was the last show we saw (paid). I won't even provide a link because we didn't think it was that great, in fact, the more we thought about it the angrier it made us. It was five women performing skits about life as a woman -- which sounds promising enough, but a) the venue was set up so you could barely see anything unless you were in the first three rows (we weren't) and b) the skits were hit or miss at best. Struggling so hard to see mediocre performances in a cramped, un-air conditioned room was not very conducive to positive feelings.
So we spent the rest of the day wandering about. There were plenty of free street shows to watch. Actually the last last show we saw was a funny busker from Australia who juggled machetes blindfolded on an 8-foot unicycle. He was raunchy and skilled (though not TOO skilled. The element of uncertainty makes it more exciting), and drew a huge audience. His request for tips must have netted him close to £500, by the time we got to the hat. I was too enthralled by his act to take a picture.
Pretty Edinburgh street
These girls were stretched out languidly on the sidewalk to promote a performance of "Twelfth Night"
The crowd was insane. This is one tiny portion of High Street, the center road that's more or less the hub of Fringe activity. Multiply this picture by about 10 and you'll begin to get an idea how many people were there
A schlocky souvenir shop. Jeffy's disgust in being forced to pose here is written clearly all over his face. He is SO my bitch
We left Edinburgh reluctantly. There is so much to see and do, I imagine it would be quite easy to spend the whole month (and several hundred dollars) there. But we were both quite tired, due to the fact that every single street in Edinburgh is a fairly steep uphill (never downhill) climb, as statistically improbable as that sounds.
~*~
Day Nine (Stonehenge, Avebury)
Just like I HAD to visit the Palace, I felt obligated to check out these famous big rocks.
I chose this pic because all my others just looked like postcards with no people in them
The Church of Latter-Day Druids (even though the audio tour claims that actual druidic connection to Stonehenge is a fallacy)
Stonehenge sheep, unaware of the mystic forces that surround them
I broke Jeffy #2
Cheapskates who didn't want to pony up £6 to get inside
Not far from Stonehenge, but far less popular, is the sleepy village of Avebury. It was built in the center of a larger circle of stones that isn't considered as remarkable, perhaps because there are no triptychs like its more famous cousin. You get the feeling the townsfolk prefer it that way. Thoroughly isolated, you get the feeling they couldn't care less what the rest of the world is up to.
Roxana and I tried to push over one of the stones...
...but Mommy said no
Jeff decided this should be my first album cover when I make it big
Tery was impressed with my composition in these shots (wholly unintentional, I assure you):
A nice, low-key way to wind down my trip.
~*~
Day Ten: Going Home
My journey home was notable for a few things. First, Jeff's maddening lack of urgency (coupled with getting a bit lost) got me to Heathrow later than I would have liked. Not a big deal, but it meant my only option for seating was a middle seat, a far cry from my luxurious flight in. Terminal 4, which apparently handles all international flights, looked like a Cairo street market, with lines forming for who knows what and people EVERYWHERE. Jeff hung out for my check-in, but left me to the security line, which stretched down the entire length of the terminal.
Once on board, I was squashed into the middle seat. To my left, a Connecticut housewife type whose husband and two sons occupied the row behind us. She saw nothing wrong with hollering conversation at them over the top of my head throughout the flight. She ordered white wine with her meals, then spewed forth horrible obscenities when she couldn't quite negotiate her way out of the seat to the restroom with the glass perched on her tray table.
To my right was a mousy, unassuming British man. He seemed normal enough, but then the plane took off and he stuck his head between his knees anxiously. He relaxed once we were at altitude, but then started watching one of the movie channels. Whatever he was watching caused him to emit high-pitched, cackling giggles and made him twitch and stroke his goatee compulsively in a heightened state of excitement I'm quite sure was never anticipated by the moviemakers. I wasn't at all reassured when he covered himself neck to toe in his blanket and I could still see fidgety movement underneath in the mid torso region. He fortunately stopped this behavior long enough to wolf down his lunch in about 30 seconds. Then almost immediately upon him finishing, the plane hit an unusually big pocket of turbulence, lurching and dipping sharply. At this, he again put his head down, moaning and grunting alarmingly. So help me, I was sure he was going to vomit. Why god? Why me? He didn't, which is about the best thing I can say about this leg of my adventure.
When we finally landed in Denver, I realized there might be an unexpected perk to sitting in the middle: I could choose which aisle to use to leave. However it didn't quite work that way. The line to the right (British freak side) wasn't moving at all. To the left (entitlement housewife) people were moving swiftly, practically running past us from behind. But Wifey wasn't making any move to get up at all, probably hanging back until her entire family was ready. I suddenly decided this was intolerable, stood up and asked, "Do you think maybe I could get out?" To my surprise, she snapped irritably, "Well, yes, if you'd just give me a chance to stand up first!" Rich, when as I said she wasn't making the slightest move to get up before I said anything. I thought after almost 10 hours of wrestling for some armrest space, trying to time my bathroom breaks to her convenience and being kicked in the back by her stupid offspring, if anyone had a right to be snippy it was me. "Thanks very much, bitch" I said as I escaped, making damn sure she heard the last part (although looking back, I almost wish I'd used the "C" word). She made no response, or if she did I was long gone. I'd like to think there was none to be made, since I was after all only calling a spade a spade.
Not the best ending to my trip to be sure, but I have plenty of other happy memories to counter it.
That night I was a bit tired, and thankful Tery had replaced me at the hospital. Saturday I felt right as rain. Sunday my jet lag hit me like a concrete wall. It came over me so suddenly Tery was consulting WebMD.com with my symptoms (as with every other condition, their advice was to seek medical help immediately. Not a terribly useful site), but it turned out I just needed sleep very, very badly.
So that's it. My London Extravaganza 2007! Hope it was as enjoyable to read about as it was to experience.