London: preliminary notes
I'm back from London. I will be trying to put together some reports over the next few weeks. Likely topics include theatre (eleven plays in fourteen days), musicals (two, in addition to the other theatre), museums and art exhibits (the Courtauld, the V & A, the Colour After Klein exhibit at the Barbican), gardens (Regent's Park, the Chelsea Physic Gardens, the Royal Botanical Gardens at Kew), markets (Borough, Pimlico, Islington), possibly other stuff as well.
I have spent enough time in London now that my list of things to do when I go gets more and more idiosyncratic, which pleases me. This trip, I wanted to try some new things. I explored Chelsea and Soho more than I've done before. I chose to ride buses a good deal of the time rather than always taking the tube (a big deal for me, as I have heretofore found the bus system difficult to crack, whereas I find the underground immediately intuitive). I was also much more social; I instigated a dim sum outing for ten people and a post-theatre wine bar gathering for six.
I made a real effort to not buy lots of books (playtexts excepted, since most of them are not and will not be available in the U.S.). I was remarkably successful; my restraint was made possible partly by stumbling across Rosalind Coward's Our Treacherous Hearts, a book I've been wanting for seven or eight years and wasn't even looking for when I turned around in the basement of Henry Pordes on Charing Cross and there it was on the shelf like it had been waiting for me. The discovery was such an unexpected delight that it allowed me to feel that all my book needs had been met.
I did end up buying more than twice as many CDs as I intended, although in my defense this is largely the fault of Fopp's £5 section; I walked through that door and it was all over. Plus I found The Frames' Fitzcarraldo (out of print in the U.S. for some time now) for practically nothing down at Reckless.
My soundtrack for the trip was largely the new Coldplay (X&Y) and The Streets' Original Pirate Material, both perfect in their quite different ways, with generous helpings of the candyskins, Everything But the Girl, and Ms. Dynamite.
I ate Chinese food, Thai food, Japanese food, Indian food (north and south), Burmese food, Moroccan food, and a lot of crumpets with strawberry jam. I observe with longing, as I always do when returning from the U.K., that there is no U.S. equivalent of English lemonade, which I adore.
I came home to hot and humid midwestern weather, a looming dissertation deadline, and two cats who are getting old and mellow enough to admit right away that they didn't like having their routines disturbed by my absence. Not to admit that they missed me, mind you. Well. I take what I can get.
I had a lovely two weeks; London's my favorite city in the world. Still, it's good to be home. I can visit London and love it and yet know that when I go home I am going back where I belong - even if home itself is on the verge of being dismantled, moved, and reconstructed elsewhere.
More details when I get around to them.
I have spent enough time in London now that my list of things to do when I go gets more and more idiosyncratic, which pleases me. This trip, I wanted to try some new things. I explored Chelsea and Soho more than I've done before. I chose to ride buses a good deal of the time rather than always taking the tube (a big deal for me, as I have heretofore found the bus system difficult to crack, whereas I find the underground immediately intuitive). I was also much more social; I instigated a dim sum outing for ten people and a post-theatre wine bar gathering for six.
I made a real effort to not buy lots of books (playtexts excepted, since most of them are not and will not be available in the U.S.). I was remarkably successful; my restraint was made possible partly by stumbling across Rosalind Coward's Our Treacherous Hearts, a book I've been wanting for seven or eight years and wasn't even looking for when I turned around in the basement of Henry Pordes on Charing Cross and there it was on the shelf like it had been waiting for me. The discovery was such an unexpected delight that it allowed me to feel that all my book needs had been met.
I did end up buying more than twice as many CDs as I intended, although in my defense this is largely the fault of Fopp's £5 section; I walked through that door and it was all over. Plus I found The Frames' Fitzcarraldo (out of print in the U.S. for some time now) for practically nothing down at Reckless.
My soundtrack for the trip was largely the new Coldplay (X&Y) and The Streets' Original Pirate Material, both perfect in their quite different ways, with generous helpings of the candyskins, Everything But the Girl, and Ms. Dynamite.
I ate Chinese food, Thai food, Japanese food, Indian food (north and south), Burmese food, Moroccan food, and a lot of crumpets with strawberry jam. I observe with longing, as I always do when returning from the U.K., that there is no U.S. equivalent of English lemonade, which I adore.
I came home to hot and humid midwestern weather, a looming dissertation deadline, and two cats who are getting old and mellow enough to admit right away that they didn't like having their routines disturbed by my absence. Not to admit that they missed me, mind you. Well. I take what I can get.
I had a lovely two weeks; London's my favorite city in the world. Still, it's good to be home. I can visit London and love it and yet know that when I go home I am going back where I belong - even if home itself is on the verge of being dismantled, moved, and reconstructed elsewhere.
More details when I get around to them.