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By complete coincidence, people Meg knows from Minnesota happened to be on a trip to London, in the same hotel, so we had agreed to meet Beth and Sven for breakfast the next morning. Over tea, smoked salmon and scrambled eggs they told us about their trip so far, and answered our questions about various things we wanted to see. We finished breakfast, said goodbye, and set out for the Tower of London.
When people not from there think of New York City, I expect the Statue of Liberty comes to mind, and when I think of London, one of the first things I think of is the Tower of London. The name comes from the first structure, the White Tower, which was started in the 11th century (as in 1060-something). The oldest structures I’d seen so far had been in Salem, Mass., dating to the 1600s. But the architecture aside – that it is a castle aside – the Tower has an incredible history. For a long time, London was the center of the universe (some say it still is), with the Tower at its heart. William the Conqueror, Richard Longchamp, and the Tudors are all tied to the history of the Tower. Henry the VIII had his wives executed there when he finished with them. Elizabeth I came through Traitor’s Gate and up the steps to be imprisoned, and as far as she must have imagined, to be executed. Twelve year old Edward V and his younger brother were murdered there, most likely by their uncle Richard; what was thought to be their bones were discovered a couple of hundred years later. Amazing, and really violent.
I wasn’t expecting the reaction I had on walking out of the underground station and seeing the castle, a looming stone there in the middle of the city. I cried. Not big soggy sentimental crying or anything, but I did tear up. It just hit me funny - I think I was shocked to actually be there or something.
We decided to take the tour offered by one of the Yeoman Warden (nicknamed ‘Beefeaters’). It was brilliant – so much more informative than just walking around on our own, although we did that too. We got harassed, but good-naturedly, because we’re American ("You’re from the States? Sorry – won’t be able to understand the brochure, then, but there are pretty pictures"), but the Aussies in the group got it worse, with talk of how it wasn’t the front entrance their ancestors used 200 years ago. The Beefeater announced that ravens would attack redheads, and that they should wear a hat for saftey (looking pointedly at Meg), and feigned shock when we all shouted that yes, wanted to hear about the beheadings and imprisonments (really, who wouldn't?). All of the wardens live in the Tower with their families, in apartments built right into the outer walls - there was a small exhibit in the White Tower featuring drawings from some of their children.
Some of my favorite shots from the trip are from the Tower visit - I like the lion (a co-worker: 'You reckon the guy who made that was on drugs at the time?'), and a couple of the shots out of windows. You'll note that the Tower has received the Loo of the Year Award six years running.
We spent over three hours there and it wasn't enough, but it was cold and we were hungry. We left for the Tube with plans to go to Kensington for lunch and to stop by Lush, which is a store that sells fresh-made body lotions and soaps. Melissa had brought Meg back some from her last London trip, and I'd read a rather fanatical reviews about it, so we thought we'd give it a try. Unfortunately, after riding back all the way from Tower Hill to High Street Kensington, we found the Lush store vacant and dark. We were starving; it had been hours since breakfast, but we'd been hoping for Indian food, and after a couple of blocks, we didn't see any. No problem, we thought - we'd hop back on the Tube and head to the Lush near where we'd walked the night before (but hadn't thought to look for), grab something to eat, and then browse the store.
Unfortunately, we saw the store before we saw food - and thus an obsession was launched. Generally, I believe the stuff you buy at the drug store is every bit as good as expensive specialty cosmetics, but the way this stuff smells is worth twice the cost (which, incidently, is exactly how much more it costs in the states). We both bought loads, took away samples, and returned the next day to buy loads more.
After we finished with Lush, it was 5:30 and we were starved. We found a vacant Indian restaurant around the corner named Maharani that had the absolute best Indian food I've ever tasted. I had some sort of chicken curry, and when we ran out of naan, we used our fingers to wipe up what was left of the sauce. With a bottle of wine (Klippenkop, a South African 2002 vintage, Meg emails me) and the tip, dinner ran about £45 - completely reasonable in pounds and pricey in American dollars. But it was worth it - it was a great evening. We returned to Kensington for a walk, and stopped by a grocery to buy tea (I saw the same box of PG Tips I paid £2.39p there for priced at $10.89 in the Scottish store at Annapolis, Maryland a week later - shameful) and dessert (don't laugh unless you've tried it). Then we went back to the room to read and paint our nails and talk much too late to get up at a reasonable hour the next day.
The next morning, we decided to skip the cold eggs at the hotel (although I'm not complaining - they were free) and eat around the corner at a place that offered a full english breakfast, which I ruined by asking for scrambled eggs instead of fried and a scone instead of toast. The english breakfast is very interesting. It includes what a usual classic diner breakfast would (eggs, toast, bacon), but throws in sausage, baked beans, and a grilled tomato as well. After breakfast, we headed across the street for the Tube; we'd decided to spend the morning at Westminster Abbey.
Westminster is a 'royal peculiar' - it's neither a cathedral nor a parish church, and falls under the administration of the Queen. It was consecrated in 1065 and has been the site of every coronation since, as well as the burial place for many notables, which in addition to lots of royals includes Geoffrey Chaucer; adventurer David Livingstone (with whom I share a birthday, I've just discovered); Sir Isaac Newton; Charles Dickens; and Thomas Parr (unrelated to Catherine, one of Henry the VIII's wives), a Shropshire farmer who was believed to be 152 years and 9 months at his death, and reportedly didn't marry until he was 80, had an affair at 100 that resulted in an illegitimate child, and thought the key to long life was to rise and retire early, avoid smoking, exercise regularly, and to keep your eyes open and your mouth shut. Good advice, really.
We walked around Parliament, saw the great clock tower that holds Big Ben (note
that the tower itself isn't Big Ben, only the clock,
which sees in London's New Year and which lost only 1/2 a second of time during
World War II bombardments),
and then queued up at the Abbey, were we paid the £7.50 entrance fee, as well
as an extra £4 for the Verger's
tour. The verger was a cheerful, slightly cockeyed fellow who did an incredible
job of cramming a thousand years of history into a 90 minute talk. I highly
recommend the tour. Several people who'd passed on theclearly realized how engaging
it was and tried to loiter nearby, to which our verger said in a kind but firm
voice "This is a private tour - if you'd like to sign up for one of your own
you may do so at the front desk. Please move along" (I got a kick out of this
for some reason). Our first stop was in the Confessor's Chapel (off limits unless
you take the tour - another reason to spend the extra money), where Edward the
Confessor (later Saint Edward the Confessor) was buried, surrounded by monarchs
who must have figured their chances of getting into Heaven was better if they
were near someone who'd been canonized. Our guide directed us into a smaller
room of to the side to view the tomb of Queen Elizabeth I - and her half-sister
Mary. Meg and I gasped at this last bit, which seemed to please our verger -
if anyone else in the group thought it shocking for Protestant Elizabeth to
be buried with her Protestant-burning crazy Catholic half-sister Mary, they
didn't express it. Or maybe Meg and I are just weird.
We filed past Elizabeth and Mary's tomb (we also saw the tomb of the bodies believed to have belong to the little princes murdered at the Tower of London), and then had a look at Mary's, Queen of Scots tomb (other side of the Chapel from Elizabeth and Mary), who was executed at Queen Elizabeth's orders and was later buried at Westminster in a tomb her son James I made sure was the larger of the two. We also saw Poet's Corner, which held both graves and memorials, including a marker for Shakespeare; the Coronation Chair, which is covered in graffiti carved by the Westminster schoolboys; a marker for Jane Austen; the inside of the choir curtain (also only viewable on the tour); and the grave of Charles Darwin, who was apparently so well-respected and liked that the Church decided sure, agnostic or not, they'd bury him. The tour concluded at the Tomb of the Unknown Warrior, the only one visitors are not allowed to walk upon. We then visited the Abbey museum, where I got very excited over an exhibit featuring Elizabeth's effigy and a period corset, one of two in existence. We weren't able to take photos of the interior, but they did offer nice photo books, which I did not buy, and a post card of the corest, which I did buy (if you'd like to see some interior shots, turn down your volume and visit this site). When we left the Abbey, I lit a candle for dad, and we stopped in the book shop for the bar towels, and at a stand outside for a very bad cup of coffee.
We got back on the Tube for John's house. There was a place in London Jamie
thought we really should visit, but we'd called too late on Saturday to see
it, so Theresa gave him permission to miss school so that he could offer us
a second day on his tour of London (we're sure he felt quite terrible about
having to miss school, but he was very gracious and told us to think nothing
of it). We got off the Tube at the stop he directed, and stopped at a West
Cornwall Pastie Company stand for delicious pasties, which are savory bits
of everything folded up into a dough pocket (and I asked Jamie; it's PAAS-tee,
not PASTE-e), which we ate as we stood in the queue for the London
Dungeons.
The London Dungeons is quite similiar to the Witch History Museum that we saw in Salem, Mass, but in a far more tawdry and fabulous way. The Dungeons offer, in specific, gory detail, tableaus from every low point of British history, and probably includes in the mix, just to up the gross-out factor, low points from other countries as well. Besides the fake blood, vomit, and entrails that spilled from abdomens of the life-size (and rather miffed-looking) resin figures, the place has the odor of a dank sewer ("Can you smell it?" Jamie enthused, "It's just like we're really there!"), and employees (some of whom, we noted, also have an odor that reminds of you another age) who jump out at you at various places along the way.
"Stand here," Jamie said, pointing to a darkened alcove.
"Why?" I asked.
"Oh," he said, very innocently, "no reason, really - just a suggestion."
And even though I knew something was coming, I shrieked when the animatronic witch in the alcove started jumped out at me.
The walk (there's also a ride which was on repair during our visit, much to our disappointment) leads you through the Great Plague, several wars, Jack the Ripper, the Fire of London, a torture chamber, and some other horrific stuff that's noted on the tour map. It was worth every £. We bought gift shop stuff (the 'Wicked Women' shirt was quite tempting, but I needed to save money in case we returned to Lush!), and then rode back on the Tube to Jamie's stop, where Theresa and John were waiting. We stood on the sidwalk and chatted. Theresa gave me a photograph that Jamie had signed for me, and invited us to ring them again the next time we came to visit. We discussed our plans for the evening, and Meg mentioned that at some point we had to stop to buy our friend Jennie a can of baked beans. While I adore Jennie, I'd thought this was sort of a weird request, but Theresa assured us that British canned baked beans are in fact far superior to American canned baked beans, and that our friend was entirely correct to want them.
"The chocolate's good, too," Jamie volunteered. Meg and I mentioned we hadn't had the opportunity to try British chocolates.
"You're kidding!" Jamie said, and promptly ducked into the corner market by the Tube stop. He returned and presented us with four cans of Heintz baked beans ("I got one plain and one with sausages for each of you," he explained), and two monster-sized bars of Cadbury Dairy Chocolate (which, for future reference, tastes incredible with double cream). Did I mention: what a nice guy, and I'm so glad I had the opportunity to meet him. We thanked them all, said our farewells, and returned to the hotel to dress for the party at the Globe.
It's not the original 16th century theatre, but a reconstruction. The first Globe was built in 1598. It burned down during a production of Henry VIII in 1613 and was immediately rebuilt, but was closed in 1644 by the Puritans. As open-air theatres aren't really useful has anything but open-air theatres, it was torn down so that tenements could be built in its place. In the late 1940's actor Sam Wannamaker went looking for the Globe site and found nothing but a plaque. He established a trust to one day re-build the theatre. In 1970, the trust was given land for the new theatre, and shortly after groundbreaking, the remains of the original Globe was discovered - on a site only 200 yards away. Unfortunately, most of it was covered by a building, but existing Elizabethan buildings, as well as the Rose Theatre, which was discovered the same year, were used for reference, and the new Globe was opened in 1997. Being February, the party was held in the space under the theatre, but we did get to see it from the outside, and it's stunning.
We took the Tube to the nearest stop, and our feet hurt so much from the days of walking and from high heels that we decided to splurge on a taxi. The British black cab is far more elegant than any taxi you're likely to find anywhere in the U.S., and the drivers are very nice. He dropped us off around the corner from the Globe, and we walked out to an overlook of the Thames, which I have no pictures of because I didn't bring my charger on the trip and hoped the camera would hold out until we could take a photo of the event. We walked toward the entrance with a small group of people obviously going the same place. Once inside, we were directed to a table to get name badges, and Nicola, who was our contact, was pointed out to us. Nicola looked beyond busy, but we did meet Sara Harrity, Book Aid's director. She looked at our nametags and grabbed our hands. "The Leaky Cauldron - you're the money people!". She directed us to check our coats and to get a glass of wine, and then to the Elizabethean theatre exhibit, along with other guests, some of who had 'Lady' and 'Sir' on their nametags.
We finally spotted Nicola again, this time not quite so busy, and we introduced
ourselves. Meg had brought with her from New York a check
for $6,000 from The Leaky Cauldron's T-shirt
fund raise (if you've read this far and didn't already know, Leaky is website
for Harry Potter book-related news, which I discovered after I finished
book four and was desperate to know when book five was coming out - friends
organized it, and I now help out). There was a presentation that reviewed where
Book Aid came from and
where it's going. Phenny Birungi, the retired Director of Uganda’s National
Library, spoke about the effect Book Aid has had on his country (where sometimes
twelve children share one book per classroom), and it was reported that the
organization had affected 100 million children in the fifty years of its existence.
It was very inspiring, and left Meg and I thinking about what we might do as
a third fundraiser. We had the oportunity to mingle and chat, meeting some very
nice and hardworking people. We were starving, though, so we said goodbye, took
another taxi, and ended up somewhere I can't remember eating Indian food not
quite as good as the night before (although the owner was so happy to see us
in his vacant place that he sent over two glasses of wine).
We already knew that we wouldn't be able to see everything we wanted to in three and a half days, so intead of rushing around madly, trying to cram in last minute visits, we decided to make Tuesday morning easy. We packed our bags, checked out, and left our things with the front desk (£1 charge per bag, except they didn't charge us £1 per bag, they only charged us £3 for five bags because two were small, which I thought was nice of them), then walked east along Gloucester Street. It was spitting snow; not quite enough to be pretty, but almost. We cut over a street or two to find a tiny cafe that served breakfast, and sat down at a table near the window with cups of coffee while we waited. There didn't seem to be many tourists around; from my seat I could see people on their way to work, and people window shopping or going about other business. For being a part of such a very large and old city, it seemed like the kind of neighborhood most towns should have and that very few do. We finished our meal and walked over to the Victoria and Albert Museum.
The Victoria and Albert is a museum dedicated to fine and applied arts from all time periods and all cultures. A former director once described it as 'an extremely capacious handbag', and as huge as the building is (I read now that it has seven miles of galleries), we knew we'd have to pick and choose. I knew I wanted to see some of the Elizabethan garments the museum owned. The map was similiar to the Tube map in that it lays out galleries in a sequential rather than geographic pattern, but it wasn't (in my geographer opinion) particularly successful, so we ended up roaming for the most part. The first thing we came to was 'Brilliant', an exhibit on the modern use of electricity in lighting design, with a bent toward art. The gallery space was crammed full with people staring not just at the lighting fixtures themselves, but at the patterns they cast on the walls. It was stunning, and sort of fairy tale like.
We wandered through an incredible marble sculpture collection into an English History gallery, which seemed from the map to be where the clothes I wanted to see were. Textiles, by their nature, aren't meant to be permanent - they typically get worn out, or go out of fashion, or get turned into dust rags, or are given to Good Will or to little girls to play dress up. Typically, the clothes that do survive had some kind of special significance, such as a wedding dress or a ball suit, which were not worn enough to be worn out. People often look at historic garments and talk about how much smaller people used to be, and this is known to be somewhat true, but many of the dresses that have survived were made for young teenage girls, who probably outgrew them before they had a chance to wear them out. Thomas Jefferson was over 6', as was Edward I (our verger told us they measured his skeleton sometime in the 1700s); people were certainly shorter than today's average, but the size 0 gowns you often see on display were unlikely representational of average size in any historic era. We saw a 1700s court gown, several bodices, dresses from the late 1800s, and clothing from modern eras. I thought the Rennaisance bodice that survived along with a portrait of its first owner wearing it was particularly interesting. We also saw a massive, carved bed that dated to the 1400s and was exhibited in the 1600s as an exceptional antique. I wish I wish I could have photographed more, but my camera battery said otherwise. A tripod also would have been nice; I turned the flash off to cut down on glare from the display cases, but all the photos are a bit soft.
We spent a good deal of time in the excellent museum shop, then dragged ourselves away for a last walk through Kensington and back to the hotel for our bags. The snow had turned to rain, but it wasn't heavy, and we wanted to see the Albert Memorial in Hyde Park, which Queen Victoria had built after his death. Victoria married the German prince when she was 20, and was left so crushed by his death 22 years later that for the rest of her 60 plus years, she wore black. There are portraits of the Queen and the Prince at this site, including a few that Victoria did herself. It's a beautiful monument.
And then we got our bags from the hotel, got on the Tube, went to the airport, and flew home.
There's a little more to it, but not much. Check-in went smoothly. We ate at Burger King, and got to the plane in plenty of time. I'm selfish enough to admit that I'm happy Meg flew back on the same flight even though it meant a longer trip home for her, as it gave us the chance to talk about the trip for a while longer. The food was good, for an airplane, and it wasn't very crowded. And then I was home to my cat, who was happy to see me.
This feels like an abrupt ending to the summary of my trip. I'd love to offer something witty or thought-provoking in conclusion, and I don't have either. I can close with with this, though: I want this trip to be the first of many, because I haven't seen enough of the world. There's so much here, and life is too short.
And just so you know, Bill Bryson is right. London is a wonderful city.
