Had a bit of a lie-in before walking over to the Paul Mellon Centre with Cassie to do preliminary research for our Glasgow presentation on the city’s School of Art, designed by the celebrated Charles Rennie Mackintosh. We worked for a little while before walking down to Trafalgar Square, which is lovely and has large fountains and larger lions, and one heck of a big column topped by Admiral Lord Nelson. He Expects That Every Man Shall Do His Duty, so Cassie and I climbed the base of the statue and dutifully posed with his lions. We then popped into Pret a Manger (habit forming) for lunch before going into the National Gallery. We purchased audio guides, and spent a good two and a half hours looking at Rembrandts, Manets, Monets, Renoirs, VanGoghs, Seurats, Vermeers, Claudes, Gainsboroughs, Velazquezs, and some Michaelangelos. Wow o wow o wow. Too many paintings, too much standing, too much directors talk to go see. We left a little overwhelmed and walked down Charring Cross to a pub named for Inspector Sherlock Holmes. We then proceeded down to the National Theatre, walking through the book stalls underneath the Jubilee Bridge before going inside for the talk. The director, who surprisingly looks a lot like the actress playing St. Joan, said some interesting things, and we had our fair share of Inane Question/Comment Folks, only they had lovely accents. Professor Roach asked a good, short, Question question. Which was nice, but unfotunately somewhat poorly answered.
After the director’s talk we found a boulevard area full of cute shops (all closed by early evening – how do England shops survive?!) and fun places to eat. We sat in the central picnicking area, full of carved wooden chairs and tables and rocking animals (including a pair of elaborate pig/squirrel rockers) that apparently live there all the time. How neat. After dinner, a few of us headed to the Tate Modern, an art museum that is currently featuring an installation about ten of the world’s most dense cities (London, Tokyo, Mumbai, Mexico City, Sao Paolo, Los Angeles, Cairo, Istanbul, Johannesburg, and Shanghai). We were there for over an hour (the museum closed at 10), and saw only a fraction of the exhibit, as there were fascinating video installments and walk-in cubes for each of the ten cities. We walked home post-museum in a balmy dusk, which brings me to a SPECIAL NOTE: the weather in London is odd. It has generally been cold and gray in the mornings, before staying cold and gray all through mid-afternoon. At about 4 PM it begins to grow sunny and warm, and between 5:30 and 6:00 PM the daily high temperature seems to finally arrive. Then the evening is inevitably totally lovely. It all makes for some bipolar days: slightly sad mornings finished by elating evenings… I suppose we’re getting the hang of it.
We stopped at a convenience store for a snack on the walk home: I have decided to try as much English candy as I can, especially since the New York Times just proclaimed that English candy (chocolate in particular) is worlds better than the American kind. (Besides, I think I must be walking and standing everything I eat into oblivion.) Last night I had an Aerobar, which is bubbly crème-de-menthe filling covered in chocolate holy cow. Tonight was a Cadbury StarBar, a delicious caramel/peanut butter mix covered in Cadbury mmmmm. I feel as though the theatre variety is not the only thing that’s going to work out here.
Friday, July 13, 2007
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Lloyds of London is a Coffee Shop
Woke up late after going to bed late and rushed over to the Paul Mellon Centre to meet the group for our trip to Lloyds of London. We arrived and were issued visitor’s passes, then followed an adorable, eloquent, older Lloyds representative to an antique room that was the library in the 1920’s Lloyds building and was preserved to serve as a conference room in the new building. Then to the elevators: the elevators run up the outsides of the building and are glass, such that depending on the elevator bank one chooses, one gets a different panoramic view of the city. How incredibly neat, especially when other elevators full of business folk rush up or down in the opposite direction. Then to a tour of the underwriting galleries, where hundreds of different insurance companies and literally thousands of brokers were doing business. Lloyds itself “insures nothing.” According to our guide, Lloyds is still a coffee shop (it started when one wily coffee shop owner, Robert Lloyd, added a business annex to house all the insurance men that had begun to do business in his shop). Lloyds merely manages and regulates, renting space to underwriting companies at 550 pounds per square foot. It’s all a bit complicated, just like the building.
Lunch happened in the cafeteria, where we ate delicious a la carte food surrounded by posh business types. Some of us decided we would jump out a window if we had their jobs, but it sure was fun to be amongst them. As we left Lloyds, Professor Isenstadt offered to show us some buildings around the area. He was a terrific architectural tour guide, and we looked at the British Bank, One Poultry Place, two interesting but different churches, and several design details that would otherwise have remained invisible to me. Jenny, Cassie and I took a bus back to Tottenham Court Road and walked to Hughes Parry, where we rested up for our second theatrical encounter, Kean, starring Sir Antony Sher at the Apollo Theatre. Cassie and I walked (briskly) to the theatre, and arrived to find that our seats had been moved into the orchestra as the show was far from sold out. And perhaps with reason: though Sir Sher was great in moments, I was unmoved at the end and couldn’t really make heads or tails out of the whole production. It proved excellent fodder for conversation later in the evening, as a few of us headed to pubs (The Queen’s Larder and one other) and then meandered back to Hughes Parry for more discussion. Late discussion, so Ima go to bed – tomorrow will hold research for our Glasgow trip, some fun activity near the Thames, a director’s talk for St. Joan at The National, and then… ?!
Lunch happened in the cafeteria, where we ate delicious a la carte food surrounded by posh business types. Some of us decided we would jump out a window if we had their jobs, but it sure was fun to be amongst them. As we left Lloyds, Professor Isenstadt offered to show us some buildings around the area. He was a terrific architectural tour guide, and we looked at the British Bank, One Poultry Place, two interesting but different churches, and several design details that would otherwise have remained invisible to me. Jenny, Cassie and I took a bus back to Tottenham Court Road and walked to Hughes Parry, where we rested up for our second theatrical encounter, Kean, starring Sir Antony Sher at the Apollo Theatre. Cassie and I walked (briskly) to the theatre, and arrived to find that our seats had been moved into the orchestra as the show was far from sold out. And perhaps with reason: though Sir Sher was great in moments, I was unmoved at the end and couldn’t really make heads or tails out of the whole production. It proved excellent fodder for conversation later in the evening, as a few of us headed to pubs (The Queen’s Larder and one other) and then meandered back to Hughes Parry for more discussion. Late discussion, so Ima go to bed – tomorrow will hold research for our Glasgow trip, some fun activity near the Thames, a director’s talk for St. Joan at The National, and then… ?!
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Private Event
Woke up late and skipped breakfast, ate some trail mix on the way to the Paul Mellon Centre for another delightful class with Professor Roach, which featured St. Joan-centered dialogue that got me excited. A few of us walked home through Russell Square, and stopped at the Russell Square Café for buttered scones. The café was unique in that it featured indoor and outdoor seating, the latter accessorized by tens and tens of predatory pigeons: signs around the café warned patrons that food should not be left unattended, as the establishment was not responsible for food tampered with by birds. There were some unattended dirty dishes on an outside table, and about thirty birds suddenly appeared, engulfing the entire table. A harried-looking employee rushed out to shoo them away, and they retreated slowly and cheekily.
Back home I caught up on some reading and straightening up, then showered and dressed for the theatre. We caught a double-decker bus and rode it the surprisingly short distance to the theatre. There was something essential about this trip: riding on the second level of an infamous red bus, crossing THE RIVER THAMES by way of Waterloo Bridge, which has a stunning view of Parliament, Big Ben, and the London Eye. We got off at the National Theatre Stop, and made our way into a lobby of the building, where a French folk quartet was playing to an appreciative audience. At 6:30 we wandered outside to a balcony overlooking the Astroturf courtyard, where two Australian women jugglers dressed as adorable airline stewardesses performed their act. We only saw the first fifteen minutes before heading inside to meet the class and take our seats: at seven, the play began. Parts of it were simply stunning: I thought most of the acting was superb, including Joan, who was young and energetic and proud and great. The stagecraft was unbelievable: the most striking sequence was the enactment of the Siege of Orleans, not written into the script, but performed here as a series of choreographed chair movements. As Joan beats a fierce rhythm, her soldiers drag and smash and tumble frail-looking wooden chairs. The entire National Theatre stage rotates and is able to tilt up, so the climax of the sequence began as the stage tilted to its highest angle, creating a steep slope. The face of the slope turned into view and the audience saw men’s supine bodies, which began to roll lazy and dead down the hill. Suddenly, men begin to appear at the top of the embankment, pulling Joan up to join them. She carried with her a blue flag of France, and the victory (after the chair brutality and body carnage) was electric. The play ended, and it was nice to have read and discussed it: at times I was able to tell when things were changed or omitted, and was able to look forward to the parts I liked best.
Afterwards, since it was opening night, there was a free "Private Event" reception at the theatre, featuring cheese, fruit, bread, beer, wine, and orange juice. Suddenly, all the actors were amongst us, mingling with their friends and eating cheese and bread. I was a bit star-struck. We ate on the verandah, where we could hear shouting and music: looking over the edge, we discovered that it was a performance of The Tempest. How much better can this place get? Juggling airline hostesses followed by St. Joan followed by outdoor Shakespeare? Or so I thought. It was not the traditional Tempest. It was something much different and not much good, though it featured an extensive pyrotechnic and water-fountain element. Something was almost always spouting or sparkling. One thing sparkled too much, and lit the elaborate bamboo set on fire, which was quickly extinguished by a center employee. The whole audience clapped. That was pretty fun. The show ended and we walked across the Jubilee pedestrian bridge and then continued the walk all the way home. Back at Hughes Parry, a few people congregated in my room for some socializing and youtube sharing.
SPECIAL NOTE: The theatrical offerings at the National (and in London) are incredible. The Rose Tattoo by Tennessee Williams is playing, and tickets for many of the shows are only 10 pounds. Tickets at the Royal Shakespeare Company are five pounds. And the theatre, as far as I can tell from tonight, is hyper world-class. I think perhaps this is a good place for me to be spending the summer…
Back home I caught up on some reading and straightening up, then showered and dressed for the theatre. We caught a double-decker bus and rode it the surprisingly short distance to the theatre. There was something essential about this trip: riding on the second level of an infamous red bus, crossing THE RIVER THAMES by way of Waterloo Bridge, which has a stunning view of Parliament, Big Ben, and the London Eye. We got off at the National Theatre Stop, and made our way into a lobby of the building, where a French folk quartet was playing to an appreciative audience. At 6:30 we wandered outside to a balcony overlooking the Astroturf courtyard, where two Australian women jugglers dressed as adorable airline stewardesses performed their act. We only saw the first fifteen minutes before heading inside to meet the class and take our seats: at seven, the play began. Parts of it were simply stunning: I thought most of the acting was superb, including Joan, who was young and energetic and proud and great. The stagecraft was unbelievable: the most striking sequence was the enactment of the Siege of Orleans, not written into the script, but performed here as a series of choreographed chair movements. As Joan beats a fierce rhythm, her soldiers drag and smash and tumble frail-looking wooden chairs. The entire National Theatre stage rotates and is able to tilt up, so the climax of the sequence began as the stage tilted to its highest angle, creating a steep slope. The face of the slope turned into view and the audience saw men’s supine bodies, which began to roll lazy and dead down the hill. Suddenly, men begin to appear at the top of the embankment, pulling Joan up to join them. She carried with her a blue flag of France, and the victory (after the chair brutality and body carnage) was electric. The play ended, and it was nice to have read and discussed it: at times I was able to tell when things were changed or omitted, and was able to look forward to the parts I liked best.
Afterwards, since it was opening night, there was a free "Private Event" reception at the theatre, featuring cheese, fruit, bread, beer, wine, and orange juice. Suddenly, all the actors were amongst us, mingling with their friends and eating cheese and bread. I was a bit star-struck. We ate on the verandah, where we could hear shouting and music: looking over the edge, we discovered that it was a performance of The Tempest. How much better can this place get? Juggling airline hostesses followed by St. Joan followed by outdoor Shakespeare? Or so I thought. It was not the traditional Tempest. It was something much different and not much good, though it featured an extensive pyrotechnic and water-fountain element. Something was almost always spouting or sparkling. One thing sparkled too much, and lit the elaborate bamboo set on fire, which was quickly extinguished by a center employee. The whole audience clapped. That was pretty fun. The show ended and we walked across the Jubilee pedestrian bridge and then continued the walk all the way home. Back at Hughes Parry, a few people congregated in my room for some socializing and youtube sharing.
SPECIAL NOTE: The theatrical offerings at the National (and in London) are incredible. The Rose Tattoo by Tennessee Williams is playing, and tickets for many of the shows are only 10 pounds. Tickets at the Royal Shakespeare Company are five pounds. And the theatre, as far as I can tell from tonight, is hyper world-class. I think perhaps this is a good place for me to be spending the summer…
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Satisfaction Guaranteed, or Your Mummy Back
Woke up and ventured once again into the medieval dungeon that is the Hughes Parry shower inferno. The water stays on for an average of 17 seconds before one has to push an eye-level knob to get more. Said knob sticks out two inches from the hot and cold water pipes which flank it on either side, which is unfortunate, because the water tends to run from the shower head straight down onto the knob in a half-hearted spraytrickle, which is much more trickle than spray. So in order to clear the shampoo from the top of one’s head, one must put one’s head perilously close to the brutal, bruising metal push button. If one hits one’s head and tries to comfort oneself, one runs the risk of scalding one’s hand, ear, or cheek on the furiously-hot hot water pipe. I may find myself in the floor “Bathroom,” which contains only a rusty bathtub, literal and lonely.
Breakfast was standard and fine, then to The Paul Mellon Centre for our first Modern British Drama class. Joe Roach is just sort of magical. He says things in a way that gives a large percentage of folks goose bumps. We talked about the nodes and paths of London, and about the incredible feeling of walking on history everywhere in The City. The second half of class was devoted to talking about John Osborne’s revolutionary “Look Back in Anger,” and the meeting finished with a reminder that we are seeing OPENING NIGHT OF ST. JOAN AT THE ROYAL NATIONAL THEATRE tomorrow night. I guess that’ll be fine.
For lunch Cassie and Jenny and I stopped by Pret A Manger, which is foreign to us and therefore still delightful, and returned to the Paul Mellon Centre for a quick tour of the PMC library. Then the whole gang trouped over to the University of London’s library, where we took a long and very thorough tour of different floors and computer catalogs. The British Museum was our planned activity for the afternoon – we entered a doorway guarded by a pair of impressive stone lions only to be informed we’d come in the back door and that it was best to start in the main atrium. Passing hurriedly and with self-imposed blinders through a few amazing exhibitions to the front entrance, we found ourselves in the magnificent, marbled, monochrome “Great Hall,” built as part of the Millennium Celebration of 2000. The Hall was incredible, and we decided to start our tour in the Egypt room. That section began modestly enough, with THE ROSETTA STONE. Just sitting there. Whatever. The exhibit continued, room after room filled with huge and stunningly ornate tablets, statues of gods and men and animals, basins and painted cosmetics jars, massively tall columns, and a mat made from human hair. Then the death rooms: the museum does seem to have a surplus of sarcophagi – section after section packed with decorative coffins, some with vacancies, others without. The cat mummies were in, but there was plenty of room elsewhere – I guess it pays off to be imperialists in the end, as there is a lot of free swag. We had all that we could handle with Egypt alone, but since the museum is free and extensive and just plain incredible, we’ll probably visit Iran tomorrow.
We came home and rested for a bit before heading over to the British Library, literally next door. The Library is stunning, and stunningly also boasts no admission charge whatsoever. The feature exhibit is “Sacred,” which profiles in detail the faith, living patterns, celebrations, leaders, chronology, etc. of Islam, Judaism, and Christianity. The exhibit is incredibly well put together – the curators developed a gentle spatial flow and mellow/cool lighting design that creates a sacred space for the exhibit itself. The extensive and interactive background information was accompanied by an arsenal of holy books from the British Library – everything from Sultan Baybars’ gold-filigreed Qur’an to a piece of Dead Sea Scroll dating from 50 AD. And I thought the Gutenberg Bible was cool.
The exhibit closed at eight, and upon returning home, Cassie and I cooked penne with tomato pesto. It was not too shabby. Tomorrow is our class discussion of St. Joan, and potentially another day at the British Museum, followed by some… evening activity.
WOO WOO.
Breakfast was standard and fine, then to The Paul Mellon Centre for our first Modern British Drama class. Joe Roach is just sort of magical. He says things in a way that gives a large percentage of folks goose bumps. We talked about the nodes and paths of London, and about the incredible feeling of walking on history everywhere in The City. The second half of class was devoted to talking about John Osborne’s revolutionary “Look Back in Anger,” and the meeting finished with a reminder that we are seeing OPENING NIGHT OF ST. JOAN AT THE ROYAL NATIONAL THEATRE tomorrow night. I guess that’ll be fine.
For lunch Cassie and Jenny and I stopped by Pret A Manger, which is foreign to us and therefore still delightful, and returned to the Paul Mellon Centre for a quick tour of the PMC library. Then the whole gang trouped over to the University of London’s library, where we took a long and very thorough tour of different floors and computer catalogs. The British Museum was our planned activity for the afternoon – we entered a doorway guarded by a pair of impressive stone lions only to be informed we’d come in the back door and that it was best to start in the main atrium. Passing hurriedly and with self-imposed blinders through a few amazing exhibitions to the front entrance, we found ourselves in the magnificent, marbled, monochrome “Great Hall,” built as part of the Millennium Celebration of 2000. The Hall was incredible, and we decided to start our tour in the Egypt room. That section began modestly enough, with THE ROSETTA STONE. Just sitting there. Whatever. The exhibit continued, room after room filled with huge and stunningly ornate tablets, statues of gods and men and animals, basins and painted cosmetics jars, massively tall columns, and a mat made from human hair. Then the death rooms: the museum does seem to have a surplus of sarcophagi – section after section packed with decorative coffins, some with vacancies, others without. The cat mummies were in, but there was plenty of room elsewhere – I guess it pays off to be imperialists in the end, as there is a lot of free swag. We had all that we could handle with Egypt alone, but since the museum is free and extensive and just plain incredible, we’ll probably visit Iran tomorrow.
We came home and rested for a bit before heading over to the British Library, literally next door. The Library is stunning, and stunningly also boasts no admission charge whatsoever. The feature exhibit is “Sacred,” which profiles in detail the faith, living patterns, celebrations, leaders, chronology, etc. of Islam, Judaism, and Christianity. The exhibit is incredibly well put together – the curators developed a gentle spatial flow and mellow/cool lighting design that creates a sacred space for the exhibit itself. The extensive and interactive background information was accompanied by an arsenal of holy books from the British Library – everything from Sultan Baybars’ gold-filigreed Qur’an to a piece of Dead Sea Scroll dating from 50 AD. And I thought the Gutenberg Bible was cool.
The exhibit closed at eight, and upon returning home, Cassie and I cooked penne with tomato pesto. It was not too shabby. Tomorrow is our class discussion of St. Joan, and potentially another day at the British Museum, followed by some… evening activity.
WOO WOO.
Monday, July 9, 2007
Indecisions Indecisions Indecisions
Woke up and dressed at what felt like dawn in order to make the narrow and early 8 AM – 9 AM weekdays breakfast window. Collected materials and supplies for the first day, and met everyone at the Paul Mellon Centre for our introduction to the beautiful house the centre calls home, located in the posh Bedford Square business area. The structural walls of the centre and most of the ornamental plastering have been left in tact, so one can imagine what the original house might have looked like. Centre director Martin Postle (recently of the Tate Britain) and Viv Redhead, the coordinator for and resident expert of the program, dispensed information and tips, and then released us for a two-hour lunch break. I went to Pret a Manger, an English chain that sells pretty darn tasty fresh sandwiches, fruit, and desserts for a price that is reasonable even when converted into American. After eating, I sat in the sunshine outside Bedford Square on a giant wooden sculpture that resembled an octopus. The octopus featured many square arms planted at sitting-height… none of which were completely level. As a result, I shifted my weight around awkwardly, watching men in suits and women in heels pass in the strides of the hyper-professional.
The return to the centre meant the first architecture class, in which Professor Sandy Isenstadt outlined some background and things to look for, and we all presented buildings of interest we had chosen. My architectural stunner was Denver International Airport, which is, after all, just plain neat to look at, and one girl spoke about the new Denver Art Museum. Clearly Denver is pretty important. We were also briefed on our Thursday field trip to Lloyds of London, which looks simply incredible. “Smart business attire” is recommended. Wonder how smart I’ll be.
After class we had a small “Welcome Session 2/Session 1 is Going Away” party featuring fruit, sandwiches, cakes, and some sort of diluted non-alcoholic cordial, all served in the ornate and very green library room. The return to Hughes Parry by way of a grocery for utensils was punctuated by heavy but charming English rain. Back home, a lot of indecision led to a slightly long-faced concession to patronize a very local pub, an experience that was charming if low key in the end. Cassie, Marjorie and I decided it was a “training pub” – a good place to experiment with libations and check out the scene before arriving at a pub that meant business. Whatever that might mean. At home Cassie and I tried to put together an itinerary of places to go and see, but that proved difficult. National Gallery or National Portrait Gallery? Llandudno or Cardiff? Paris or Rome? Bath or Budapest (flights to the latter from 17 pounds)? I think we’ve outlined through to this Friday. From there things are vying to make it into our schedule. There’s just not enough time.
Especially since there's... you know... SCHOOL.
The return to the centre meant the first architecture class, in which Professor Sandy Isenstadt outlined some background and things to look for, and we all presented buildings of interest we had chosen. My architectural stunner was Denver International Airport, which is, after all, just plain neat to look at, and one girl spoke about the new Denver Art Museum. Clearly Denver is pretty important. We were also briefed on our Thursday field trip to Lloyds of London, which looks simply incredible. “Smart business attire” is recommended. Wonder how smart I’ll be.
After class we had a small “Welcome Session 2/Session 1 is Going Away” party featuring fruit, sandwiches, cakes, and some sort of diluted non-alcoholic cordial, all served in the ornate and very green library room. The return to Hughes Parry by way of a grocery for utensils was punctuated by heavy but charming English rain. Back home, a lot of indecision led to a slightly long-faced concession to patronize a very local pub, an experience that was charming if low key in the end. Cassie, Marjorie and I decided it was a “training pub” – a good place to experiment with libations and check out the scene before arriving at a pub that meant business. Whatever that might mean. At home Cassie and I tried to put together an itinerary of places to go and see, but that proved difficult. National Gallery or National Portrait Gallery? Llandudno or Cardiff? Paris or Rome? Bath or Budapest (flights to the latter from 17 pounds)? I think we’ve outlined through to this Friday. From there things are vying to make it into our schedule. There’s just not enough time.
Especially since there's... you know... SCHOOL.
Sunday, July 8, 2007
Clotted Cream from Cornwall
Woke up early in an effort to get to St. James Palace for the start of the Tour DE France: unfortunately, a full English breakfast (eggs and oatmeal and toast and jam!) and some Oyster-accumulation and misdirection on the tube cost Cassie and me some time, and we arrived at St. James Park a half hour after the riders to see Tour Detritus like barricades and skinny wannabes in US Postal Service jerseys. We were in time to catch the Changing of the Guard over at Buckingham Palace, which was especially crowded with Tour Tourists. Wandering away, we went past St. James Palace (official residence of Prince Charles) and over to Piccadilly Street, where we checked in briefly at St. James Church during the singing Eucharist.
Piccadilly is home to many famous retailers, among them grocers Fortnum and Mason, who were under construction as they prepared for their tercentennial celebration. The first floor featured an extensive array of teas, jams, pastries, and a glassed-in display of chocolates that almost killed me. The basement held a meat and cheese shop, a wine tasting bar with caviar and champagne luncheons, as well as food accessories and oddities of every kind, including one brand of vodka with a real (and “completely edible!”) scorpion inside each bottle. My other favorites included the aged-for-sixty-years balsamic vinegar (which went for 60 pounds/tiny bottle) and the 117-pound foie gras. The full store reopens in September, and supposedly also carries clothing and accessories and has a café and restaurant. Even under construction, with three floors out of commission, this was the most stunningly well-equipped and arranged grocery/department store I have ever seen. The fact that the staff all wore tailcoats certainly did not harm my impression. I bought a large plain scone and some “Traditional clotted cream from Cornwall,” and Cassie and I made our way to the Royal Academy of Arts courtyard, where three large abstract bronze dinosaurs stood over springs that bubbled gently from the stone and ran shallowly down hill in different directions. The sound was terrific, and it was so pleasant to sit on a bench, eating a scone and clotted cream with water flowing all around. The installation is called something like “The Meek Shall Inherit the Earth, But Not the Mineral Rights.” I can’t tell how politically charged it’s supposed to make me feel, but it sure was fun to eat a scone there. Around two o'clock we wandered further down Piccadilly to the Underground, and rode it back to Euston Station, which is a very short walk from Hughes Parry. Back at home, I finished unpacking, looked through the packet we were given last night, and read a little of Dan Rebellato’s “1956 and All That.”
After a two-hour nap, seven of us went to dinner at Shah, an Indian restaurant off Euston Road. I had spicy chicken and naan, while flashy Indian music videos played behind me. One featured a large and very Catholic church and many flirtatious eyes and giggling smiles. A few of us stopped to get dinner for tomorrow night – pasta and tomato pesto! – and returned home to Hughes Parry for some reading and sleeping and showering and strawberry eating. Tomorrow is our first day at the Paul Mellon Centre: introductions, tours, and a little architecture.
SPECIAL NOTE: Tap water is irritable to waiters in restaurants. If you order it, you get one small glass, and one small glass only. I imagine foreigners suffer dehydration at purveyors of spicy foods on the regular.
Piccadilly is home to many famous retailers, among them grocers Fortnum and Mason, who were under construction as they prepared for their tercentennial celebration. The first floor featured an extensive array of teas, jams, pastries, and a glassed-in display of chocolates that almost killed me. The basement held a meat and cheese shop, a wine tasting bar with caviar and champagne luncheons, as well as food accessories and oddities of every kind, including one brand of vodka with a real (and “completely edible!”) scorpion inside each bottle. My other favorites included the aged-for-sixty-years balsamic vinegar (which went for 60 pounds/tiny bottle) and the 117-pound foie gras. The full store reopens in September, and supposedly also carries clothing and accessories and has a café and restaurant. Even under construction, with three floors out of commission, this was the most stunningly well-equipped and arranged grocery/department store I have ever seen. The fact that the staff all wore tailcoats certainly did not harm my impression. I bought a large plain scone and some “Traditional clotted cream from Cornwall,” and Cassie and I made our way to the Royal Academy of Arts courtyard, where three large abstract bronze dinosaurs stood over springs that bubbled gently from the stone and ran shallowly down hill in different directions. The sound was terrific, and it was so pleasant to sit on a bench, eating a scone and clotted cream with water flowing all around. The installation is called something like “The Meek Shall Inherit the Earth, But Not the Mineral Rights.” I can’t tell how politically charged it’s supposed to make me feel, but it sure was fun to eat a scone there. Around two o'clock we wandered further down Piccadilly to the Underground, and rode it back to Euston Station, which is a very short walk from Hughes Parry. Back at home, I finished unpacking, looked through the packet we were given last night, and read a little of Dan Rebellato’s “1956 and All That.”
After a two-hour nap, seven of us went to dinner at Shah, an Indian restaurant off Euston Road. I had spicy chicken and naan, while flashy Indian music videos played behind me. One featured a large and very Catholic church and many flirtatious eyes and giggling smiles. A few of us stopped to get dinner for tomorrow night – pasta and tomato pesto! – and returned home to Hughes Parry for some reading and sleeping and showering and strawberry eating. Tomorrow is our first day at the Paul Mellon Centre: introductions, tours, and a little architecture.
SPECIAL NOTE: Tap water is irritable to waiters in restaurants. If you order it, you get one small glass, and one small glass only. I imagine foreigners suffer dehydration at purveyors of spicy foods on the regular.
Saturday, July 7, 2007
Friday Morning, Saturday Night
Flying in First Class (scored by il papa on the flight from Denver to New York) is like going to a faraway planet where it is nice to fly on planes. Everyone is so kind and careful, and gets you a beverage the moment you sit down (no cart mind you! People with hands instead!), and one feels as though flying is an activity that could be enjoyed, like traveling by boat or limousine.
But hot-towel bliss was short lived: I disembarked at LaGuardia, retrieved my luggage, caught the shuttle to JFK, made it through the Virgin Atlantic check in, and arrived at the gate…. to wait for five hours. Jenny Mac arrived fresh from New Haven, and we waited together, scavenging sandwiches and reading material before boarding Virgin Atlantic Flight 4. I was in the left-hand window seat of the last row, and made instant friends with Harry and David (like the chocolates?!), sitting next to me and across the aisle, respectively. Harry is an art director in New York City and Dave is… Harry’s friend. They were loads of fun. We took photos of each other in our Virgin Atlantic eye masks and puffy neck pillows. It was late. We were delayed on the ground for two hours. Can you blame us?
SPECIAL NOTE: Best thing ever: Virgin Atlantic’s safety video. Sarcastic, at times risqué, and, above all animated. With rip-cracklin’ sound effects. Three-hundred points. Also a good thing: my eye mask which was printed with the words “beddy bye.” Honestly. Could they be any cheekier? No.
I slept for a bit on the plane, and woke up tired to ultra-bright and unsettling sunshine over clouds. We touched down at Heathrow, disembarked, made it to baggage claim and customs with no delays or problems, then caught the London Overground Express train to Paddington Station. The fifteen-minute ride was quick and clean, and featured yet another safety video, though not animated this time. At Paddington, Jenny and I hailed a taxi, who took us to Hughes Parry Hall – our driver was a gentleman with stunning blue eyes and an endearing cockney accent who advised us to leave plenty of time when planning to take the underground, as “the only thing that works all the time in this city are the taxis.” Sound advice. We checked in at Hughes Parry, and I did some basic unpacking, then ventured out into the city with Jenny N., buying a cute, cheap, functional pay-as-you-go cell phone, clothes hangers, and some grapes. After a deep four-hour nap, five charming Yale-in-London folks and I dined at restaurant Balfour. In a surprise maneuver, I ordered a spicy penne. It was delicious. Then we wandered over to the Paul Mellon Centre, and on and on through the theatre district (!) to Leicester Square. Desert and sundries shopping later, we arrived back at Hughes Parry. Where I am trying to put together an itinerary for tomorrow that will include the Tour de France, Wimbledon Men’s Finals, and three-hundred pages of reading.
Things are super, but I’m feeling ambitious: I want to interact and become intimate friends with some fascinating British folk. I guess I’ll try to work that in tomorrow, too.
But hot-towel bliss was short lived: I disembarked at LaGuardia, retrieved my luggage, caught the shuttle to JFK, made it through the Virgin Atlantic check in, and arrived at the gate…. to wait for five hours. Jenny Mac arrived fresh from New Haven, and we waited together, scavenging sandwiches and reading material before boarding Virgin Atlantic Flight 4. I was in the left-hand window seat of the last row, and made instant friends with Harry and David (like the chocolates?!), sitting next to me and across the aisle, respectively. Harry is an art director in New York City and Dave is… Harry’s friend. They were loads of fun. We took photos of each other in our Virgin Atlantic eye masks and puffy neck pillows. It was late. We were delayed on the ground for two hours. Can you blame us?
SPECIAL NOTE: Best thing ever: Virgin Atlantic’s safety video. Sarcastic, at times risqué, and, above all animated. With rip-cracklin’ sound effects. Three-hundred points. Also a good thing: my eye mask which was printed with the words “beddy bye.” Honestly. Could they be any cheekier? No.
I slept for a bit on the plane, and woke up tired to ultra-bright and unsettling sunshine over clouds. We touched down at Heathrow, disembarked, made it to baggage claim and customs with no delays or problems, then caught the London Overground Express train to Paddington Station. The fifteen-minute ride was quick and clean, and featured yet another safety video, though not animated this time. At Paddington, Jenny and I hailed a taxi, who took us to Hughes Parry Hall – our driver was a gentleman with stunning blue eyes and an endearing cockney accent who advised us to leave plenty of time when planning to take the underground, as “the only thing that works all the time in this city are the taxis.” Sound advice. We checked in at Hughes Parry, and I did some basic unpacking, then ventured out into the city with Jenny N., buying a cute, cheap, functional pay-as-you-go cell phone, clothes hangers, and some grapes. After a deep four-hour nap, five charming Yale-in-London folks and I dined at restaurant Balfour. In a surprise maneuver, I ordered a spicy penne. It was delicious. Then we wandered over to the Paul Mellon Centre, and on and on through the theatre district (!) to Leicester Square. Desert and sundries shopping later, we arrived back at Hughes Parry. Where I am trying to put together an itinerary for tomorrow that will include the Tour de France, Wimbledon Men’s Finals, and three-hundred pages of reading.
Things are super, but I’m feeling ambitious: I want to interact and become intimate friends with some fascinating British folk. I guess I’ll try to work that in tomorrow, too.
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