London Tales, Parte the Fourthe

Okay, so now I'm actually getting harassed about finishing my London blogs, so here we go. If you want to see how it's REALLY done, check out Blake's Liverpool blogs. They're entertaining, concise, and he got them all done quickly- you'll never come back to my blog again!

All right, let's get down to it. As always, click the pictures for larger images. Wednesday, Sep. 20, 2006. London, England. You might think that we would get more acclimated to London time as the days went by, and maybe we were- but the fact is we were exhausted and sleeping later each day. Good thing we got most of the heavy-duty touristy stuff out of the way in the first couple days, and we were able to start relaxing a bit. There were only three things on Wednesday's agenda: the Tower of London, seeing a show, and meeting up with a friend of Jeff's for a quick dinner in between. So, eventually we got going, and hopped on the Tube in the general direction of Leicester Square, which is near Piccadilly Circus, which is near the previously mentioned metal boobies.



Why Leicester Square, you say? Because that's where the discount theatre ticket booth is, just like the one in Times Square NYC- we knew we wanted to see some kind of stage show that night, we just didn't know what. Sure, we'd looked at the literature, thought this or that looked interesting- got to the booth and decided on that most quintessentially British piece of theatre, "The Producers". Hey, it was cheap, we hadn't seen it, and it wouldn't tax our tired brains- plus it was playing at the Drury Lane Theatre! (Okay, the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane- and it's actually like half a block from Drury Lane). I've spent my life hearing about that theatre, and Drury Lane- you know, muffin man and all that. Tickets in hand and our evening plans set, off we went in the direction of the Tower.



I mentioned previously that the Tower of London was one of my favorite sights on the trip because it was unexpected. I'd heard from various people- including Alan, the only one of us who'd actually been to London before- that the Tower was a must-see, and I did want to see it, but the only things I really knew about it were that it had a lot of historical significance, a lot of people had been executed there, and it contained the Crown Jewels. We'd already been by it several times during the trip, and it looked cool. But I wasn't prepared for the real thing.

The direction we came, the first thing you see is a piece of the original Roman wall of Londinium.



Coming from a town where the historical sites are often along the lines of, say, the bus stop bench where William Saroyan used to sit and throw things at hapless newsboys, I found that wall pretty impressive. Then you see the moat. Note the workman in funny white overalls.



Sure, it's all just grass now, but it's a damn moat. That's just plain cool.



We walked around and got some shots along the river side of the Tower:

Tower Bridge.


London City Hall. The Mayor himself called it a glass testicle.



And then if you turn 180 degrees, you see the Glass Vibrator. I like this photo because you see so many centuries in one shot.



Rarrr!!



As you cross the little bridge where the ticket booth is, you see your first Beefeaters hanging around. This is touristy as hell, but great. Gotta get the photo:



We happened to get there right when one of the free guided tours was about to start, so we figured we might as well go along- the deciding word being "free". This was our guide (no, not the same Beefeater as in the last photo):



He was bloody hilarious. You could tell he'd done this a thousand times and had his schtick down pat, but it was still fresh and entertaining. His delivery and timing were so good, I assumed that this was just a typical actor's costumed day job (the kind where you might get a call from Jon Budd saying "Anyone wanna make 40 bucks at the Tower of London tomorrow?"), and that at night he probably performed with an improv troupe in some dive called "The Giggle Shack". But no, it turns out the Beefeaters are the real deal- they are all British military (our guide told us he fought in the Gulf War, although presumably not in this uniform), and this is their assignment- the Queen's guard detachment at the Tower. And they live there on the grounds, with their families. Yes, the Tower of today is mostly a tourist attraction, but it is still a royal castle and functioning military installation, subject to hundreds of years of tradition and still-standing royal decrees. Such as: from 10:00 every night until um... I don't know when in the morning, the gates are locked and nobody- nobody- goes in or out. I don't know how thoroughly that is observed in emergencies, and perhaps it's all a bit overplayed for the tourists, but they do have an onsite doctor that lives there in order to take care of problems at night, because the residents can't leave. It was hearing that kind of thing and realizing that this place was a living, working community in its own little world that really started to hook me.

When you first walk inside the outer walls, it still looks like a fortress- albeit with employee parking lot.



But then you pass into an open common area that, frankly, is surprising and even charming.











Green grass, quaint residences, a beautiful old chapel, the enormous and scary ravens that are kept there for good luck, and in the center is the White Tower, the original castle that dominates the complex.



The tour was just a quick overview and then we wandered on our own- oh, and if you're wondering, our guide never said why they're called Beefeaters, so Jeff and I asked him- and he said they really don't know.

We went into the building that houses the Crown Jewels, and that was pretty amazing and cool- literally cool, being conspicuous as the only building there with air conditioning. There's an imperial shitload of priceless items in there, but to see the really good stuff, like the actual crowns, they stick you on a conveyor belt like at the airport, so you don't stand in a clump and gawk- and no photos, please. That was all well and good, but I loved just wandering around the rest of the grounds exploring- Alan and I found a little staircase where you go up inside the outer wall and then walk around on the top, seeing such brilliant sights as people's actual laundry hanging out to dry (I guess there was never any Royal Decree for dryer hookups).









I just thought it was the coolest thing that I was seeing the wet socks of the people who really lived in the Tower of London- totally unexpected. Every nook and darkened cranny had a sign telling what happened there, who was imprisoned in this room, etc. The White Tower itself is mostly filled with a massively cool collection of weapons and armor, and then on the bottom floor you can get ice cream.

The only drawback of our visit was that we were kinda pressed for time- we didn't get there until the afternoon, it closed at 5:00 (the guard shooed us out by jingling his keys and saying, "Time for the ghosts to come out and play"), and we still had to meet Jeff's friend (I can't remember his name) in time to have dinner and then make the show. So, we bid our reluctant goodbyes to the Tower (I could have kept wandering around there all day) and off we went to Covent Garden.

Figuring out how the hell to get to Covent Garden.



I still haven't quite figured out what Covent Garden actually is. I guess it refers to the district/neighborhood, but seems to have more meaning than that. Someone can explain it to me later. Anyway, that's where we were meeting Jeff's friend (God, what was his name?)- it's near the theatre and where he works. We popped up out of the Tube into a narrow warren of crowded pedestrian streets, filled with tourists, shoppers, and after-work pubbers.



While Jeff went to call what's-his-name, Alan and I grabbed a pint at the nearest pub. Just as with every other pub on the block, the crowd spilled well out the door. I've never quite understood the big deal about being able to drink in the street- I'm perfectly fine drinking inside, where my pain and shame is hidden from the prying eyes of passersby- but Alan was giggling like a schoolgirl, he was so happy. Okay, maybe he didn't actually giggle, but I'm telling you, inside he was a slumber party.



We met the Nameless One, joined by a coworker. But this is Jeff, not the coworker. The coworker was female. Jeff is not.



For the sake of convenience and time, we ended up eating in the second floor (or first floor, if you're a Brit) dining room of the same pub we were already patronizing. And as everywhere else, our traditional English pub food was served by traditional Eastern Europeans with thick accents. Most everyone went with the fish and chips, but for some reason I went with the bangers and mash- again. It was like the third time in as many days that I went with the sausages. Freudian? You tell me. All I know is that they kept sounding good- and they were good, but after that night I was so done with the bangers. Never did get around to having fish and chips while I was there, either.

Anyway, finished my banging and off we went down the street to the theatre. What an amazing feeling to be in one of the premier theatres of London- and watching gay Nazis, no less.

I don't have any photos to contribute here, so I'm infringing on some copyrights instead. Here's the theatre:



Here's a photo which absolutely does not do justice to the inside of the theatre, but you can kinda see about where we were sitting at the bottom of the shot:



The show was fun- wasn't familiar with either of the leads, but the guy who played Max was Cory English (an American, ironically) who was Nathan Lane's original understudy, and Reece Shearsmith of the British comedy troupe The League of Gentlemen was playing Leo. We laughed a lot, along with the rest of the audience who seemed to mostly be American tourists.

These are the guys we saw:



Two major drawbacks to the theatre experience- one was the floor that raises about an inch as you go into the Gents, calling to your toes like sirens beckoning sailors to their doom upon the rocks. Despite the enormous "Watch Your Step" sign, I neglected to do just that, and paid with voluminous pain and embarrassment. The other was the lack of Royal Air Conditioning in the Royal Theatre. It wasn't unbearable, but it was certainly warm.

This is a good spot to talk about the weather, don't you think? It was sunny almost the entire time we were in London, sometimes without a cloud in the sky and very warm. Even when it got kind of cloudy and cool, the rain kept avoiding us. Perfect for touring around, but by the end of the week, I was getting a bit antsy- I'm in England, for God's sake, maybe the only time I'll ever get here, and I'm not even going to get a little rain to make the experience authentic? Well, it finally rained on Friday to my relief- but we haven't gotten that far yet. However, the most important thing to say about the London weather is that I felt like I never really stopped sweating. I knew it would be humid, and I've traveled in many humid climes- I wasn't miserable, but dude, I'm from Fresno. It just didn't feel right. Add that to a crowded Tube train during rush hour, and I was a walking deodorant commercial half the time. Anyway-

So, show's over, it's about 10:00 or so, and now what? Time for some phone booth fun, of course! Oh, the wacky hilarity! We were brilliant that night, my friends- a true work of street art. But this is the only shot I have- Alan has the rest, so you'll just have to imagine it for now.



We found a pub around the corner and had a pint or two. For a country that likes to drink as much as the UK does, they sure close their pubs early. Like 11 or 12:00 early. Used to be the law, now it seems to be loosened, but as far as I could tell, most of them close then anyway. So, we closed down that pub.

Now here's a tiny twist in the story: through buddies back home, Alan had been put in contact with some London improv troupes (or "impro" as they call it there- apparently too busy to bother with the "v"), the idea being to maybe see a show or something. Well, the first or second day we were there, somebody from one of these groups got in touch with Alan and said, "You wanna perform with us Thursday night?" After we picked Alan up off the floor and put his soiled pants in the wash, he heartily accepted and then had it exciting/terrifying him for the next several days (at least that's my take on it- maybe not terrifying, but you know). The reason I bring this up is that the pub where the impro was happening the next night was not far from where we were, so we decided to go find it to be sure we'd know where we were going when the time came.

So off we went down Oxford Street, counting two Subways in one block- did I mention the English obsession with Subway? As in sandwiches? In our travels, we quickly observed that everywhere you look in London is 1. a Subway or 2. a KFC. I saw more of both in my few days there than in the rest of my life combined. Anyway, we were in a two Subway block, found the pub, and as each moment passed, my desire to call it a night grew ever stronger. I was exhausted, it was late, everything was closed- I can't speak for Alan, but Jeff could obviously have stayed out all night. I was just about ready to head back by myself, but somebody brought up the idea of food, which sounded like a decent idea- found an all-night Mediterranean-ish walkup where, if you looked across the street, you saw this:



I know you can't tell, but it's a big-ass statue of Freddie Mercury. Sweet. Anyway, somehow we went home after that. I think. Whatever. I'm done with this post now. I'm going home.

The thing I love about this photo is that we're each thinking exactly what you think we're thinking.



THUS ENDETH PARTE THE FOURTHE