London Tales, Parte the Fyfthe
Apparently, something I said in the previous post caused a few of you to believe it was the final installment. Please. Have I said anything about going back to the airport? Have I yet gone into excruciating detail about how many steps I took from the security gate to the plane, the angle of my seat, or the declination of the sun at the time of departure? I say nay! Your wishful thinking has brought you to naught. There's still more to come, my children. Live with it.
Thursday, Sep. 21, 2006. John, Jeff and Alan sure got a lot done in three busy days. In fact, most of the important and/or obligatory sights and tasks have been accomplished:
Big Ben, check.
Buckingham Palace, check.
Stonehenge, check.
Getting Sick to Death of Each Other After Being Together 24/7, check.
Perhaps that's overstating it a bit- or maybe not.... Suffice it to say that when Thursday arrived, it was obvious we all were in the mood to do our own thing, which was just fine. I had the itch to go exploring around a bit on my own and looking at things that I didn't necessarily want to drag my poor friends to. Jeff had a similar itch (though not from any intimate contact between us, I just want to clarify that), and Alan decided to spend a quiet day in the flat and conserve his energy- after all, he did have a performance that night. So off went Jeff and I, and Alan stayed in with the satellite TV.
Speaking of, British TV- what little we watched- felt a lot more familiar than I thought it would (and not just from watching plenty of it all my life). For that matter, it all felt very familiar. Beyond the obvious differences- older buildings, different money, steering wheels on the wrong side- I was struck by the fact that I never truly felt like I was in a foreign place. I'm sure language was the major factor- I could read all the signs and pretty much understand everyone- but there was a deeper commonality that I didn't quite expect. It was all so... comfortable. Notable exceptions (as in things I never quite got used to): 1. Tipping. Okay, we finally figured out you don't tip the bartender, and you do tip the waiter, or...no wait, the tip is included in the bill... or is it? Aw hell, just give them a couple pounds and let's go.... 2. How early things closed. You're telling me I'm in one of the great cities of the world, and just because it's midnight, I can't get a beer OR a train home? 3. The street system. Oh my GOD.
I've been to Europe before. I know what the streets are like. I knew what they would be like in London. I looked at enough maps of them. They're part of the charm of the city. I know that there are worse cities. And yet.... oh my GOD. For someone who not only prides himself on having a good sense of direction, but also has an emotional need to at least have some idea of where he is and where he's going (geographically speaking, of course. Anyone who knows me realizes that has nothing to do with how I run any other part of my life), the streets of London can be maddening. The seemingly random layout is bad enough- in almost any spot in the US, for example (okay, maybe not Boston), I know that if I turn right enough times, I'll probably get back to where I started. In London, that might happen, or you might end up in Wales. Hard to say. But the street names make it worse- or rather, the proliferation of them. When even the major thoroughfares sometimes change names every block, it can be a bit disorienting. It's historically fascinating that in 1116, King Norbert the Addled decreed that a road would be built in a straight line from the tip of his nose to the far end of his peacock aviary, and that it would be forever known as Great Pimpsnell Acre, but it's a pain in the ass when you're trying to find the Tube station. And yes, the street signs are quaint and beautiful, but you'd never know because you can't find them. What street are we on? I don't know, is there a sign? Might be on a wall, might be on the curb- see anything? Oh wait.. *squint* I think I see something on the second floor over there- but is that for THIS street? Don't get me wrong, I also love London's streets, names, and signs for all their idiosyncrasies, much in the way I love a heavy downpour or a thick fog- wonderful if I'm not out in it trying to get someplace. That said, I'd go back and face them again in a heartbeat.
Well enough of that rambling, I say. Let's get on with other ramblings, shall we? Again, as always, click the photos for larger images.
The first destination I had in mind was Greenwich, which had a two-pronged appeal for me: my geography nerd needed to go to the Royal Observatory and visit the Prime Meridian, and my mass transit nerd needed to ride the Docklands Light Railway to get there, one of several transit entities that our travel cards were good for. I knew it would take a while to get out there, one of the reasons I didn't drag the other guys along.
Checked the map pile,
and headed down our street, Cambridge Gardens, on a lovely last day of summer.
Thursday was probably the sunniest and warmest of all the days we were there- which also made it the stickiest. Never stopped sweating that day. Never.
Made my way via Tube to Canary Wharf, which along with the rest of the Docklands area is a major urban redevelopment scheme. You know, old derelict warehouses make way for shiny office towers and condos, that sort of thing. Got on the DLR, went under the Thames, and popped up in old town Greenwich.
Apparently there's a problem with itinerant ice cream.
The original Cutty Sark, now a tourist attraction. Yes, the same one as on the Scotch. Unfortunately damaged by fire only last month.
Note the Starbucks on the left, about as close as you can get to the Cutty Sark.
I'm not sure I even want to know what this sign means.
Looking up at the Royal Observatory. The hike is steeper than it looks.
Looking back to where I was. Canary Wharf towering in the background, including the three tallest buildings in the UK.
The Millennium Dome! There it is! I thought maybe they tore it down or something! It was never mentioned in any of the literature, and it turns out it's because it really isn't used for anything these days.
Looking back toward central London and the Glass Vibrator.
The Courtyard of the Royal Observatory museum. For those of you who aren't dorks, the Prime Meridian is the line which indicates zero degrees longitude, dividing the Western and Eastern Hemispheres. Being an arbitrary line (unlike the Equator), Prime Meridians used to grow like weeds, but in 1884 the Brits won at an international conference (the French abstained and continued to use their own for decades). The grand legacy of this monumental decision is that in 2006, the old guy walking through the gate would come to visit wearing that hat.
The clock that doesn't photograph well shows Greenwich Mean Time, the worldwide standard based on the Meridian. Up until 1909, it was known as Greenwich Nice Time. Again, the French abstained.
The red line which marks the Meridian continues through the courtyard and divides me by the crotch. I've positioned myself for the "I'm in two hemispheres" shot using proper directional orientation, with North being up- but I still can't manage to hold the camera straight.
Took a look around the grounds, the free museum full of cool old astronomical devices (got a single blurry shot off before being told "no photos"), and visited the gift shop to purchase the obligatory Prime Meridian fridge magnet.
Hail Britannia!!
My geography jones satiated, I left Greenwich and went back toward the center of town. Got a good look at the Globe Theatre, a replica of the one from Shakespeare's day, built near the site of the original. Didn't see the show, though.
Crossed the Millennium Bridge toward St. Paul's Cathedral.
The Tate Modern art gallery. The barge says, "I Eat Rubbish!"
Went into St. Paul's and marveled- but no pictures allowed. Here's a couple so-so ones from the outside.
Went to Hyde Park to seek out Speaker's Corner. Oh, the madness and chaos, the sweet, sweet flowing mead of pure freedom! The guy in the middle- damn, he was a real firebrand.
Yeah, what I didn't know is that the action only happens on Sundays or something. Oh well, you can still get ice cream. But it better not be itinerant, you young punks!
Walked through Hyde Park where there were plenty of folks out enjoying the warm sunshine.
Saw the Royal Albert Hall. You know, as in how many holes it takes to fill.
Looking directly across from the entrance, you see this:
I think it's another Starbuck's or something.
At this point, I had pretty much run out of time. We had all agreed to meet at 6:00 in front of the Mediterranean place across from the Freddie Mercury Statue, so we could find some dinner and then head over together to The Wheatsheaf, the pub where the "impro" was happening. I had hoped to go back home to take a shower and change, which I now desperately needed after a lot of hiking around on a hot, sticky London day. But no time, so anyone near me was just going to have to suffer. After a cramped and stuffy Tube ride which included sitting stalled underground somewhere for a good ten minutes, I finally popped up by Jeff, Alan, and Freddie, only a few minutes late. We found an Indian restaurant that hit the spot, and off we went to The Wheatsheaf.
We were greeted by a cool little pub downstairs and a- well, a rather warm little performance space upstairs with a few rows of chairs set up. Met the guys from Grand Theft Impro, and then left Alan to prepare while we had a pint. The room started to fill (okay, it only took like 16 people) and eventually it was standing room only.
Neat windows- note they are open in a vain attempt to cool down the room.
The blonde in this photo is named Pippa- a friend of the group who I met later. I thought she said "Pepper"- with appropriate accent- until I saw her on Alan's friends list. I'm dumb.
The show was fun, the guys were talented, and Alan definitely held his own. A couple of the best moments came out of his American-Not-Quite-Being-Familiar-Enough-With-the-Local-References-ness. I was proud of our boy! I wish I'd gotten more photos or some video, but I didn't want to be obnoxious for the people behind us (who were sitting on a table).
After the show we knocked back a couple with the boys and their friends downstairs, then the guy who seemed to be in charge of the group (the bald one in the photo who isn't Alan) invited us to join them as his guests at a private club he belonged to- apparently these are common in the UK as traditionally being the places to go for legal after-hours drinking. This particular club was an actors' club, underneath a nearby theatre. The walls were covered with decades worth of playbooks, photos, and autographs of well-known stage actors- very cool. Didn't see anyone famous, but there was a bizarre moment when one of the waiters started doing an impromptu drag show or something to the great glee of the regulars- my memory is surprisingly fuzzy on that particular event.
Anyway, enjoyed the comfy confines of the club until 2 AM or so, and then came the challenge of getting home. Tube's closed, cabs are expensive- although I think I would have been perfectly willing to pony up the dough at that point, but then somebody suggested the bus.
The bus? We hadn't attempted a bus yet. Our passes were good for them, and I was curious- after all, these were the REAL modern London double-deckers, not the tour buses we'd been on. But we didn't know the routes or the schedules, and it's 2:30 AM, and... well, it was kinda scary! Where would we end up? But that's the kind of thing we were in London for, right? The adventure of riding a bus in a strange city in the middle of the night? Well okay then...
Off to the nearest bus stop to join the other late night stragglers and examine the daunting route map, trying to make sense of where we were going. I think we picked a route that looked reasonable and was supposedly running, but after waiting for what seemed like forever, we decided on the spur of the moment to get on a bus that- well, I swear it said "Notting Hill Gate" on it, but two buses came at the same time and maybe we got on the wrong one... Anyway, I knew where Notting Hill Gate was, and although it wasn't quite where we needed to go, I figured it was at least in the right part of town and we could make our way from there- better than nothing. Got on the bus, headed upstairs- gotta go upstairs! (it's enclosed) Hung out and enjoyed the ride, but kept an eye on where were going as best I could with the tiny bit of tourist knowledge in my brain. Okay, doing fine, having a good time- okay, here we go around Marble Arch, and... um.... why did we turn this way? Okay, we're okay, it's fine... um... maybe....hmm... This is about the time I began to realize that we were going... someplace else. Maybe we would have eventually made our way back to Notting Hill Gate, after all that's what it said on the front... didn't it? Oh God, this is not the right direction and we're not turning.....
"Guys?"
Sleepy looks of delayed interest.
"I think we need to get off this bus."
Slightly more interest.
"Now."
Heightened interest, tinged with concern, followed by action.
Off the bus we go, to- where? We find our spot on the pocket map- sort of- we're not that far from home, but it's not quite clear how to get there. At least it's the sort of neighborhood that- well, let's just say that if you're going to pick a spot in a foreign city to be lost at 3 AM, you could do a lot worse. You could also do a lot livelier- not much action, as in obvious ways of getting the hell out of there. So we started hoofing it in the general direction of what looked like more action, debating what we were going to do. We finally decided to just grab a cab- easier said than done in this damnably quiet upscale area. So we kept walking. Eventually we found a stray cab- making three new forms of London transport I could cross off my list in one day. Turned out we were no more than a five-minute ride from home, so we actually did okay in picking that bus- but God only knows what remote Scottish fishing village we would have found ourselves in if we hadn't jumped ship.
The following video is NOT how this particular night ended, but so many others did- Ladbroke Grove station, our local stop which was the alpha and omega of almost every adventure. Nicely capped off by a clairvoyant Alan moment.
THUS ENDETH PARTE THE FYFTHE
Thursday, Sep. 21, 2006. John, Jeff and Alan sure got a lot done in three busy days. In fact, most of the important and/or obligatory sights and tasks have been accomplished:
Big Ben, check.
Buckingham Palace, check.
Stonehenge, check.
Getting Sick to Death of Each Other After Being Together 24/7, check.
Perhaps that's overstating it a bit- or maybe not.... Suffice it to say that when Thursday arrived, it was obvious we all were in the mood to do our own thing, which was just fine. I had the itch to go exploring around a bit on my own and looking at things that I didn't necessarily want to drag my poor friends to. Jeff had a similar itch (though not from any intimate contact between us, I just want to clarify that), and Alan decided to spend a quiet day in the flat and conserve his energy- after all, he did have a performance that night. So off went Jeff and I, and Alan stayed in with the satellite TV.
Speaking of, British TV- what little we watched- felt a lot more familiar than I thought it would (and not just from watching plenty of it all my life). For that matter, it all felt very familiar. Beyond the obvious differences- older buildings, different money, steering wheels on the wrong side- I was struck by the fact that I never truly felt like I was in a foreign place. I'm sure language was the major factor- I could read all the signs and pretty much understand everyone- but there was a deeper commonality that I didn't quite expect. It was all so... comfortable. Notable exceptions (as in things I never quite got used to): 1. Tipping. Okay, we finally figured out you don't tip the bartender, and you do tip the waiter, or...no wait, the tip is included in the bill... or is it? Aw hell, just give them a couple pounds and let's go.... 2. How early things closed. You're telling me I'm in one of the great cities of the world, and just because it's midnight, I can't get a beer OR a train home? 3. The street system. Oh my GOD.
I've been to Europe before. I know what the streets are like. I knew what they would be like in London. I looked at enough maps of them. They're part of the charm of the city. I know that there are worse cities. And yet.... oh my GOD. For someone who not only prides himself on having a good sense of direction, but also has an emotional need to at least have some idea of where he is and where he's going (geographically speaking, of course. Anyone who knows me realizes that has nothing to do with how I run any other part of my life), the streets of London can be maddening. The seemingly random layout is bad enough- in almost any spot in the US, for example (okay, maybe not Boston), I know that if I turn right enough times, I'll probably get back to where I started. In London, that might happen, or you might end up in Wales. Hard to say. But the street names make it worse- or rather, the proliferation of them. When even the major thoroughfares sometimes change names every block, it can be a bit disorienting. It's historically fascinating that in 1116, King Norbert the Addled decreed that a road would be built in a straight line from the tip of his nose to the far end of his peacock aviary, and that it would be forever known as Great Pimpsnell Acre, but it's a pain in the ass when you're trying to find the Tube station. And yes, the street signs are quaint and beautiful, but you'd never know because you can't find them. What street are we on? I don't know, is there a sign? Might be on a wall, might be on the curb- see anything? Oh wait.. *squint* I think I see something on the second floor over there- but is that for THIS street? Don't get me wrong, I also love London's streets, names, and signs for all their idiosyncrasies, much in the way I love a heavy downpour or a thick fog- wonderful if I'm not out in it trying to get someplace. That said, I'd go back and face them again in a heartbeat.
Well enough of that rambling, I say. Let's get on with other ramblings, shall we? Again, as always, click the photos for larger images.
The first destination I had in mind was Greenwich, which had a two-pronged appeal for me: my geography nerd needed to go to the Royal Observatory and visit the Prime Meridian, and my mass transit nerd needed to ride the Docklands Light Railway to get there, one of several transit entities that our travel cards were good for. I knew it would take a while to get out there, one of the reasons I didn't drag the other guys along.
Checked the map pile,
and headed down our street, Cambridge Gardens, on a lovely last day of summer.
Thursday was probably the sunniest and warmest of all the days we were there- which also made it the stickiest. Never stopped sweating that day. Never.
Made my way via Tube to Canary Wharf, which along with the rest of the Docklands area is a major urban redevelopment scheme. You know, old derelict warehouses make way for shiny office towers and condos, that sort of thing. Got on the DLR, went under the Thames, and popped up in old town Greenwich.
Apparently there's a problem with itinerant ice cream.
The original Cutty Sark, now a tourist attraction. Yes, the same one as on the Scotch. Unfortunately damaged by fire only last month.
Note the Starbucks on the left, about as close as you can get to the Cutty Sark.
I'm not sure I even want to know what this sign means.
Looking up at the Royal Observatory. The hike is steeper than it looks.
Looking back to where I was. Canary Wharf towering in the background, including the three tallest buildings in the UK.
The Millennium Dome! There it is! I thought maybe they tore it down or something! It was never mentioned in any of the literature, and it turns out it's because it really isn't used for anything these days.
Looking back toward central London and the Glass Vibrator.
The Courtyard of the Royal Observatory museum. For those of you who aren't dorks, the Prime Meridian is the line which indicates zero degrees longitude, dividing the Western and Eastern Hemispheres. Being an arbitrary line (unlike the Equator), Prime Meridians used to grow like weeds, but in 1884 the Brits won at an international conference (the French abstained and continued to use their own for decades). The grand legacy of this monumental decision is that in 2006, the old guy walking through the gate would come to visit wearing that hat.
The clock that doesn't photograph well shows Greenwich Mean Time, the worldwide standard based on the Meridian. Up until 1909, it was known as Greenwich Nice Time. Again, the French abstained.
The red line which marks the Meridian continues through the courtyard and divides me by the crotch. I've positioned myself for the "I'm in two hemispheres" shot using proper directional orientation, with North being up- but I still can't manage to hold the camera straight.
Took a look around the grounds, the free museum full of cool old astronomical devices (got a single blurry shot off before being told "no photos"), and visited the gift shop to purchase the obligatory Prime Meridian fridge magnet.
Hail Britannia!!
My geography jones satiated, I left Greenwich and went back toward the center of town. Got a good look at the Globe Theatre, a replica of the one from Shakespeare's day, built near the site of the original. Didn't see the show, though.
Crossed the Millennium Bridge toward St. Paul's Cathedral.
The Tate Modern art gallery. The barge says, "I Eat Rubbish!"
Went into St. Paul's and marveled- but no pictures allowed. Here's a couple so-so ones from the outside.
Went to Hyde Park to seek out Speaker's Corner. Oh, the madness and chaos, the sweet, sweet flowing mead of pure freedom! The guy in the middle- damn, he was a real firebrand.
Yeah, what I didn't know is that the action only happens on Sundays or something. Oh well, you can still get ice cream. But it better not be itinerant, you young punks!
Walked through Hyde Park where there were plenty of folks out enjoying the warm sunshine.
Saw the Royal Albert Hall. You know, as in how many holes it takes to fill.
Looking directly across from the entrance, you see this:
I think it's another Starbuck's or something.
At this point, I had pretty much run out of time. We had all agreed to meet at 6:00 in front of the Mediterranean place across from the Freddie Mercury Statue, so we could find some dinner and then head over together to The Wheatsheaf, the pub where the "impro" was happening. I had hoped to go back home to take a shower and change, which I now desperately needed after a lot of hiking around on a hot, sticky London day. But no time, so anyone near me was just going to have to suffer. After a cramped and stuffy Tube ride which included sitting stalled underground somewhere for a good ten minutes, I finally popped up by Jeff, Alan, and Freddie, only a few minutes late. We found an Indian restaurant that hit the spot, and off we went to The Wheatsheaf.
We were greeted by a cool little pub downstairs and a- well, a rather warm little performance space upstairs with a few rows of chairs set up. Met the guys from Grand Theft Impro, and then left Alan to prepare while we had a pint. The room started to fill (okay, it only took like 16 people) and eventually it was standing room only.
Neat windows- note they are open in a vain attempt to cool down the room.
The blonde in this photo is named Pippa- a friend of the group who I met later. I thought she said "Pepper"- with appropriate accent- until I saw her on Alan's friends list. I'm dumb.
The show was fun, the guys were talented, and Alan definitely held his own. A couple of the best moments came out of his American-Not-Quite-Being-Familiar-Enough-With-the-Local-References-ness. I was proud of our boy! I wish I'd gotten more photos or some video, but I didn't want to be obnoxious for the people behind us (who were sitting on a table).
After the show we knocked back a couple with the boys and their friends downstairs, then the guy who seemed to be in charge of the group (the bald one in the photo who isn't Alan) invited us to join them as his guests at a private club he belonged to- apparently these are common in the UK as traditionally being the places to go for legal after-hours drinking. This particular club was an actors' club, underneath a nearby theatre. The walls were covered with decades worth of playbooks, photos, and autographs of well-known stage actors- very cool. Didn't see anyone famous, but there was a bizarre moment when one of the waiters started doing an impromptu drag show or something to the great glee of the regulars- my memory is surprisingly fuzzy on that particular event.
Anyway, enjoyed the comfy confines of the club until 2 AM or so, and then came the challenge of getting home. Tube's closed, cabs are expensive- although I think I would have been perfectly willing to pony up the dough at that point, but then somebody suggested the bus.
The bus? We hadn't attempted a bus yet. Our passes were good for them, and I was curious- after all, these were the REAL modern London double-deckers, not the tour buses we'd been on. But we didn't know the routes or the schedules, and it's 2:30 AM, and... well, it was kinda scary! Where would we end up? But that's the kind of thing we were in London for, right? The adventure of riding a bus in a strange city in the middle of the night? Well okay then...
Off to the nearest bus stop to join the other late night stragglers and examine the daunting route map, trying to make sense of where we were going. I think we picked a route that looked reasonable and was supposedly running, but after waiting for what seemed like forever, we decided on the spur of the moment to get on a bus that- well, I swear it said "Notting Hill Gate" on it, but two buses came at the same time and maybe we got on the wrong one... Anyway, I knew where Notting Hill Gate was, and although it wasn't quite where we needed to go, I figured it was at least in the right part of town and we could make our way from there- better than nothing. Got on the bus, headed upstairs- gotta go upstairs! (it's enclosed) Hung out and enjoyed the ride, but kept an eye on where were going as best I could with the tiny bit of tourist knowledge in my brain. Okay, doing fine, having a good time- okay, here we go around Marble Arch, and... um.... why did we turn this way? Okay, we're okay, it's fine... um... maybe....hmm... This is about the time I began to realize that we were going... someplace else. Maybe we would have eventually made our way back to Notting Hill Gate, after all that's what it said on the front... didn't it? Oh God, this is not the right direction and we're not turning.....
"Guys?"
Sleepy looks of delayed interest.
"I think we need to get off this bus."
Slightly more interest.
"Now."
Heightened interest, tinged with concern, followed by action.
Off the bus we go, to- where? We find our spot on the pocket map- sort of- we're not that far from home, but it's not quite clear how to get there. At least it's the sort of neighborhood that- well, let's just say that if you're going to pick a spot in a foreign city to be lost at 3 AM, you could do a lot worse. You could also do a lot livelier- not much action, as in obvious ways of getting the hell out of there. So we started hoofing it in the general direction of what looked like more action, debating what we were going to do. We finally decided to just grab a cab- easier said than done in this damnably quiet upscale area. So we kept walking. Eventually we found a stray cab- making three new forms of London transport I could cross off my list in one day. Turned out we were no more than a five-minute ride from home, so we actually did okay in picking that bus- but God only knows what remote Scottish fishing village we would have found ourselves in if we hadn't jumped ship.
The following video is NOT how this particular night ended, but so many others did- Ladbroke Grove station, our local stop which was the alpha and omega of almost every adventure. Nicely capped off by a clairvoyant Alan moment.
THUS ENDETH PARTE THE FYFTHE
Labels: london
posted by Zonthar at
4:21 PM
5 Comments:
Ya know that moment in Hyde Park with you... I really felt like a snuggle.
Maybe the problem with the humped pelicans is that they are dealing ice cream.
Bad for both the birds and the children of the community.... :)
I'm digging the return to your Tales of London Travel!
Glad you saw my cousin Geography Jones.
I love the odd language on the signs---ice cream, pelicans...
Man, makes me wanna go to London.
Let's go. It'll be a Rogue BYOV.
We go to London, people pay to....I dunno, they ...here it is,
we presell subscriptions to reading the Blog. Oh man, we'll RAKE IT IN!--and there's the cost of the flight. Dude. This will work!
p.s. I chose "annonymous" as a posting name because ever since I changed my blogger sign-in to be part of that rogue blog thing---NOTHING freakin works.[and I MEAN it, not my sink, not the TV, not my intestines...] Let's hope this does, or I'll send you a message with rude language via myspace.
pps. man, my whining ps was longer than the original post. I'm a crummy blog commentor.
yeah! it worked. lookatme! I can do it. I take it all back. The sink and everything really works, I just was looking for attention and pity and stuff.
Anonymous- It's okay- if you want me to, I'll pity you even if your intestines are fine.
Katie- Our community awareness slogan should be "Think of the children. Please don't hump the pelicans."
Lecram- I'd like to Hyde my Park in your Thames.
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