...on a jet plane...

Leaving London today, back to my little life and reality...to two furry little dogs who need baths, and piles of laundry to be done, and bills to be paid, and a fridge to be filled with grocery shopping. But there are also friends to see and laugh with, pizzas to be eaten, my own big bed to sleep in, and my own car to toodle around in. And soon, in a few weeks, a job that I miss to return to...along with friendly and helpful co-workers, and patients who remind me why I go to work in the first place.

So until the next stamp in my passport, I hope this blog doesn't stay quiet for too long.

West End Girl

Today was lovely although a bit bittersweet, with the knowledge that I'm leaving London tomorrow as a cloud over my head. I walked down Cromwell Road to the Victoria and Albert Museum, or the V & A. I had been thinking of checking out the Natural History Museum, which is right next door, but was a little deterred by the hoards of very small children entering it. Nevertheless, I'm glad I bypassed it for the V & A. I actually broke my usual museum-going convention and spent an entire two hours in it, that's how much I loved it. The museum is affectionately known as "Britain's attic," which is a very fitting nickname. That is, if you happen to keep thousands of priceless treasures in your attic collected from 1500 to today. And if your attic is big enough to store hundreds of pieces of furniture, paintings, costumes, jewelry, glassworks, metalworks, ceramics, and any other oddbits you may have saved. Oh and lots of sculptures and photographs and tiny models of buildings. But you get the point. I toured the British history rooms, arranged chronologically, which gave a fascinating viewpoint into the ever-changing styles and fashions and art over the past 500 years. For a Sunday, it was surprisingly uncrowded, although I guess the hoardes of people were there to visit the current exhibits. But you have to pay for those.

After my time-traveling through British history, I wandered down Cromwell Road to Brompton and popped in Harrods, where I browsed and tried on jewelry that I pretended I could afford. Finally on the way back to the hotel I stopped into a little Indian restaurant for my best meal yet...papadums, onion bahjee, saag paneer...and oh the mixed pickle! To die for. The experience was made complete by the plethora of overly attentive young Indian waiters and the warm washcloth at the end of the meal. Why do I have to leave tomorrow!?

LDN

It's really winter here in London, even my Wisconsin blood isn't comfortable at sidewalk cafes anymore, despite a hat and scarf. While there are a few things London should take note on from Paris, the outside sidewalk heater ranks up there pretty high.

I seemed to have picked a pretty convenient hotel, since the nearest tube stop has three lines running through, making it very easy to get anywhere and I rarely even have to change lines. Today I rode the Circle line to Embankment and walked a few blocks to the National Gallery, at Trafalgar Square (for those of you following along at home in your London A to Z, and yes, you must pronounce it "zed"). I've been to the National Gallery a few other times, although not on my last two trips here, so it was definitely time to go again. Actually, I almost made it last time but I had walked all over the city and by the time I got there I was so darned tired that I simply sat on the steps, took a few shots of Nelson's Column, and left. So today I popped back in to visit some old friends; Jane, the Arnolfinis, Whistlejacket, to name a few. I have some of those prints at home, and do adore them, but they become so starkly disappointing when standing in front of the real thing. I can't explain what it is about certain paintings, but I even become one of those strange bench-sitting, painting-gazing people in front of The Execution of Lady Jane Grey...yes, again with the Tudor history obsession, I know. But I dare you to stand in front of the life-size painting, and not have your breath taken by the shimmer of her silk dress, not see her hands move uncertainly towards the block, not hear the rustle of her dress as she kneels in the hay or the weeping of her ladies in waiting. Then go visit Whistlejacket, the life-size portrait of the racehorse by George Stubbs, and try to figure out if it's fear or arrogance in his liquid brown eyes. And of course go to the Sainsburys wing to visit the Arnolfini marriage portrait, if only because you developed a weird obsession with it during a college art class. And along the way of this weird little tour of my favorite paintings, you may catch sight of some of your favorites, like Van Gogh's sunflowers, or some of Monet's Waterlilies, or Renoir's Umbrellas. Be sure to notice the painting of Lake Keitele, just looking at it will make you feel the chilly morning air.

Anyway, enough waxing artistic for you. After my visit at the National Gallery (yes, still only one hour long...) I had lunch at a wonderful Italian restaurant on the Strand (mussels! red wine!) and enjoyed a black taxi ride home through Kensington. I admit, I had been thinking of going to see Mary Poppins in Leicester Square this afternoon, but did you see how long the queue was for tickets at the TKTS booth?! And did you notice that it had just started icily raining?!

London Rain

Brrr...yesterday was clear and cold in London, but no rain. But I couldn't think of a song called "London is Chilly," so apologies for the misleading post title.

I went to the Courtauld Institute and Galleries yesterday, and I highly recommend it on my list of Things You Must do While in London. Oh, you haven't seen that list yet? Hmm. Perhaps I'll post a summary at the end of this trip. Especially recommended for Elly, because there was an ice-skating rink AND Van Gogh paintings! And for Faye as well, because there were Picassos too. Oh, and some Rubens, for Steph. The Courtauld is quite a gem of a museum, because it's just the right size. And we all know that I love little museums, for my limited arty-attention span and because I can actually see the whole thing and not get stressed out that I might have missed something really important. The galleries are part of the art institute, so each painting has a very helpful explanation with it, so touring it is like a mini art class. Except maybe even better, because I didn't leave halfway through it to go eat Indian food on the lawn with Stephanie. Ah...college. But I digress. Back to the descriptions of the paintings...for example, next to a dreamlike Rousseau painting of a tollgate, the card explained that Rousseau worked as a tollkeeper for many years. Ah! But of course. It's the little things like that. I like to know what I'm looking at and why.

After the museum I walked up the Strand to Covent Garden market, browsed there a bit, was serenaded by some opera singers, then wandered about Leicester Square and all it's touristy theatrey insanity. I popped into my favorite sandwich shop, Pret a Manger, grabbed some lunch, and headed back to the hotel for a nap. I don't know why, but the English sandwiches are the best ever.

Note the Christmas decorations in Covent Garden. Also note the absence of inflatable Santas or light-up deer. Nearly tasteful enough to put me in the Christmas spirit.

It's cold again today but clear and dry, so I'm deciding between the National Gallery and the V & A museums, or catching a theatre matinee....

Un-Thanksgiving

I had the best Thanksgiving EVER! There weren't any paper turkeys, pilgrim salt and pepper shakers, or schmaltzy Hallmark specials on TV, so it was awesome. Sure, there wasn't a turkey feast or a huge gathering of friends and family, but those things are completely replicable at any time of the year, and are usually better on a non-holiday anyway.

Yesterday was another sunny clear day here in London, so I headed out in the morning to visit the Tower Bridge. It happens to be in most guide books on the "Top Ten" lists of places to visit, and while that distinction usually makes me think twice before visiting something just because I'm "supposed" to, I decided that if I'm going to become a Londonista, I must see it all. The view of the city over the Thames was worth it.


Later in the evening I took advantage of the British Museum's late Thursday opening times, and took the tube up to Bloomsbury. I love late openings at museums. I know I've mentioned this before...but they're quieter, no school or tour groups, and there's a different atmosphere altogether. I only had a few hours there, and some galleries were closed after 6pm, so I went through all the Egyptian halls. I saw some mummies, artifacts from ancient Egyptian life, and of course the Rosetta stone. The Egyptian sculpture rooms were breathtaking. The scale of the sculptures, coupled with the setting of immense rooms and soaring ceilings, makes an impression. I think that what I love about museums is often simply the reverence that the items are displayed with, the visual and sometimes visceral reminder that you are very small, and the world is very big, and more than you can comprehend has happened before you came along and even more will happen after you. It's humbling but oddly comforting.


Next to the Egyptian rooms are the Assyrian rooms, which were nearly empty, and for some reason, almost chilly. The friezes and sculptures were beautiful and moving. It was also almost poignant and sad, as I realized that the site of this ancient culture is now the site of an endless bloody war.

So now it's morning, and the sky is clear and the sun is out, and I must go in search of a "full English" in order to properly start my day. Hope you all had a happy Turkey Day!

Walking in London: Day Two

I'm going to be extra cheesy and try to title each post with a different song about London. Points if you can name who sings the song.


Today was fabulous London weather. It started out clearish, with the occasional threatening black cloud by hints of blue sky and fluffy clouds. So I decided to do the outdoorsy stuff on my itinerary first, because in London as in Seattle, you just never know with the weather. So champagne-hangover be damned, I headed off first to Hyde Park. I love Hyde Park, possibly because I spent two weeks living in a high-rise hotel on Park Lane last winter. Or maybe because I got to go horseback riding through it last fall. Or maybe because it's the former hunting grounds of Henry the VIII and I'm obsessed with all things Tudor. Regardless, it's a lovely park. I stopped in at Kensington Palace, because I haven't been there before, and I believe that every trip to England must include a castle or a stately palace. Because it's England. Most of Kensington Palace is an homage to Princess Diana, because she lived there for a bit. Some of her dresses were on display which was kind of cool but almost kind of creepy in a way. Because they're all displayed in a lighted glass case on headless mannequins... But I loved the state apartments, of King George, Queen Mary, and Queen Victoria. And I loved it because it was nearly empty. I wandered up the King's staircase completely alone, and stood solitary in Queen Victoria's bedroom. And if you stand really still and just take it all in, it's the closest to time-traveling that I've experienced.


After the palace, I walked down Kensington High Street and hopped on the tube over to the City, where I crossed the Thames on the Millenium pedestrian bridge. I overheard a smarty-pants explainanator American tourist telling his bored wife that the bridge is some kind of engineering marvel because it's a suspension bridge, but the suspension cables are all underneath it. So I thought I'd sound all smarty-pants and tell you that too.


I ended up near the Tate Modern and Shakespeare's Globe theater, but decided to find some lunch before taking either in. I nearly went to a new hip restaurant noted in my guide book called Leon's, but it wasn't open for business yet. "Oh well, I really wanted fish and chips anyway..." I said to the friendly hostess who turned me away. "Oh! Then you must go to Borough Market!" she replied, and gave me directions. "It's a ten-minute walk, but it's worth it." I found the market, and it was an old covered market full of vegetable stands, flower sellers, butchers, and sandwich shops. And of course...a chippy. Advertising "proper fish and chips," I knew I couldn't go wrong. And it was worth it.


After stuffing myself full of vinegar-soaked fried pieces of heaven, I headed back to the Tate Modern. I went in to use the loo, because that's what I do at free museums. Then I went to catch the Tate to Tate Boat, but since I was early for the next boat, I wandered about in the gift shop at the Globe. Possibly a 25 pound mistake, but oh well. I'm on vacation. My boat ride was nearly marred by a group of 40 high school students boarding at the same time, but I managed to tune them out and enjoy the ride. Although I did overhear this little gem:

Teen #1 (as Teen #2 snaps photos): God, we're acting like a bunch of tourists!
Teen #2: I know! I'm surprised we aren't covered in sunscreen, we're such tourists.
Teen #1: Steady on now, we're not Americans.

And it turns out the ticket-takers were so flummoxed by collecting student fares from the 40 unruly teenagers, that no one came round to sell me a ticket, and I got a free ride :)


The Tate boat dropped us off at the Tate Britain, one of my favorite museums. So I wandered about in there for a while, loved the Hockney on Turner collection, revisited the Tudor portraits, and regretted my decision not to pay the 11 pounds to see the Millais exhibit so I bought a bunch of postcards instead.

Back on the tube again, a brief stop at Waitrose (British grocery store. Love it.), and after enjoying the best cheddar ploughman's sandwich and cheese and onion crisps, I think I'll have a dip in the hotel pool. Thirty minutes after, of course. Safety first, kids, even while on vacation.

London Calling: London Day One

So here I am across the pond, in the motherland, land of hope of glory, or just London to most of you. You didn't really expect me to stay put in Seattle for that long, did you? I am admitting to a full-fledged case of Adult Onset ADD, which may explain my insatiable wanderlust. Except that in my case my ADD only applies to traveling, because in most other aspects of my life I am still quite lazy.

Anyway, I landed in London yesterday after a smooth nine-hour direct flight from Seattle. Love direct flights. Love 'em. As S and J and I always assert, that falls under the category of "You know you're a grown-up when...you are not too cheap to pay the extra money to save yourself the PainInTheArse of transferring planes." However, I am too cheap to pay the 50 pound taxi fare from Heathrow to central London (and for those of you following along at home, the dollar to pound conversion is now two-to-one. Ouch.) So I bought an Oyster seven-day travelcard and hopped on the tube to my hotel. Fortunately, it was a direct shot to my tube stop, no changing, and only took about 35 minutes. From there, a five minute walk to my hotel. My hotel is lovely, "small" by BigAss American standards but just right for the rest of the world. Being the savvy traveler that I am, I promptly called the front desk and asked them to empty my mini-bar, then headed across the street to Sainsbury's and stocked up on snacks and beverages to fill up my fridge with.


By the way, have I mentioned that the British grocery store is one of my favorite places ever?! Well, it is. I am so happy to be reunited with my cheese and onion crisps, Hobnobs, Lilt drink, and Cadburys.

New York: Closed for Renovations.

Today an American girl and an English girl decided to tour New York City, starting with the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The conclusion is that either the Met generally sucks, or the American girl has been spoiled and jaded by recent visits to the Louvre and five other world-class museums in Paris, and both the American and the English girl were too influenced by experiences at the National Gallery, the Tate, the V & A, and the British Museum. In addition, the English girl compared her visits to the Gaudi museum(s) in Barcelona and the Van Gogh museum in Amsterdam. The guide book promised that the Met was in an international class with the Louvre, the British Museum, and the Uffizi. Sounds promising, right? Pffft.

After paying $20 each and navigating crowds, we finally found a friendly guard who explained that our sole reasons for visiting, the 19th Century European paintings room including Van Gogh, Monet, Van Eyck was completely closed for renovations. So was the Frank Lloyd Wright room and the Arts and Crafts room. So was the Islamic art collection (aka “we’re still bitter about the World Trade Center so we’ll pretend the Islamic world doesn’t exist here”).

“Are they any Van Gogh paintings here?” asked a deflated Elly.
“Yes!” said the guard excitedly. “We have one! Uhm, I think it’s not well-lit at the moment, however.” We groaned.
“But we have an excellent Greek and Roman collection!” she added hopefully.
“Hrmph. So does the British Museum. Is yours at least plundered?” I snarked under my breath.
“You should definitely see the Etruscan chariot…” continued the guard. She went on to explain the story of how the chariot was sold in pieces for scrap metal in Paris over 100 years ago, and bought by the Met and eventually restored and finally put together correctly (it took them 100 years to figure it out?) but now the original owners of the chariot in Italy wanted it back. “…So you should really see it while you’re here, before it might go back to Italy,” she sighed. “I really hope it stays here at the Met…I mean, who would go all the way to Italy to see Etruscan ruins?!”

On that note, we thanked her for her help, and hurried off to see the lonely little Van Gogh on a dark wall in a basement room.

Along the way, I noticed that the museum felt haphazardly organized. Each room or collection was labeled with the name of a wealthy benefactor, but with no explanatory signage describing the era, theme, or even type of artwork inside. Some rooms seemed to be organized by period (“Baroque”) while others were simply geographical (“Art of the Americans, Oceania, and the Near East”). The Greek and Roman ruins were all housed in big glass cases, according to arbitrary themes (“Horses in Greek Art”) or with vague titles, “Archaic art from Greece and Crete”). No other signage including relevant dates, sites of discovery, civilizations, or importance of artifacts was anywhere to be found. Archaeologists would be horrified.

There were some fake things lying around, like a tiny copy of Rodin’s The Thinker, with no labels. Some of the sculptures in the Greek and Roman hall were described as “Copy of…”

So, to sum it up, underwhelmed was an understatement. Definitely unimpressed by the Met. Call me a snob, or bitter and jaded, I don’t care. Did I mention the British Museum is also free?

However, the “closed for renovations” theme continued throughout the day. After the Met, we wandered up the street to see the Guggenheim. Not so sure that we wanted to go inside, especially after being traumatized by the Met, we at least wanted to see the outside of it and take some pictures. Which we did. We got some great shots of white sheeting and scaffolding with covered the entire building.

Somehow we found our way back downtown despite the fact that the main subway line that takes us to and from our apartment was completely closed for construction. And the entrance to the subway station at Columbus circle was completely covered in scaffolding and mostly closed for construction too.

We are so annoyed we’ve decided not to run the bloody marathon tomorrow. I think we’ll just go shopping instead.

Culture shock

After two leisurely weeks in Paris, landing in New York City is quite the shock to the system. If Paris is the cultured, elegant grande dame of cities, an homage to all that is beautiful and romantic, New York is the raucous, loud, punk kid of cities. Where is my gentle flowing Seine, the ancient reminders of times past and layers of history? All I hear are sirens and traffic, and all I can see are miles of concrete and high-rise buildings reaching towards the sky.

Elly will come in today, and hopefully her excitement and plans and fresh observations will be infectious.