Amused and Musing by the Thames

So I went to the South Bank again today. It was BEAUTIFUL in London, and I figured that I better enjoy the nice weather while its around for me to. As usual, the South Bank was hopping with tourists, Londoners and entertainment, but my venture wasn't in the name of amusement or distraction. I find myself falling into that familiar, unquenchable feeling of lethargy and stagnation. I think: I'm in London, and what am I doing? Part of me is crippled by my hesitation to do social things after dark alone, but it's also this feeling that something isn't getting the pilot light lit in my heart. Since I find myself basically the only one on our entire floor today (everyone is out on a trip away from London) I was left with little to console these misgivings.
Here are my musings as I wrote them while soaking up sun rays in the Jubilee Gardens.

The wind blows across my face, turning the pages of my notebook where it lays in the grass by my feet. The sun is warm on my face and, whether I'm in London or Ithaca, it is the same sun. It gives me the same warmth and the same light. Even the grass seems to be the same shade of green.
So how do I know I'm in London and not Ithaca, New York? Any GPS system or map would confirm that I am, in fact, an ocean away from Ithaca, work, family, my apartment and my kitty. My cell phone has no signal, so I can neither make nor receive phone calls from familiar voices. The only people I really know around here are the handful of people associated with the trip. This is how I know I'm in London.
The same people seem to walk the same charcoal-colored streets and listen to the same popular, overly repetitive music, but as the ground beneath me trembles with the passing of a tube train, I know I am not where I've always called home. I am far away from school and work and the haven of safety I've woven for myself. I am exposed and naked, standing in front of a red-tinted light that's asking me, "What have you done?"
I came to London to run away: To escape the net of boredom and the thousands of whispered complications haunting me when my mind wanders. Now it's like there's a spirit stirring in me the desire to wake up. It's screaming for me to open my eyes and break free before I am lost to a world of disillusion. In a world where there are no more heroes and no more fairy tales, I am clawing desperately to tear down a wall of disenchantment.
I want to be thrown into a tide with a current I can't swim against and left to the mercies of fate to bring me back home safe. I want a chance to prove to the Gods and to myself that I am strong: That I am capable of moving mountains and swaying tides. I want to find my great adventure and charge forward into it without regret or hesitation, but mostly I want to wake up from this dream of safety and see London with the wonderment and splendor of a child who sees Santa Clause on Christmas Eve.
I came to London to find something beyond myself: A spark to carry with me and kindle in my heart a fire of life, glory and beauty before the chance to write my legend passes by.

So those were my general thoughts today.Other than that it was kind of a lazy day for catching up on laundry and recuperating before the last week of class. Don't get me wrong, I'm having a lot of fun and getting so much out of this trip that I can hardly believe or contain. I guess I'm just having a bit of a problem jump-starting my inspiration.

JD

On a Clear Day You Can See Forever

Today brought Tristan, Allie and I to Greenwich: A particularly green patch of England with a large park and a great observatory... Oh, and the Prime Meridian. Apparently it's one of Allie's dreams to stand at exactly 0 degrees latitude, so the three of us journeyed out together to help her fulfill that dream.
Greenwich itself was beautiful. Even on a cloudy day it was nice just to walk the paths among the trees and open grass, watching people on their Friday outings, taking in the scenery and the residential feel of this peaceful port in the southwest sector of London. Walking up the hill to the observatory (which is a fair rival to the hills of Ithaca, New York) you could turn around and get a magnificent view of London from the southwest angle. Plus it was home of the Prime Meridian, which we eventually did get to walk along and straddle. Now I can someday tell my grandchildren that at one point in my life I was in both the eastern and western hemispheres at exactly the same time.

JD

And the Rest, They Say, was History

I'm a shy girl. I'll admit this openly, and anyone who knows me well will attest. Once I get to know someone, the gauntlets are off and I'm happy to be simply me, but crossing that "getting to know someone" boundary can be hard for me. Hold on to your hats.
With my character being such as it is, bar scenes tend to bore me: I'm too shy to go up to someone, strike up conversation and see where it goes from there. I sit there, secretly hoping someone will talk to me so I don't have to break the ice. Last night, Tristan, Allie and I decided that, as per an assignment given to us by our professor, we were going to go out to a pub and strike up conversation with locals and meet people. We decided on a nice-sounding joint in Waterloo, which is a little farther south than the Southbank of the Thames, and somewhere none of us had been before.
Allie clung tightly to Tristan's arm as we wandered the dimly-lit streets, buildings looming on all sides and the three of us thought, "All right... Little sketch..." At least, I did. There was a foreboding sense of silence, shops closed on all sides for the night and little in the way of wanderers such as ourselves. Once we got our bearings about us and actually found the place, however, we felt a little more comfortable, having discovered it was in a well-lit area on what appeared to be a major roadway. 45 minutes later we stood huddled in a group with only ourselves to talk to.
It was at this point I took the initiative and suggested we find another bar. The Firestation (the pub we made our way to) was closing at 11 (which was 20 minutes away) and we hadn't met anyone new. At this point I just wasn't feeling the vibes. We ended up at a bar across the street called Wellington that appeared to be attached to a hotel and made our way in through its large glass doors.
We headed through small crowds towards the back where we could scope the room and regain our senses. We trekked single-file along the bar. I glanced at the beers on tap, the bright lights on the ceilings, the man occupying a stool with a guitar case and Zildgian bag on the ground by his feet. I don't know what possessed me, but before I could think or stop myself from acting I was stepping forward.
"So... Are you in a band?"
And just like that we found ourselves chatting up two guys who were grabbing a cool-down drink after rehearsal before calling it a night. As the drummer (later to be given the name Peter) joined us and Tristan engaged him in conversation, I kept a steady chat with this blonde-haired blue-eyed self-taught guitarist from Kent. I would find out later that his name was Andy. For all the fun he poked at me for being American, he seemed like a nice and interesting guy who had a few good stories in him.
For at least another hour we stuck around and talked about everything from Andy's job at the Tower Bridge where he wrote business proposals to Peter's opinion that he is, as a drummer, an eclectic blend of Chuck Berry and Sergei Prokofiev. As it neared midnight we said our goodbyes and made our way outside to which I could only take a deep breath and wonder, "What just came over me?" Of course I quelled this thinking as I took my bows for being the "hero" of the night and finding us some locals to chat up.
Thinking back on it now, a day later, I can't believe that I did what I did. I never go up to people randomly with no provocation and strike up conversation from nowhere. I never put myself willingly in the forefront of a social situation and cross my fingers, hoping for the best, but this came upon me like an impulsive instinct: A move I had to make, but to prove what, I don't know. It makes me wonder what's to come of this one instance of seemingly random outgoingness.

JD

Hatchards

I told my professor I was on a quest for a book by my favorite author.
He said to me, "If you're going to go book shopping, go to Hatchards. It's the best bookstore in London."
Today I went to Hatchards, and he was absolutely right.
I walked through the glass doors and immediately my eye was caught by ceiling-to-floor shelves of books. Books were everywhere: In front of me, to both sides; corners upon corners of stories both old and new. In the middle of the room is a spiral staircase that goes down one flight and up three more! Every level has its own check-out desk with its own cashier and a map in case you lose your way in the aisles. Okay, that's going a bit too far, but each section (which are split by floors) has an extensive list in front of each new corner telling you exactly which kinds of books you'll find should you dare to venture.
Everything is black and very classy and felt very comfortable, as though I could have been standing in my grandfather's den. I could have spent all day there, perusing and wandering. The problem is if I did I would find an enormous pile of books to buy and come out completely broke!

JD

The Walk of 10,000 Theatres

I'd like to start by saying: I freaking love Mozart. But more on that in a little bit.
I say above 10,000 theatres and am not above admitting that this may be exaggerating a bit. I believe the correct number is 40... Which still equates to 3 hours of walking. By 2pm we were glad for a break and the chance to finally eat a much anticipated meal, although I did learn a lot. It was an interesting an informative tour... It also happened to point out the fact that London is now playing EVERY musical I've wanted to see for a long time now. Not to mention The Royal Opera House didn't have the promotional poster of Le Nozze di Figaro that I really really want to buy.
Le Nozze di Figaro!!! Yay, Mozart!
Now when you think opera you, like me, probably think of cushy chairs and balconies: A large stage with a phenomenal cast and upwards of 600-1,000 dollars to attend. That's exactly what I was thinking as I told myself over and over again while we were walking through the Royal Opera House that 157 pounds is too much for a ticket to see an opera. Even if it is Mozart. (Hey, I'm a college student!)
Fast forward to me at 7pm watching the curtain drawing for the start of Le Nozze di Figaro, indulging in the melody of Mozart's opening overture. The girl behind me ate her Greek wrap and open a can of Fosters as the servants bustled about on stage. A pigeon wheeled its way upward past my line of sight and shifted in attempt to find a more comfortable position. An inflatable plastic seat cushion is the only thing between my butt and the cold stone. No, I'm not in the Royal Opera House watching from a few feet as these masters of music wow the audience with their skills. I'm am in Trafalgar Square, near the heart of London, outside with what I would later learn was 8,000 people watching Le Nozze di Figaro (mind you it was running live from the Royal Opera House at that exact time) on a giant screen erected right in front of Nelson's Column.
The anticipation and excitement was the same, however, as Trafalgar Square laughed with the audience of the ROH and heard the same celestial voices as the audience at the ROH. Even though we knew the actors couldn't hear, we clapped when the ROH clapped and watched the events of Figaro's wedding day unfold. Thanks to BP this was available to the insanely affordable price of free, all an effort to bring the art of the Royal Opera House to the people of England (there were screens in, I think, seven other locations across the country).
So maybe I wasn't there, when Susana sang in her sweet soprano voice, or as Cherubino wooed the Countess with his song, but I was there and got to share the moment with thousands of other people, of all ages, background and stature, and got to affirm my love of the musical prodigy that is Mozart.
I also learned that Ildebrando d'Arcangelo is ridiculously good-looking. :-)

JD

Southbank, Sunshine, Psycho Buildings and a Drink Among Friends

Tuesday morning found me hopping a tube train to Canon Street, where I navigated my way to the Thames and the southern bank where Monday night ended. It was a beautiful sunny day: Perfect for simply strolling, which is exactly what I did.
Following along the Thames I just walked; Pausing here and there to watch an animated group of youngsters or stare out over the gently lapping waters of the river that walked along with me. The Southbank of the Thames is a bit like a festival. On nice days street musicians and living statues put out their hats (or baskets) and perform, hoping that a generous passerby will drop in a few unneeded coins.
Whether they're tourists, school groups or Londoners out for a day in the sun people seem to crowd around places like the Globe Theatre, the Tate Modern Art Museum, Gabriel's Wharf and the other entertainment and art venues located along this particular stretch of walkway. The constant chattering and bustling about gives the entire place a feeling of energy and life.
Ultimately I ended up at the Hayward Gallery, where they were presenting an exhibit called Psycho Buildings: Artists Take on Architecture. Every piece on display was a large-scale artwork meant to play with and make you aware of your sense of space and spacial reasoning. From the spice-filled "tumor" made of mesh-like lycra and designed to make you feel like you're underwater to the 3D photograph of a room mid-disaster (whether explosive or natural), each artist made you fully immerse yourself in the art and use all of your senses to make sense of it. It was really a fun exhibit.
After making my way to Embankment I hopped a train back to my flat to eat some food and rest up before the evening, which found the seven of us walking Fleet Street once more, this time with a tour guide and a pub agenda. We learned a lot about the historical culture surrounding some of the pubs in the City of London and had a drink or two along the way. The guide left us two hours later at the Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese, where we all sat for the rest of the night eating, drinking and talking about everything and nothing.

JD

A Midsummer's Night

To be honest I went into a bit of hermit mode today. What with all of the touring and wandering we did last week (and I did this weekend) it was kind of nice to just hole up in my flat and spend the day being lazy. I just chilled out, read a little bit and watched some videos online. When evening finally came I ventured out of my hobbit hole and met up with the class and our professor. The agenda? Dinner at the George Inn followed by A Midsummer's Night Dream at The Globe.
Dinner was fantastic (and on Ithaca College) and we sat around the table having a nice chat while we ate, drank and made merry. It was something to think that we were sitting in a corner that Shakespeare very well may have frequented while pondering works and writing sonnets. The waitress was cheerful, the mood was light and (since we were eating dinner in London at 5:15pm) it was as if we had a whole floor of the pub all to ourselves.
After dinner we wandered the winding roads towards the South Bank of the Thames. It was there we took our seats.... Err... Rather benches, in the lower gallery of the theatre; Luckily we were spared the privilege of being groundlings and standing for three hours (although if we had we would have gotten a T-shirt). The show was great (it was the first time I had seen it) and it was so amazing to watch the performance in a venue intended for the showing of it.
Afterwards we walked across the Millennium Bridge and paused midway to look out across the river that would have been moonlit had it not been a cloudy evening, and just talked, enjoying the cool air. The city around us glittered with light and I looked at buildings I had seen before, and some I was sure I hadn't, but want to. We ended our Monday by grabbing a bus in front of St. Paul's and sitting in the very front of the top deck, where we could watch London as it passed by our window.

JD

Street Where the Riches of Ages are Sold

If you haven't yet noticed, I watch way too many Disney movies.
Today's beautiful Sunday weather found four of us on the bus to Portabello Market. We got off of the bus a stop too early but made our way happily through the streets of Notting Hill. We were just glad that is wasn't raining. We spotted the market after a stroll and darted across an empty street to make our way to our destination.
It was that precise moment that a biker whizzed past me as I was crossing and yelled,
"The crossing's over there, Fat Girl."
Now I'd like to say that I had a witty retort ready, such as, "The asshole club's that way, Dick Face" or "Nice spandex, Ninny" or even just "Up yours, Jerk." Alas there was little I could do but look down the road in sheer astonishment as he disappeared around a bend. I'd also like to say that it was easy for me to shrug it off and say, "screw him," but, honestly, it hurt my feelings a lot.
It's often rare that I'm astounded by the sheer rudeness of some people, but this instance was ludicrous. I wasn't in his way. It's not like he nearly ran into me as he flew down the hill: I was well across the street by the time he went past. There was also not a single car on the road coming from either direction, and it's not like I was the ONLY person who had just crossed that exact road at that exact intersection.
Either way, it's hard to have a good day when someone so blatantly insults you without any provocation. We went down the road and into the shopping district and as I perused the stands I started to feel a little better. I even bought a gorgeous leather-bound plain-sheet journal. We ate a pretty decent lunch at a Lebanese food joint and made our way back to Weeks Hall on the top deck of a double-decker bus.
Some evil part of me will be hoping for a while that a certain spandex-clad bicyclist gets hit by one of those awesome red buses.

JD

Hobbitses

Covent Garden, mid-afternoon. The streets are bustling with people, merchants and street performers. How do I describe Covent Garden? If Saks 5th Avenue met Chinatown, their offspring would be Covent Garden.
The uneven brick streets took me back to a time when I could picture carriages pulled through the streets by gray horses. Merchants with carts were surrounded by customers, while all along the sidewalks are stores like Marks & Spencers, H&M, and Gucci: Trademarks of high society mingling happily with street vendors and wanderers.
What brought me to Covent Garden, however, was a 2pm showing of Lord of the Rings: The Musical. Being the geek that I am, the moment I saw posters for the show on the walls of the London Underground I had to see it before it finished its run. I hopped online immediately and found out everything I could and, despite mixed reviews, had every desire to see this show.
Allie and I took our seats in the Grand Circle of the Royal Theatre on Drury Lane (no I didn't meet the muffin man) to face a stage that appeared to be overgrown with tree roots and branches, from the point where the wall meets the stage, wrapping all some of the side boxes and balcony, it's span stretching across the ceiling.
From this moment on we were bombarded by a fantastically immersing experience that pulled in all of the senses and made us feel alongside the characters. It was the best stage and technical design I have ever seen for a show and the music was a beautiful blend of Celtic tradition and Enya. I lost count of all the times I got chills while watching. There were moments when the cast used the tiers of the circles as part of the stage, coming among the audience to appear as though on a perch in relation to those on stage, which only helped to immerse the watcher in the whole experience. I stared transfixed as Gandolf turned to face the Balrog of Moria amidst glowing fire and smoke and wind that filled the entire theatre, ending the first half of the show.
The second half began with Gollum literally climbing down the complex root-work from the ceiling to the stage and the story picked up without losing a beat. Before long I was in the glory and radiance of the Golden Wood, serenaded by a Galadriel who descended from the trees by ribbon and vine. Battles with the Orcs were filled with amazing feats of acrobatics on a revolving, lifting and lowering stage. Most Orcs hobbled around, their hands attached to front stilt-like appendages. Others wore on their feet springy stilts that allowed them to flip and tumbled high in the air.
Between the second and third acts Allie and I jumped as unsuspecting audience members screamed, finding themselves face-to-face with Orcs so well costumed they were like something out of nightmares, only to later find ourselves victim to their taunting as the horns struck up again and they ran for the nearest exit. I found myself cringing as a giant convincingly spider-like Shelob attacked our heroes and holding my breath as Frodo stood on the crack of Mt. Doom.
Honestly, I felt like the show was very well put-together. I enjoyed the music and every aspect of the storytelling. I'll admit, that many important characters and plot lines were cut from the show altogether (they'd have to be to fit three novels into three hours). Anyone who was a die-hard, stalwart aficionado would probably be up in arms crying treason to Tolkien, but as far as the story goes, if I were someone who had never heard of Lord of the Rings or anything about it, with this show I would get the basic idea of the main story, if not all the little extras that expanded the books. I think to pick it apart for leaving out full story arcs inside the larger story arc is getting very minute. The main story, after all, is about Frodo's quest to destroy the One Ring.
Anyways, Allie and I capped the night with a visit with the boys to an Indian food restaurant up the road from our flats and a nice hour of ping-pong and chatting.
It was a Saturday I'll remember forever.

JD

Walls that Speak and a Man Without Shoes

I started my day with a trip to the Science Museum. Maybe CoSci has spoiled me, but I was just a little disappointed. I thought there would be more interactive exhibits, but there were just a lot of text blurbs and models behind glass, which was cool for the first hour or so. I'll admit that the "Who Am I?" exhibit about all of the things that make us who we are was really nice and I could have spent forever there. It was highly interactive (although half the machines weren't really working right) and I think, in the end, that was its downfall.
What I learned at the Science Museum today: Don't go on school field trip day. The place was overrun with kids aged 7-17. Now I like kids (for the most part when they're not in that preteen stage of obnoxious where no one matters but them and they're overwhelmingly rude most of the time) but in this case every time I came across an interesting interactive display some little kid darted past me and began to play with it, whether or not they understood what they were doing.
I think if it had been less crowded I would have enjoyed myself more, although I probably would have continued to compare it to CoSci.
One positive, however, I found nestled away in the back corner of the first floor. It was a modern art exhibit called The Listening Post and if you find yourself in South Kensington with a spare moment, I highly recommend checking it out. I won't say too much, because I'm sure it holds a new experience for each listener/watcher but for me, I just stood there feeling moved by the message in the digital art and "music." One reviewer described the sounds being Philip Glass-like, and I'll attest to that quality. If you're interested in all at modern art and/or music or are a person who is moved by depth-ridden displays of humanity, this is the thing for you to see.
My late afternoon/evening was spent wandering London at my leisure, where I made my way to two different, but beautiful churches somewhat off the beaten path. On my way back to the tube I passed a man wearing no shoes or socks nursing what looked to be a bottle of champagne or white wine. As I walked down the sidewalk he called to me, his voice thickly British, "Hey, Sister, are you all right?" To which I smiled and shrugged and said, "Yeah. I'm good."

JD

Palaces, Parks and Pretty Boys in Neat Red Suits

We headed up to Westminster and, disappointing as it may be, I had no random movie/book/legend/musical references that immediately popped into my head when we began wandering around the political hub of London (unless you count some random snippets of "Cats" lyrics that ran through my mind briefly). I guess that means I need more pop culture in my life. ;-)
We took a stroll down Pall Mall, and I didn't even want to look in any shops to see how expensive everything would be. Buckingham Palace was lovely, and the Queen is in residence, which I thought was pretty neat, even though we won't see her ever. We watched the changing of the guard and somehow it made me very happy to see those military men in their bright red coats and tall black caps marching past in the band playing the piccolo. :-P We strolled through St. James Park and saw a varied assortment of creatures with wings, as well as a few quirky and bold squirrels that didn't seem to be afraid of coming right up to a person as they sat on a bench.
We ended our day with a walk through Kensington Park up to Kensington Palace, where we took a tour of the State Rooms on display. The entire place had a very warm feeling of home to it, and I tied to imagine living there: Getting changed in the dressing room, sleeping in a canopy bed in a room the size of a small studio apartment, spending the afternoon sewing on a chaise lounge in the drawing room and the evenings dancing in one of the galleries... So maybe that's not quite how it all went down back then: We were told later that there are actually more comfortable rooms on the lower floors that the Royals would retreat to many times when there weren't people around to put on a regal front for.
Either way, I can scarcely remember living in a world without electronic television, instant communication (whether by phone or message) and the internet, let alone imagine one of debutantes, servants and elegant dresses. It's like something to get swept away in: Another world that I could have been in had I only been born earlier and in a different place to a different family.
Either way, I was content at the end of the day to rest near the pond in the park with a few friends and enjoy a light lunch before trekking back to my room and passing out from pure exhaustion. I can't remember the last time I went to bed at 5:30pm!
Of course, there was a little side quest to get my tickets to see Lord of the Rings the Musical on Saturday. O.o

JD

Demon Barbers and Tuppence a Bag

Our late morning began with a stroll down Fleet Street. Men in suits and fancy cars made their way past buildings majestic and symbolic. Umbrellas went up as the rain came down and most of our group got a thorough washing. We walked down the sidewalk past a blend of buildings old and new, standing side-bye-side in architectural harmony and all I could think was, "If Sweeney Todd were real, where would his barber shop have been?"
There was no demon barber to be found (although we did see a barber shop), and in all seriousness I did take in the culture (of the non-pop variety) and history with its due respect and admiration, ducking down narrow cobble-stone alleys to see the Temple Church, beautiful even with its pillared faces worn away by the forces of age; wind; rain and sleet, and Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese, where three of us later had a bite to eat and I had my meat pie on Fleet Street.
The main attraction of our visit, however, was St. Paul's Cathedral: Looming through the mist in the far distance, gaining glory as we got closer and closer. We walked through the doors and I was struck with an intense spiritual enlightening, only to realize that I was angry. This grand hall of faith; This House of God; had become nothing more than an attraction for squawking tourists. I've nothing against those that are non-religious, but having been raised Catholic, I was always taught to treat churches and Holy Grounds with due respect. Most of the people there seemed more impressed by the fact there were pretty designs on the ceilings (albeit the designs on the ceilings were very VERY pretty) and eager to take out their cameras and snap a shot of something grand, even though photography was forbidden inside the building, than the fact that they were standing in a display of love and praise for a power beyond any of us. Something from the bible stuck out in my mind about the House of God becoming a den of thieves and Jesus being slightly less than happy about that. I recall a bit about tables being over turn and cages busted open...
I did attend 12:30pm mass in the Quire, however, and started to feel more at home. There were a few moments of profoundness that struck me (like gazing at the monstrance in the crypt chapel and putting my hand on the headstones of William Blake and Florence Nightingale), after which I was able to feel a sense of peace and let go of my irritation that some people were being so disrespectful of it all. Finally my friends and I made the trek up the some 500+ stairs to gaze at London from the very top spire of the Cathedral before putting up our hoods, heading back down those same stairs and starting our wet walk to food and the nearest tube station.
Needless to say, my legs liked stairs a little less than usual today.

JD

The Tower of London

Today was my first full day in London. I thought that I would be facing a huge culture shock, but in reality the thing I'm most excited about is the fact that the Coopers aren't mini (they have FOUR seats!!!). In all seriousness, though, it's strange to come here from the place I've always called "home" and feel like I fit right in. It doesn't feel strange or new to me, it just feels... Well, right. Either way my voice teacher was right. I want to live here after I graduate.
Anyway, today was our first full day here and we went to the Tower of London. Walking across the square on Tower Hill I have to say: Even though it was flanked with tourists (I suppose like myself) who were chattering away and going about their business, there was a profound silence in the background of it all; Like if you stood still long enough and listened, you might just hear something whispering to you. There was something romantic about the place; Not in the love and mush sense, but in the original sense when the word simply meant "a story."

JD