London Journal from November 1999

[La Luna Unita]

Rome to Paris: Coucette; first full night of sleep in a week.

Paris: Gare du Lyon to Gare du Nord: Metro
Gare du Nord: Had a sandwich; made return reservations.

Paris to Calais: Nice, uneventful train where I kept falling asleep next to a nice French woman. Found a toy catalog and stole a page.

Calais to Dover: Ferry. Sat under the “Bat Cave”; saw the English Channel, the White Cliffs, and Dover Beach. Found a Dr. Pepper.

Dover to London: Hung around the train station, took 2-3 hours to get to London. Blue seats. I slept. I was cold.

London (1st Night): Looked for a hotel, and unable to find one, tried to sleep in Paddington Station. We took a cab across town to arrive there. We ate Burger Kind. We finally ended up in St. Mary’s Hospital until 5 in the morning after a very rude drunk man yelled at us in Paddington. We went back to Paddington in the morning, slept there until 7:30, and took the Underground to St. Paul’s. Locked out stuff in the hostel after freshening up and went to look around.

London (1st Day, October 31): Went to Hyde Park and Speaker’s Corner. Ate a “Nixon’s Nosebag” bagel sandwich for lunch in a small park by the Strand. Checked into the Hostel at 2:00, took a nap, went to a free organ recital at St. Paul’s at 5:00, got dinner (not worth the money I paid) went on a Halloween walking tour at 7:30 to see some sights. Went to bed.

London (2nd Day, November 1): Had breakfast, tried for tickets with no result. Had a mediocre cappuccino. Took a bus tour at 10:00, went past all the major sites, most of which I slept through. Got cool “Big Bug Tour” headphones. Went to Barbican to see if there were any tickets (nope). Went to Mass at St. Etheldrada Chapel (20 minute God-To-Go). Got Kentucky Fried Chicken as well as my first Cadbury bar. Went to Westminster, saw Elizabeth I’s tomb, Mary Queen of Scots’ tomb. Saw Big Ben. Saw King Lear done by the RSC.

London (3rd Day, November 2): Went to London Tower and through the White T. crowded with a huge group of schoolboys, making fun of the “tichy” armor for the princes – but they were the perfect size for the same! Got lost from my friends and left a note with a Yeoman. Met up later, went to the British Museum, saw the Shiva Nataraja and the Parthenon Marbles, saw a movie, went to the Empire Discoteque and met Nick.

British Museum: St. Margaret and the Dragon, part of the “Gothic Ivories”.

In the clock room… sounds of hundreds of tiny watches like crickets at night… one of the larger clocks played an enchanting chime as I walked past.

The Lindow Man took me by surprise. I was there before I realized he wasn’t a cow or something else. Apotropaic: able to ward off evil.

Entering the Oriental Art section (rooms 30-33 of the British Museum) I had my suspicions. Looking through the Buddist figures, the Bodhisattvas, Taras, etc… and right in the center of the room he suddenly appeared. Shiva Nataraja – the Lord of the Dance. He holds his hands in the mantras of welcome and protection and stands in perfect balance on the Dwarf of Ignorance with the goddess Ganga in his flowing river of hair. A figure of perfect grace ringed in fire, it is sadly almost a spiritual moment when I finally meet him.

How strange! Two weeks ago I was in Greece, lamenting that the frieze and pediment of the Parthenon were not there. Now I stand in London, staring them down in their surrogate home. I think we are getting closer to being equal; I have been more places than these marbles will ever be, they have seen more time than I will ever see.

4 November
Jan and Rachel both sit with their heads back and eyes closed across the aisle from me as we wait through our last train connection to Salisbury. Stratford-upon-Avon was wonderful; this entire trip has been a Shakespeare pilgrimage for Kate and inadvertently myself as well. Kate is like one drawn by a magnet – the quickest, most direct route led her to England, then London, then the Barbican, then King Lear… the magnet redirected her then to Stratford, to Trinity Church, to Shakespeare’s grave. She cried there and I nearly did, but not because it was Shakespeare – because I was seeing Kate’s dreams arriving. Tomorrow we’ll be back in London to see the Globe, and I know her magnet is next set upon that.
Shakespeare has been for me a name I always knew but didn’t understand. I knew he was like God to literature, but I knew it like a Christian who has never read the Bible. I figured there was good stuff, I figured I would like it, but I took my time getting around to it. My Shakespeare pilgrimage has been a long corridor filled with doors, each of which have contained distractions along the way and each of which I have opened and enjoyed. I finally made it, but I never would have if Kate hadn’t been there to pull me out of each separate room and push me back into my corridor.
The same goes for the Globe. Today Jan, Rachel and I are going to see Stonehenge, Anjeanette and Kate are stopping by Oxford, and Joe is back to London. It’s nice to look out the window and contemplate. This is the first true autumn I’ve ever seen. I’ve never been to the east coast of the states and I’ve never seen anything like England in the fall. Most things are still green, but I can see beautiful oranges and yellows fading into brown, as well as the sudden red bursting out every so often.

5 November
I’m back in London, sitting on the chess-board tile floor of St. Paul’s fa?ade; it’s 3:45 and the bells are ringing. The sun sets early here and I can see the warm blue edge of sky just over the buildings and under the edge of cloud cover – of course, it’s not setting yet, but the atmosphere feels as though if would around 5 or 6 o’clock in Austin. The buzz of traffic over wet roads reverberates around this large, columned alcove I’m in and old trash floats around on the slow breezes that glide through. It’s been raining all day, but the skies are taking a break from their weeping, so the puddles near me are attempting to dry up before another downpour begins. The sun is sending a gold background to sit behind the dome of the Dome building across the street. Sunshine still refuses to break through the clouds, but it’s about to. I hope. It’s cold out here.
The odd tourist or two pokes their head up above the edge of the steps here every few moments. They make me a little nervous, even though I know they just want photographs. I’m watching Jan and Rachel’s stuff while they go to get a few souvenirs. I don’t know what exactly I could do if someone wanted to steal our stuff, but I guess it’s the principle of the thing.
Last night, after seeing Stonehenge and finding a place to stay at Matt and Tiggy’s, we went to see what turned out to be a very good band at a place called the Old Ale House. They played a great set, despite the lead singer’s cold (he kept coughing through his words). It was the first live contemporary music I’ve seen (heard?) since getting to Europe and it was fun.

[Branflakes]

So, is this a real journal (yours?) or a story. Either way, I enjoyed reading it.

[Branflakes]

*bump*