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Recent News... Just for Pope Gregory... |
2001-11-16 - 5:05 a.m. U.K. Day 1: Do you think that's where the Trojan people got the brand name? Checklists are good, especially when they are finished. Gen has the house under control and has promised to water the plants, feed the cat, bring in any packages that show up and to *not* take the cat for plastic surgery or any other mind altering treatments. So everything's under control on the home front. We even left the house in cleanish. Because I'm all about door-to-door service, we called for a taxi pickup. Ah, the luxury. No hassling friends or airport parking. Enter Chuck, our intrepid taxi driver, who was a quite the character - grew up on the Coast of North Carolina and has been driving taxi's for nearly twenty years. We took a wild ride to Dulles, and spent an hour with our new friend. He and I compared our grandmother's recipes for squirrel, talked about the Carolina indian tribes (There are 10 - go look it up), and where to get the best redeye gravy between Carolina and Virginia. (I tried to give him directions to the Homeplace near Blacksburg - which is near his uncle's by the way - but I couldn't remember the exit number.) He and Rob had a fascinating conversation about the evolution of the East Coast road system. Dulles - amazingly long lines as betokens a Friday evening with heightened security. The United check-in pulled the lady a couple in front of us so she could make her Mexico flight. So, about a dozen of us tagged along with our newfound friend (cause this trip is all about newfound friends) to the other queue where we all got to zip through the first class check-in. However, we lost our new friend and good luck charm in the security mob, so it took us an abhorrently long time to get through security. Instead we spent our time people watching - I give the best performance award to the gentleman we'll call 'Power-Business-Man' or 'Too Important to Be Slowed To by this line' or PBM for short. He was trying to talk on a cell phone, operate a laptop and move his luggage through the line all at the same time. And he was angry because this was a hard and frustrating thing to do, so he yelled at everyone, including his coworker who was trying to help by taking over his luggage and trying desperately not to crack up because PBM was making a massive fool of himself. We lost PBM in security, but he caught up with us on the terminal shuttle. He'd put away his laptop, but was still glued to his cell phone. Oh, you're kidding me - I'm sorry, George, I gotta take this other call. ... Hey, Cindy. Yeah - missed you in Boston and New York but maybe we can meet ... He has call waiting on his cell phone! No one is that important. Or if you are, hire a personal assistant. This next bit is the part of travel I hate -where the adventure pauses and the tedium begins. Wait for the boarding, wait to get settled, fight for carry-on storage space, remember why you *hate* coach cause the space is so tiny, remember that you never manage to sleep on planes. The food was actually good for airline food. I sat next to the man we'll call 'Pointy-Elbows' who alternately dozed and read terrorist leaflets from around the world. I'm guessing he was a journalist, but he wasn't inclined to chat. Six hours, 400 pages and one movie later - we make London. Enter our hero, Manjit - Beth's favorite taxi driver. He is, indeed, a prince among men. We make our way out of immigration and customs and there is a huge crowd of taxi drivers holding up signs. Like blinded deer we stop and scan the crowd and scan the crowd and ... wait, behind the lanky guy in the beige sweater - Manjit! Wonderful man - fun to chat with, he helped us find the ATM in the airport (ATM? Oh, you mean a cash machine). He even knew we were renting a car later that week, so he pointed out the evil cameras that will take your plate number and send the ticket back to the states. London is shorter and prettier than most U.S. cities. The outskirts are still four, five stories at best and it has the small town look even though it's a huge city. Manjit says the newer buildings are American glass and metal, and we all voted that was a bad move. Our prince among taximen took us straight to Beth's place, showed us the corner cafe that would feed us breakfast and escorted us to the bright green door to Beth's apartment (I mean flat). Kind roommate Michael let us in (Beth's away for the weekend teaching at Drachenwald University in Estonia) and showed us where we could crash. Curl up to doze, cause our bodies think it's 2:30 am ... rumbllleeeeee - Is that your stomach? No, it's the underground. Kind of soothing once I identified the noise. Zzzzzz.... When I retire, maybe I should take up taxi driving. You must meet the widest range of people. But maybe, my hobby has that covered. I really like the flat. It's cozy and airy all at once, higher ceilings than the U.S. is wont to provide, and the walls are this nifty metal painted embossed material. They have neighbor cat privileges so fluff without having the little boxes and Kristen (flatmate#3) drew us out a map to augment Beth's email notes - so we are empowered to find local Underground stations, groceries, post office and pubs. There's a lovely little garden out back and the Tooting neighborhood is rife with all sorts of handy shops. We napped until 11:30 local, before facing our new time zone and touring. Saturday afternoon in London - the Tube was quite easy to use - I just wish they'd call things the blue line or red line, but no, it's Central line, Victoria line, ... colors would be easier since the map is color coded. There aren't enough colors says Roland. Alright, I'll admit with the number of tube lines we'd have ochre and indigo, but women, especially Theo, organize by color, so we could handle it. The Tube station near the museum had a handy little snack shop, so we got pastries for a lunch like meal and sat down to nibble away - sat down right in the middle of the most aggressive flock of pigeons [Flying rats! curses Rob] it's ever been my misfortunate to meet. There were perched in the floor bed behind our head, wandering around our feet. And I made the catastrophic mistake of feeding them - oh badness - they would not leave us alone. At the point one of them was hovering in front of Rob's face ... that was just a little too Hitchcockian for me - Throw crumbs on the tracks and exit stage right. The Victoria and Albert (V&A) museum is a wonderful place to rummage about. The Medieval treasury is breathtaking - it continually stuns me the intricate carving work done in the earliest of times - ivory and wood with great detail. I found one of my favorite tournament caskets - scenes from the tournament in front of the castle of love. Fakes and forgeries, otherwise known as the Cast Court, is quite impressive. It's two huge rooms with copies of many famous things. Ancient basins, door lintels, sculpture pieces - all plaster copies. How convenient to have the effigies (or at least copies) of Henry I, Queen Beregenia, and William the Marshal all in one corner. Like wandering through a rummage sale of antiquities, you turn the corner from a Roman tomb and found a Gothic ceiling arch. There's a copy of the Trojan column, standing about 12 stories. I have NO concept how they made a plaster cast of this thing, but it's displayed in two pieces and it's about the most phallic thing I've ever seen in my life. I wonder if this is where the condom manufacturer got his inspiration? Rob: Well, he says, looking at the spiraling sculpture around the column it is ribbed for your pleasure We wandered slowly through the Italian art Somewhere in the sculpture gallery, I ran across the word 'plinth' and thought of Cuan - who stuck me with that word during pictionary. with a diversion to the upper level for a stop in the armory - cause I'm an armorer's wife and we stop at armor. Honey, can you stand here and block the glare on this case? No, still there, hmmm - can you make yourself wider? Just what every woman wants to hear. But I'm a good and patient armorer's wife. We ramble back downstairs and through the dress gallery which was not at all what I thought it'd be about. I remembered Laura telling me about the blackwork samples framed so you could take each frame out of the case for a closer look - surely these should be in or near the dresses? Nope - it was a wild exhibit about ridiculous female underwear - corsets and cages and hoops and even some strange crenoline stuffed with styrofoam. I bought postcards for Meng. We hit the Raphael gallery - tucked at the end is this amazing Altar piece about the martyrdom of St. George sponsored by the Confraternity of the Centinar de la Ploma, a 14th century group of Valencian archers who traditionally wore feathers in their helmet. They'd had feather archers painted into some of the altar scenes. Yes, I bought Kyna a postcard. Rob decides to run up to the Ironwork gallery while I rummage the books. But on the way I pass the information desk and decide, what the heck, to ask about the blackwork. The kind volunteer tells me there are five frames, so I decide to zip upstairs and take a quick peak before meeting Rob back as agreed. Big mistake. No one warned me (Laura!) about the textiles wing. Seductive, evil place. I walk in and there's some displays of quilting and other modern bits, but if you keep going there are medieval tapestries and period towels. Yes, perhaps pitiful being excited about period towels - but it's my diary. Gen, you know that portrait of St. Barbara? The one from the Cloisters in New York - the one that has her sitting on OUR BENCH? The flipback bench by the fire? In the background there's a blue and white towels on an iron hook over the basin. I found the towel. Linen, natural and indigo dyed, woven with gryphons and natural motifs. I want this towel. Next mistake, turning the corner to the textiles frames. Picture cases and cases of bookshelf like holders, each with pull out frames, each frame containing two to six samples of ancient textiles. Frames neatly labeled - want to see Egyptian fabric? Russian from the 900s? Roman? 15th century Italian silks - what region please? Bobbin lace, drawnwork, cutwork, and, yes, my blackwork. Even bigger mistake, noticing there are lovely chairs with stands and desks so you can prop up any frame of textile samples for closer examination. Oh I was very I've been looking for you for the past 45 minutes late meeting Rob. But I took him upstairs and showed him the textiles - which I don't think he much appreciated, but he does love me. God knows how late I would've been with Thjora, Laura or Gen there to encourage me. I did find some Italian silk bearing a striking resemblance to Kyna's cotehardie from Crown. And I found an entire frame of blue and white, 14th fleur-de-lys Italian silks and linens (Room 101, Frame E43, Gen - write that down.) We took the Tube back to Beth's. Kristen and Michael kindly joined us for dinner at a local pub (J.R. Moon's) which is apparently something of a chain pub but acceptable food. We took a table in back in the tiny non-smoking section, perused the menu, then trotted back up to the bar to order. (I'm not sure we'd've figured out that bit without native guides.) I always forget how smoky Europe is. In fact, non-smoking sections are very unusual and it seems over half the people smoke. Poor, sheltered Americans have to adjust for that. The English barflies were absolutely hilarious, like an Ab-Fab sketch. The non-smoking section was near the restrooms, always a good people watching seat. One couple stumbles back and direction is needed for success - No, Charley, turn in that one - the next is the women's room. A single man staggers back, stops, leans on our table and talks to Kristen going on and on about where the restroom is - which was funny since it was directly behind him. He finally left, after saying something uncomplimentary in a Cockney accent so thick you couldn't understand enough to be insulted. After dinner, we come back and I slip into my P.J. - which I'm going to admit up front (before Roland I think I'll take a picture of those pants in send it to Balynar brings it up) are a floppy navy blue shirt and blue plaid flannel pants. A pleasant hour is passed chatting with our wonderful ex-pat American 'native' guides, talking about British coins, royal scandals, and how the U.K. differs ever so slightly from the U.S, but ever so definitely from the U.S. I think the U.S./U.K. differences are like those 'parallel universe' sci-fi premises - where the heroes find themselves in a world eeriely like their own, but not quite the same. Rob just found a discarded pin on Beth's floor. Is there no end to his ability to find loose pins? � � � 
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