The British Museum

The British Museum is a fine establishment that excels in both organization and quality of pieces. Besides having completely free admission to the public, there are also guided tours which meet at designated areas free of charge. There are donation boxes everywhere, and it is interesting to see among the British pound notes and coins that there are also American Bills, Euros, and money from all over the world. I noticed some kind of Arabic bill with “50” written on it. Every piece has an informative paragraph; even large display cases with multiple pieces have them numbered to correspond with their descriptions. Rooms are arranged by locations, chronology and themes such as “Money” or “Time”.

It is interesting to note that this is the first place I have seen Braille. It also seems like the worst possible place to have a blind person stumble around looking for the name of an exhibit they cannot see. And don’t you think someone would be traveling with a fully-abled person who would tell them the name of what they are “looking” at?

One of the top exhibits in the British Museum exhibits are the Elgin Marbles, or Parthenon. The sheer amount of collected pieces is large enough to fill its own museum, but it finds a nice home in a nice wing that is probably one-tenth of the museum. The pieces were brought over by some bloke, Lord Elgin who may or may not have purchased and brought everything to London illegally. Either way, the British Museum wants to keep them, and Greece has been working hard to reclaim their treasures.

Walking into the western side of the museum on ground floor, you first pass an impressive-enough display of part of a temple of the godess Nereid. It had some short-lived wonder as you wander into the much bigger room that serves as a grand hallway with marble battle scenes along the walls taken from the Parthenon. Worn bits, rough bits, and surprisingly detailed and intact pieces depict grand scenes of war, worshipping, and common life. Each section is divided up into dozens of scene descriptions and explanations. Countless hours, manpower went in by artisans and storytellers to create awe-inspiring pieces. The most impressive to me were the pieces at the extreme ends of the exhibit – the west and east pediment. The pieces were grand sculptures rather than reliefs that depicted their own scenes.

The one that caught my eye the most was a horse’s head on the far right side of the east pediment. It is simply a horse’s head, and not the grand fighting figures of warriors and centaurs, but it conveys the same kind of grand power. It was designed to hang over the side of the pediment, and is displayed as such. In a room where various heads, limbs and entire sections are broken off, missing or were defaced somehow, it was refreshing to see a part in its entirety. The smooth marble is detailed enough to make the horse actually look as if it has veins, muscles and life. Its exhausted expression makes it seem as if it is still panting for breath after serving as one of the moon goddess’ chariot horses. There are a few bumps, craters and scars in the stone-white marble, but it unexpectedly adds a realness to both the piece and gives it an overall more historic value. If it were too neat and polished up, one would think it might be made of plastic. There are many more fantastic things to see and learn, but the Parthenon horse head was my favorite.

Streets of London Revised and Updated

Traveling is all about experiencing a different culture, country and way of life. It is easy enough to see the Eiffel Tower, Big Ben or the Statue of Liberty as monumental landmarks to remind you of your location, but it is actually the simpler, subtler differences that fully immerse a traveler. The complexity of the road system is fully mastered by almost any American by the age of seventeen, and it eventually becomes part of common sense. It takes a full ten minutes of driving or walking around London’s streets to snap the American mind into culture shock.

After spending over twelve hours in either an airport or airplane, I think everyone was clamoring to get his or her first glimpse of London on the bus ride to the hotel. First of all, I had to get used to the cars driving on the wrong side of the road, (which they seem to compensate by also having their steering wheels on the wrong side of the car). Vehicles in London are much more round, with oblong curves replacing a slightly sleeker look in America. Even the boxier of cars, like buses have distinct round edges. I am not really a car person (therefore cannot identify the makes and models of the vehicles), but I seemed to recognize plenty of BMW’s and a handful of Mercedes. There are some Audis, probably stemming from one of the largest Audi dealerships in the world being here. The colors on the cars reflect what seems to be a national color scheme of black, white, silver, and reds that are either candy-apple red or maroon. There really doesn’t seem to be as much variety of cars in London as there are in America, and there seems to be a regular pattern of the same three or four kinds of cars in the same three or four colors (or colours as they write it here). License plates appear to have random letters and numbers; there’s not a single vanity plate in sight. Front plates are white, and back plates are yellow.

Aboveground public transportation relies mostly on buses and taxis. Bright red public buses are numerous with planned routes and can be seen if you look in any direction. Some stop at designated and visibly marked areas while others must be flagged down. When loading, you simply swipe the handy “Oyster” card that is also accepted at London Underground, or “Tube” subway stations. Though there are cameras pointed at all areas of the bus, I noticed when getting on that some did not swipe at all. The interior of the bus is set up more like a subway car than a traditional bus, where some stand and hold on to rails. Tour busses are also understandably common, and remind you that London is a much bigger deal for tourists than say…Peoria. Busses also have their own lanes at the side of many roads, which are clearly marked with worn red paint and the words “Bus Lane”. The roads themselves are sometimes very thin, and it is a wonder sometimes how the buses make their turns so close to other traffickers and signposts.

Taxis are plain black round little cars that lack the obnoxious checkered sides and huge signs on the top. Instead, a small sign calmly announces that it is a taxicab with other signs on the side. I haven’t used one, but I admire the taxi-lanes by popular hotels, such as ours. Outside one of the main entrances, in the middle of the street (literally, the middle of the street, where traffic diverges around the taxi-lane) there is room for about five taxis.

Everywhere you go the place is littered with organized road signs. From helpful Tube stops, to the equally handy “Look Left” written on the streets, London makes it easier on tourists and locals alike, though it does look a bit cluttered sometimes. Many important sidewalk locations have sightseeing destinations marked in their directions. Rather than mark the distance, they are measured in minutes, as in “St. Paul’s Cathedral: 5 Minutes”. The one sign I haven’t seen yet are speed limit signs, but Jesse’s book, The Septic’s Companion says that there are understood national standards for certain types of areas (Rae, 29). For example, in town, it is 30mph. And yes, they use miles per hour for some reason. The reason there are no signs is probably because the speed limit system hasn’t changed since its 1965 inception (Rae, 29).

America’s buildings along the roads are overrun with billboards and advertisements. London’s primary form of advertising instead relies on the sides of the heavily prevalent and efficient bus system. Tall double-decker busses have plenty of space for showing off the latest play, movie, or business for a singular, attractive ad. Longer double-busses have much more horizontal space for their graphics. Tube stations also have plenty of large ads garnishing the hallways and platform. Someone walking around outside on ground level would not even know it is there. It is a refreshing change from home; If it weren’t for some of the most expensive stores in the world hiding overpriced fashion pieces on the inside of Victorian buildings, one would almost think that this is a decidedly less consumer-driven culture than ours.

Being in London, England so far has introduced me to fantastic sites, unique food and numerous other customs. I have been inside Parliament, St. Paul’s Cathedral, and some of the greatest museums and galleries in the world. To truly experience a unique location such as this, however, you really have to get out there in the streets. Not like, in a prostitute way, but you know what I mean. The English streets are a wonderful reminder that London is a vastly different place than my hometown Mokena, school in Peoria, and the nearest city of Chicago.

National Portrait Gallery

I went to the National Portrait Gallery today, not to be confused with the National Gallery. The NPG is specifically meant for portraits of royals, notable folk, and features the human face in all its forms. It is another free museum of good quality that makes a good 3-4 hours pass satisfyingly.

The entrance isn’t as grand as The National Gallery or British Museum, but the display rooms make up for it in an efficient and comfortable manner. Most rooms have simple open ceilings and plain walls to let the pieces speak for themselves. Many have color schemes and specific lighting to highlight certain kinds of paintings, eras, or preserve the paintings from harsh light. The first level had the recent results of a nation-wide photography contest. As a display said, nothing like a contest brings out the best in people. Black and white, stylistic, narratives, and gritty photographs were everywhere.

In one area, there was a room from a specific artist who did disturbingly chaotic pictures of some famous chap named George Melly, a performer and writer. The room had a collection of 6 or 7 scribbley pictures of this guy that turned out to look like the Joker with a hat. I was also drawn to another room with a red sculpture of a man’s head. It was encased in a glass thingamabobber and was unmarked. A thermometer displayed the temperature inside. I searched the room and found the description that told me it was Marc Quinn’s sculpture entitled “Self”. The red color of the head came from several pints of the artist’s blood that he poured into a plastic mold of his head. It was then frozen, so needs to be in a specific environment to keep it’s shape. I didn’t quite buy the explanation, which included the old cliché “fragility of life” for the meaning of the piece, and seemed to me to be self-indulgent while utilizing shock value. While looking through the most contemporary sections of the gallery, I was very amused to see a guy looking at the paintings with the classic little French artist hat and glasses.

The museum really was arranged well. A long, thin escalator took visitors up to the level with historic paintings of Kings and nobles through the ages. I didn’t expect to get such a history lesson out of this trip, but each numbered room went up in numerical and chronological order, featuring works of kings, lords, ladies and more. After a while the painted posed pictures pretty much blur together and look the same. There was a period when all the subjects grew fat. They eventually straightened themselves out, but the picture size seemed to increase dramatically for lords and ladies alike.

The NPG is a must for any history buff. Actually, it is a must for anyone who wants an illustrated picture book of England’s history for free.

Saving A Life

I attempted to save a life today. It is, however, unconfirmed as to whether or not I was successful. I was trudging back to the hotel in the light snowfall, happy to realize I no longer had Bob Dylan’s “Desolation Row” stuck in my head. I woke up thinking of the song for no apparent reason but wasn’t particularly bothered by it; I just didn’t think Bob Dylan belonged in London. Instead, a much more fitting Beatles tune, “Norwegian Wood” found a home in my subconscious. Humming the tune to myself, I walked through an open park, making one of only a few tracks in the recently accumulated white slush.

Looking around at the London skyline as much as possible, I almost dismissed a large group of birds on my right side in the grass. I’ve seen plenty of birds in America, and pigeons certainly were nothing special. But among the pigeons were two large, black birds - presumably crows. The pigeons were numerous and were going about their pecking as if they didn’t notice the others. I noticed, however, that one crow was making violent heaving motions on the ground. Spasming, the crow lurched up and down at random intervals, while the other crow looked on as if keeping guard.

I inched closer to confirm my suspicions and blinked the thick snow out of my eyelashes. The crow was indeed pecking, attacking, and killing a small pigeon under its feet. The pigeon, still alive, was constantly struggling but could do nothing against the might of the black bird. I resisted the sadistic urge to whip out the camera and tape it (mostly because I didn’t have a great view of the scene) and leapt forward onto the grass. The assumed grateful bird hobbled off in a flurry of newly red feathers. The stunned crow hesitated an extra moment before he too took off with his buddy in the direction of the wounded pigeon. I had and still have hope for that pigeon; if only because he had a head start on the other ones. I did snap a picture of blood-red snow mixed with downy feathers before I left...Is that weird?

Bathrooms

I’ve only been in two kinds of bathrooms so far within the hotel – my room, and the public lobby ones. There are a few noteworthy differences…

First off, the urinals in the lobby “loo” have urinal balls instead of urinal cakes. They come beaded in pairs and the two yellow balls are about half the size of ping-pong balls. They automatically flush here, but seem hyper-sensitive; they went off in sequence when I walked past the sinks about five feet away.

Those sinks were normal enough; a small, thin bar of pungent hotel soap was next to each basin. A handle with a thin metal arm stiffly adjusted the water temperature. The room sinks are a whole other story though – there are two faucets. One is dedicated to hot water and the other is for cold. The cold is much too freezing to use for washing hands, and the hot water scalds you if you keep it under for too long. It is awful difficult to alternate between the two – the drastic temperature changes seem much too extreme to switch between ice cold and near-boiling levels. It is possible to fill the sink with the rubber stopper, but there really should an easier way.

The toilets here are extremely powerful; it seems as if gallons of water forcefully flush away all remaining waste. The pressure and loud noise was startling at first. But the most startling sight of all turned out to be myself: reflected in a mirror above the toilet in the lobby stall. I understand that the stalls are not meant for a urinal treatment, but they were farther away, and I just happened to walk in… but still. I was watching myself pee. Why the mirror?! Why can’t someone using the bathroom just wait another three minutes before they wash their hands to look at their face? Unless of course…no one does wash their hands…

I plan on sampling other bathrooms, so will probably update this later...

Initial Observations

My first observations of London occurred on the journey from airport to the Royal National Hotel. I was in a bus, so I noticed how different the road system and streets particularly caught my eye.

First of all, I had to get used to the cars driving on the wrong side of the road, (which they seem to compensate by also having their steering wheels on the wrong side of the car). Vehicles in London are much more round, with oblong curves replacing a slightly sleeker look in America. Even the boxier of cars, like buses have distinct round edges. License plates appear to have random letters and numbers; there’s not a single vanity plate in sight. Front plates are white, and back plates are yellow.

Everywhere you go the place is littered with signs. From helpful Tube stops, to the equally handy “Look Left” written on the streets, London makes it easier on tourists and locals alike, though it does look a bit cluttered sometimes. The one sign I haven’t seen yet are speed limit signs, but Jesse’s book says that there are understood standards for certain types of areas. For example, in town, it is 30mph. And yes, they use miles per hour for some reason.

America’s buildings along the roads are overrun with billboards and advertisements. London’s primary form of advertising relies on the sides of the heavily prevalent and efficient bus system. Tall double-decker busses have plenty of space for showing off the latest play, movie, or business for a singular, attractive ad. Longer double-busses have much more horizontal space for their graphics. It is a refreshing change from home; If it weren’t for some of the most expensive stores in the world hiding overpriced fashion pieces on the inside of Victorian buildings, one would almost think that this is a decidedly less consumer-driven culture than ours. It’s also refreshing, so that the buildings are able to shine on their own.

The architecture of the buildings are amazing here, and are what really make up London’s charm. I would say that most of the older buildings look dirty (like many in Chicago); but it isn’t as simple as that. They are all weathered, worn, and historic. Ivy climbs up some of the countryside homes, while old roman-columned buildings are anything but new and pristine. I’m sure I will write more about the architecture as the trip goes on.

Early morning London saw the classic hazy-blue filter of Hollywood movies, but the warm sun poked out later in the day, making me regret the lack of sunglasses. When I saw warm sun, I mean it – it was a welcome feeling in this cold city. A deep cold that layers can only prevent for so long prevents this from being the perfect tourist destination. People on even the most moderate of budgets can appreciate the beautiful sights of the city for free. In this town, it seems as if everyone is a tourist. Much more so than Chicago, it seems as if only 1 in 6 actually live here.

Departing Flight To London

Every good trip begins with a good experience at the airport and airplane. I was dropped off at O’Hare almost 4 hours early, to compensate for my lack of caucasionality and last name of “Smith”. But it turned out to be a piece of cake – got a regular boarding pass without needing to go through the usual special security, and got through to my gate in less than a half hour. It was a bummer because then I had a lot of time to kill, and the iPod wasn’t getting WiFi.

Jesse came soon enough, then we took off exploring the airport terminal. Nothing really exciting happened, except we noticed that there were no Cinnabon’s around which was very weird. If there is one thing you can usually count on at an airport, it’s the cinnamon-y aroma pumped in the air by fresh-baked rolls. We got McDonalds, then boarded the plane. The plane wound up taking off 45 minutes late, but it was comfortable enough, and there were plenty of new things to discover on international flights as opposed to domestic.

Besides obviously being a much bigger plane, our Boeing 777 had touch-television screens in the back headrest of every seat with a remote that controlled movies, TV shows, games, music and up-to-date flight stats like altitude and speed. I played Tetris, Battleship, and a Pac-Man ripoff. I watched 4 episodes of The Office, and the movie Cloudy With A Chance Of Meatballs. Each seat had a nice little prize basket of a tiny hypo-allergenic pillow, hard plastic earbuds, and a Snuggie-quality blanket. I slept for about a half hour while listening to Bob Dylan and The Decemberists, and then gave up sleeping on the plane.

I don’t think I ever had a complete meal on an airplane – and I have to say I was impressed with just how complete it was. The options were beef and mashed potatoes, or rice and chicken. I got the chicken, which had some kind of mushroom sauce and vegetables mixed with the rice and everything. It was hot, but it all tasted the same when mixed together. There was also a small salad with dressing and it had a surprisingly ripe and delicious tomato in it. There was a cold, not-too-tough roll with butter and a wedge of soft swiss cheese and crackers. The desert was actually a very good piece of dense, vanilla/white chocolate cake. Breakfast was a disappointment, a croissant, a packet of jam and butter (did they expect me to put them both on the croissant?) strawberry yogurt and a cup of sour orange juice. I asked for tea with milk and sugar. The yogurt was the only good part. The airplane was enjoyable, though I can’t say I look forward to the trip back home, since that signifies the end of London.