Day 21: Please Take Care Of This Bear

  At Paddington Station there is a bronze statue in honor of the area's most famous resident. Paddinton Bear has barely a moment's rest from all of the children climbing on him, and posing for pictures with him. His nose has been rubbed by their little hands so often it shines like a well used door knob. Sylvia says it gives him the appearance of a pig. Greg thinks it's more like a weasel. Whatever the case I took a moment to snap a picture of him on his suitcase as we sat beside him with ours on the last morning in London.

  The day was a grueling one. Even in business class I found it impossible to sleep on an airplane. After a nine hour flight we had a six hour lay-over in Seattle. It was bad planning on our part, but I was too tired to hear Greg repeat it ad nauseam. I hadn't traveled from Darkest Peru like Paddington, but I was starting to feel very bear-ish. I trudged around Sea-Tac swilling coffee and browsing at weird airport stores until our flight finally departed. We had been awake for 24 hours by the time we finally crawled between the sheets of our very own bed. It was 12:30 a.m., and even though our bodies felt like it was 7 a.m. we fell to sleep as soon as our heads hit the pillow.

Day 20: Wicked

  This morning was dedicated mostly to running about town and grabbing a few souvenirs that had caught my eye. I haven't had as much of a shopping bug as I thought I would this trip, but I had decided there were a number of things that I actually did need after all. After nearly a month here I really feel like I know how to get around. Criss-crossing the city to patronize museum gift shops barely took a morning. Unexpectedly ending up with some time to spare I spent a couple of hours wandering around Notting Hill, and poking around antique shops on Portobello Road. Too soon I realized I couldn't postpone the inevitable, and headed back to Paddington to do laundry and begin packing.

 The anticlimactic mood was threatening to take over the rest of my vacation, but luckily we had planned dinner and a show for our final evening. So, after a afternoon nap and quick shower I joined the rest of the party in an early meal of Dim Sum. Full of delicious Chinese dumplings and tea we leisurely made our way to the theater where tonight we would be taking in the London production of Wicked. This musical retelling of L. Frank Baum's classic American fairy tale The Wizard of Oz features the Wicked Witch of the West as the protagonist. This musical clearly had the biggest budget of any performance I have seen here, and the incredible sets and costuming beautifully enhanced a wonderful score and book.
  The most astounding event of the evening, however, was a conversation with an older couple seated next to Sylvia and Steve. The gentleman on hearing our American accents inquired where we were from. We all smiled at the coincidence when we realised they were fellow Washingtonians, and they would be returning on the same flight as us the next day. But wait, here's where it gets really weird. They had also been on the very same flight to London three weeks earlier. We traded horror stories about the delayed flight, and marveled at the fluke that we would all happen to choose seats side by side at Wicked on our last evening in London. 'What were the odds?' we all wondered.

  The chance meeting with the husband and wife ran through my head as I lay in bed that night. The familiar accent and cadence of their speech had resonated in my mind. Tomorrow we would be winging our way back over the pond. Waiting for us was all our family,  friends, two dogs, a cat, and a little bungalow on Franklin Street.  As I fell asleep I saw ruby slippers clicking and heard a voice repeating 'There's no place like home. There's no place like home. There's no place like........'



Day 19: Tea At Buckingham Palace

Today I had tea with the Queen at Buckingham Palace. True, the tea was from paper cups and the queen was Greg, but it was marvelous none the less. As we sat on the terrace sipping our hot tea and nibbling scones with berries and clotted cream we discussed the grandeur of the Palace's State Rooms which we had just toured. The enormous scale actually tempered the baroque opulence the palace was adorned with. The resulting effect was one of exquisite taste as opposed to tacky excess. I suspect the rooms were not only meant to impress, but also intimidate visitors. After all, as the audio guide had said, this is where Queen Elizabeth lives and works. It made me smile to think I had just spent the morning poking around her Majesty's home office. 

  After finishing our snack we left the cafe, and made our way past the restrooms and gift shop to the southern garden path. All three of the structures are completely portable, and once the queen returns from her annual holiday they will stowed away. We followed the path as it snaked through autumn-kissed trees and around ponds that reflected the palace on their dark surface. Eventually we found our feet once more on the city streets outside the palace grounds, and we returned to the east front.

  The area had been too packed with tourists waiting for the changing of the guard to get a good look at the palace on our last stop there. We had walked right past the throngs to stand in an almost nonexistent queue that morning. Now we could properly admire the building's main entrance. The beautiful fountain that sits in the mall provided fertile ground for my camera lens. The best of the shots are available on my Flickr page.

Day 18: Off With Their Heads!

  Today the four of us piled into a black taxi to visit the Tower of London, or Her Majesty's Royal Palace and Fortress as it is officially named. The Tower was originally a royal residence, but has served variously as an armoury, a treasury, the home of the Royal Mint, a public records office, and is currently the Queen's private safety deposit box containing the Crown Jewels. The famous Crown Jewels seem to be what everyone talks about, and they are amazing. What fascinated me though was it's history as a prison and execution site.

  Not as many prisoners as you might think were executed within the Tower's walls. Most were marched up to Tower Hill to meet their fate before the masses. A lucky few were afforded the privilege of having their sentence carried out with an audience of peers. Noble and aristocratic audiences were much less likely to jeer or throw rotten food at someone of similar standing, even if the culprit was disgraced. If you were especially lucky the executioner had a good eye and a sharp axe, or better yet a sword as in the case of Anne Boleyn. Some not as fortunate required more than one try before finally being dispatched. Margaret Pole holds the record at twelve. All in all, ten people met their ends on the Tower Green.

  Near the Chapel Royal where the unfortunate souls were laid to rest with the commoners who had worked, lived, and died in this keep lies a memorial for them. Comprised of two engraved circles with a glass-sculpted pillow at its centre, the larger circle of dark stone bears a poem - written by the artist - around its rim,  'Gentle visitor pause awhile : where you stand death cut away the light of many days : here jewelled names were broken from the vivid thread of life : may they rest in peace while we walk the generations around their strife and courage : under there restless skies.' The upper glass circle bears the engraved names of the ten famous and not so famous individuals executed there: William, Lord Hastings 1483, Queen Anne Boleyn 1536, Margaret, Countess of Salisbury 1541, Jane Viscountess Rochford 1542, Queen Katherine Howard 1542, Lady Jane Grey 1554, Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex 1601, Highlander Farquhar Shaw 19 July 1743, Highlander Samuel Macpherson 19 July 1743, Highlander Malcolm Macpherson 19 July 1743.

Day 18 Photostream

Day 17: Queen of the Desert

  For almost one hundred years the sun never set on the British empire. Despite the loss of the thirteen colonies that became the United States, England's territories on virtually every continent kept some part of the kingdom in daylight for most of the nineteenth century. At it's height this small island country ruled the largest empire in history, and the spoils of it's dominion fill the halls of the British Museum. Sarcophagi and their mummified contents once stowed safely away in Egyptian tombs now lie encased in glass for all to see. The marble remains of the Parthenon which once lay upon a hillside overlooking Athens are now carefully reconstructed in an enormous gallery. These and many more magnificent and wondrous treasures are available for consideration to anyone who enters one of the worlds most amazing museums.

  Today I steeped myself in it's beautiful antiquity: ancient pottery and armor, sculpture carved in every manner of stone, drawings straight from the hands of Raphael, Michelangelo, and Degas, and the Rosetta Stone were all examined in turn. So it was a little surprising that, despite all the amazing things I saw, I left feeling a little small and sad. All those objects seemed to be desperate attempts to escape mortality, and the sheer age of them was a reminder of how fleeting life is. I needed something to lift my mood. Luckily Greg had procured two tickets to tonight's production of Priscilla Queen of the Desert.

  The theater where Priscilla is performed is smaller than my old high school auditorium. Two levels of box seat form concentric circles above the main floor stalls. The fronts of the boxes are elaborately carved wood panels complete with cherubs whose arms stretch out over the audience. For the current show little mirror balls have been hung from their chubby fists. Looking up from our seats the effect was a host of angels welcoming you to disco heaven. There's nothing like watching a bunch of men dressed in women's clothing lip syncing Gloria Gaynor and Donna Summer songs for two hours to give your spirits a boost. The show was a campy, over the top production complete with a neon pink bus, showstopping musical numbers, and confetti explosions. We give it two snaps up.

Day 17 Photostream

Day 16: Au Revoire

Today was spent lazily wandering the Marais and shopping. Clouds moved back in, and merchants returned to their posts smoking cigarettes in the doorways of their shops. We collected a few souvenirs for friends, and a few articles of clothing for ourselves. Greg tried on a handsome grey cowl necked sweater and a pair of slate colored pants that fit like a glove. "We'll think about it." We said as we left. "Don't think too long." the couturier replied with a knowing smile "When it's right, it's right." Boy, has he got Greg pegged I thought to myself. Sure enough half a block away Greg doubled back to purchase the whole ensemble. A bag containing a beautiful purple paisley scarf  that caught my eye soon dangled next to Greg's.

   Suddenly, a flash of lightning lit up the afternoon sky interrupting our shopping reverie. As thunder rolled through the humid air and large raindrops began to fall we dashed into a little cafe for lunch. Sitting under the awning and watching the rain fall we amused ourselves with fantasies of selling all our worldly belongings and moving to Paris. By the time we had worked out most of the totally unrealistic details the sun had returned, and lunch was finished.

   With heavy hearts we finally began walking back to the hotel to retrieve our bag and return to the bus station. A depressing silence descended, and in an effort to lighten the mood I turned to Greg and quipped, "Well at least now whenever things get really bad we can tell each other 'We'll always have Paris.'"

Day 15: C'est Si Bon

  Today, the twenty-second day of September 2010, the planets aligned, and the  heavens conspired to create a singularly perfect day in Paris. Climbing the 300 steps to the top of Sacre Coeur this morning I was already beginning to feel the heat that would eventually reach a record breaking 77 F. On reaching the pinnacle of the church that sits atop Montmartre a sweeping view of  Paris spread out before me under a cloudless blue sky. I felt a little thrill just like the kind that sometimes accompanies a first kiss, and I realised I had crossed a line. This was no mere crush. I was falling hard for a city I barely knew and like a suitor with plenty of practice, Paris laid on the charm.

   We strolled in the shade of the elm-lined boulevards, and observed a city teaming with residents enjoying the unseasonably warm weather. The breeze that would occasionally cool us, and make the gold-tinged leaves dance held no scent of autumn. More than one shop we passed was dark without any sign or scribbled note left as explanation. Do they ever work? I wondered. I could hardly blame them, though. On such a lovely day who wouldn't steal away for an extra long lunch? In fact, the cafes and bistros seemed to be the only places you could reliably expect to find open for business. I spent time myself that afternoon eating a croque monsieur and sipping coke from a cold glass bottle at a little cafe in the shadow of Notre Dame before joining Greg at the hotel to freshen up for evening on the town.

  We arrived at the Eiffel Tower just as the sun was setting, and stayed long enough to watch the lights appear. Then we were off to the nearby boat launch for a nighttime cruise on the Seine. The first harvest moon to rise on the autumnal equinox in almost twenty years glowed brightly in the sky. It's silvery light revealed river banks filled with groups of people drinking wine and couples walking hand in hand. No sappy sentimental movie could even come close to the romantic perfection we had experienced that day. But the evening wasn't quite over.

  On disembarking the riverboat we realized we hadn't really figured out how we were going to get back to our hotel. The tour bus we had been using as transportation about the city had long since quit its rounds, and the thought of trying to communicate with a French taxi driver was intimidating. After a brief discussion we decided to walk back, and stop for dinner near our hotel. So we walked, and walked, and walked. Realising we had severely misjudged the distance to the Marais we were still a little surprised to find when we arrived all of the restaurants had stopped serving food. In desperation we forced our rubbery legs on to a street were I was sure I had seen a McDonald's.

  Luckily, or so we thought, we passed an Alsatian restaurant that was still open. "Order quickly." the waiter advised, "The kitchen is about to close." We both ordered the house specialty figuring that was a safe bet. Our stomachs growled as we waited impatiently for our meal. When the steaming platter arrived our eyes widened in surprise. The huge mound of sauerkraut was topped by various sausages including a hot dog, ham, what looked like a chunk of boiled bacon, and two pig knuckles.

  Greg's eyes rose from the plate to meet mine. "Dibs on the ham." he said.

 Day 15 Photostream

Day 14: Bon Jour Paris

It was still so dark when we departed that the popping of my ears was the only sign we had entered the Chunnel. Only after emerging and racing across the French countryside for a bit did a rolling pastoral patchwork of fields slowly appear in the morning light. Thin wefts of mist lay in the hollows, and occasionally a farm or church would flash past. Then suddenly the bucolic landscape became city, and we were pulling in to Gare du Nord station. We had arrived in Paris.


  As we shouldered our bags and headed toward our hotel Greg started quizzing me about the Marais district where it was situated. He gave me a dubious look when I told him that the Marais was home to the Parisian gay neighborhood. I had to admit the street we were trudging down looked a little run down and sad, but I was reserving judgement until we were able to see a bit more of the city. We almost missed our hotel the Hotel Jardin du Marais which was actually a collection of buildings situated around a narrow courtyard. The room was tiny (of course) but nicely decorated. We quickly stashed our bag, and grabbed breakfast, or petit déjeuner, and began our Parisian adventure in earnest.


 Wandering through narrow streets toward Notre Dame we had the happy realization that our hotel was indeed located on the northern edge of the city's gayborhood. We made our way down it's narrow streets filled with men's clothing stores, grooming boutiques, and sidewalk cafes filled with handsome and stylish men; eventually finding ourselves on the bank of  the Seine. A bridge took us to the small island, Île Saint-Louis, and then another bridge led us to the larger Île de la Cité where Notre Dame sits. We slowly walked around the gothic wonder joining the other tourists in the plaza situated in front of the cathedral.

  Greg noticed that a tour bus company had it's main hub at the end of the plaza, and proposed that we get a two day pass to use as our transportation around the city. This turned out to be a brilliant idea. As the temperature steadily climbed to the high 70's we rode comfortably around the city enjoying the sights, and hopping off occasionally to get a closer look.  We made our way by the Louvre and Tulleries, and then up Champs-Elysees to the Arc de Triomphe. After circling around the Arc we headed back toward the Seine past the Tracadero and finally the Eiffel tower where we lingered to take in the massive structure.

  For a beautiful afternoon the lines to Tour Eiffel were unexpectedly short, and we took advantage of this opportunity. As I waited on the second platform for Greg to return from the top I amused myself by imagining an allegorical painting like those I had recently seen in British museums. In this painting London and Paris are depicted in human form having a mid-day meal. London is a prim and stately beauty sipping tea with a outstretched finger. Her head is cocked and eyebrow slightly raised in disapproval of her dining companion. Paris is a swarthy lothario slouching in his chair. He stares seductively over his glass of wine not at London, but at the painting's observer.



Day 14 Photostream

Day 13: A&C at the V&A

 Today we whiled away the hours wandering the galleries of the world's largest museum of decorative arts and design, The Victoria and Albert Museum . The V&A houses a permanent collection of over 4.5 million objects contained in 145 galleries covering 12.5 acres. 5,000 years of art from the cultures of Europe, North America, Asia and North Africa are represented in virtually every medium. For a person who loves design this cornucopia is a font of inspiration. We passed droves of students intently working on large sketch pads. The sheer volume of art made it impossible to take in everything, so I focused on what I love the most.

 After browsing the galleries of fashion, and sculpture I lingered in the European galleries from ancient Rome to modern day. Taking my time through the areas devoted to the Arts and Crafts movement. Who knows why particular people are drawn to certain design aesthetics, but for some reason this form has always appealed to me. I especially like the work of William Morris, one of the pioneers of the movement, who is credited with the quote  "If you want a golden rule that will fit everything, this is it: Have nothing in your houses that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful." His wallpaper and textile designs have an wonderful sense of movement and balance, and I purchased a slim volume of his patterns from the museum store before leaving.

  I would be remiss if I did not also make a special mention on The Cast Courts, two enormous halls that house the Museum's most important plaster cast and electrotype reproductions. These faithful copies were taken from works of art or architectural
details throughout Europe during the nineteenth century, when the collecting of such casts was at its most popular. Commissioned or purchased by the museum these reproductions allowed people who could not travel abroad to admire some of the major European monuments and works of art. To see my photos of these visit my Day 13 Photostream.

Day 12: Snatch

  The Spanish woman behind me was crying, and I have to say I couldn't really blame her. I didn't understand a word her husband was speaking, but his tone was reproachful. The owner of the establishment broke away from his phone conversation saying loudly "The police are on their way!"

  The woman and her husband had entered the Greek restaraunt a few mintes after Steve, Greg, and I. The owner stepped foward to greet, then shut the door behind them. We rehashed the days events while she and her husband ordered. Another patron entered with music blaring so loud on his ipod that I looked up to see the young man recieve the same treatment as we and the Spanish couple had. The owner brusquely shutting the door behind the young man, and seating him after he requested a table for four.

  All that transpired after was related to me by Greg, who had a direct view of the events. The young man changed seats so that his back was to the couple, presumably so that he could look out the front window to check on the arrival of the rest of his party. After a few minutes of waiting he got up and left. The owner went to shut the door tight, and saw something that alarmed him. He turned to the Spanish pair and said loudly in his thick Greek accent, "You loose something? You loose bag?" The woman stared blankly at the empty seat next to her where her purse had been moments before.

  Now we sat and watched as the dark side of travel was revealed. I thought to myself this looks like a good time for a change of scene. Maybe Paris?

Day 11: Greenhouses

  Today Sylvia awoke with the cold I had finally rid myself of after three days. My thoughts cycled through sympathy and guilt. Today was going to be a nice day, and we had planned an excursion to the Royal Botanical Gardens at the Kew Palace grounds. I knew Sylvia wanted to go herself, but in the end it was just the three of us guys. I was determined to be her eyes on this day trip. "Take lots of pictures." she hoarsely requested, "I like close-up shots, and take some extra batteries." I did my best to deliver.

  One transfer and a thirty minute train ride later we arrived at Kew Gardens. The grounds are beautiful, but the true stars of Kew are the enormous greenhouses filled with plants brought back by English explorers through the ages. Specimens from all over the world fill the structures almost to bursting. Some plants have been there so long they tower above, scraping the domed ceiling. Tropical, temperate, and desert climates are all represented. Sometimes you might catch sight of some interesting fauna as well. An iridescent green iguana lurking by a pond, or brightly colored butterflies circling overhead.

  As you can imagine all that walking left us parched and hungry. Luckily we found a charming cafe by the station. I have to say The Kiwi Greenhouse served us one of the better meals we have had here. The delicious food came with a huge pot of tea. We dove in rolling our eyes and making sounds that were embarrassingly close to orgasmic moans. We tempted each other with tastes of our dishes. After we scraped our plates clean we each ordered a treat from the desert case that had been seducing us from across the room. Tired, but completely satiated, we boarded the return train with a camera full of pictures and bellies full of yummy goodness.

 

  .

Day 11 Photostream

Day 10: Gently Down The Stream

  The weather forecasts for England seem to be more of a guess than a prediction based in any kind of science, but because the weather was supposed to be fair we decided to spend as much of the day as we could outside. First stop Hyde Park where our dear friend Jenny specifically asked us to visit the Lady Diana Memorial. The place is enormous and after a rendezvous with Steve and Sylvia in front of Kensington Palace we lost them before we reached the memorial sight. Shoot! I was feeling so much better today and had a anxious feeling that my illness had burnt up a nice chunk of my vacation. We barreled on. Through the park we marched snapping photos, and taking in the sights. The Albert Memorial, the Queen's Temple, and the Peter Pan Statue. We walked along the Serpentine and paused to walk among the fountains of the Italian Garden. After a couple of tries to reach our travel companions, we made the decision to head to Little Venice for the last boat tour of London's Canal system.

 On the way we stopped by James Smith & Sons Ltd. a shop specializing in umbrellas and walking sticks. In operation since 1830, this shop carries not only factory made models but umbrellas made in the basement workshop downstairs. Greg and I found a Smith & Sons umbrella that doubles as a walking stick. A young salesman who was smaller than Greg (if you can believe it) and had wavy hair shot through with grey waited on us. He measured us to determine the correct height, and showed us the ins and outs of properly opening, closing, rolling, and storing their umbrellas. I think we may have found our English shopping splurge. A classic black bumbershoot hand made in London and oozing British civility. $$$

  On to the boat tour, but not before a nice panini at an old canal boat that had been converted into a cafe. With our stomachs full we boarded our vessel, Jason, for a forty-five minute drift through the heart of London. Colorfully painted boats rocked in their moorings along the waterway as we lazily made our way past restaurants and mansions. Through Regent's park and the London Zoo we floated. At one point catching sight of an elusive wild boar lurking in the bushes. Our little journey ended at Camden lock.

  After disembarking we grabbed a coffee and wandered the funky Camden market. Edgy young Londoners crowded the streets, and lounged in the ubiquitous tattoo parlors. The energy and spirit was invigorating, but it didn't take us long to figure out we were about twenty years too old for the scene. So back to our flat we retired.  

Day 10 Photostream

Day 9: Your Loving Arms

 Yesterday I was the queen of denial. I'm not really sick sick I told myself. I just have a little flu bug. Today my 'little' flu bug said "Oh no you didn't. You're my bitch now!" I literally slept all day; getting up only to imbibe hot flu medicine and shovel a little sustenance into my mouth. Around three o'clock I was finally feeling well enough to get up and shower. I joined Stylvia and Greg at our local pub the Sawyer's Arms for dinner.

  The Sawyer's Arms looks just like a pub should. Situated on a corner, one side has picnic tables lining the wall. After five these are always occupied with customers, others line the sidewalk finding a perch for their drinks on the wooden kegs placed on either side of the door, or the deep window ledges on the other side of the building. The bottom floor is strictly standing room only. So, if you are there for a meal like we were, you head upstairs where it's a little quieter and they have real tables. Unfortunately the bartenders upstairs are a couple of French women with thick accents, and the kitchen is in the basement. It is a struggle to get what you want, but the atmosphere and food make it worth the challenge.

  I was dying to try the beef and Ruddles Ale pie. The first time we ate at the pub I ordered the fish and chips, and spent the meal coveting the pies that Steve and Greg had ordered. The hearty beef pie came with carrots,  peas, mash, and a pitcher o' gravy. Yum. It was just what I needed. After dinner Steve tried to convince me the perfect aperitif would be a glass of hot whisky with lemon. He was convinced it would soothe my throat, and help me to sleep. The trouble was trying to explain what we wanted to the bartender. After five minutes of unproductive description, I decided I was just fine with pomegranate tea.

Day 8: Prime Meridian

  This morning the sun rose in a beautiful cloudless blue September sky. We all agreed it seemed a perfect day for a cruise up the Thames to Grenwich. After a good rest, and bolstered by the lemon flu medicine that Stylvia (Steve and Sylvia) had brought back the previous afternoon I was ready to get out into the day. As soon as I stepped outside I was glad I had dressed in layers. The cool autumn air nipped at my fingers and toes, and caused my nose to start dripping and burning. By the time we arrived at the river boat I had abandoned any thought of sitting on the upper deck to take pictures. The thought of exposing myself to the wind whipping down the river's surface seemed foolhardy. Maybe the clouds that had rolled in would dissapate before our return.

  By the time we arrived at Grenwich the clouds had formed a solid grey mantle that covered the sky from horizon to horizon. As Greg and I climbed the hill to survey the observatory the cool wind whipped across it's face. We toured the sight taking in the view, buildings, and planetarium. I looked through a spyglass with one foot on either side of the prime meridian. All the while sneezing at regular intervals. I sneezed as we walked back down the hill. I sneezed as we viewed the nautical paintings in the Queens House. I sneezed as we looked at the toy boat exhibition at the National Maritime Museum. Sniffle sniffle. Old Royal Naval College... ..Ah-choo..You get the drift.

  On the ride back I figured, What the hell? As long as I already feel bad I might as well get some good shots from the river. My fingers felt a little numb, my head a little thick as we docked, but I got some great shots. Some good Lebanese food, and some more lemon flu stuff (which I was begining to like a little too much) and I was off to bed.

Day 8 Photostream

Day 7: A Day of Rest

  It started as a tickle in the back of my throat yesterday. As I wandered the rooms of the National Gallery I tried to ignore the growing discomfort. It's just at\ little dry spot I told myself. I just need some hot tea. By this morning I couldn't deny it any longer: I have a cold.

  All I really wanted to do was lay around in my p.j.s all day, but the cleaning lady was coming, so we had to vacate the flat by nine o'clock. Greg and I trudged up and down Bond street until I figured she had finished, and then I headed back to the flat. There I spent the rest of the day napping and catching up on laundry.

Day 6: The Golden Apple

  Today was spent almost entirely in the National Gallery appreciating art, and listening to opera on my ipod. The beauty of these paintings can hardly be described in words. I only made it halfway through, and found myself spending most of my time in the 16th and 17th Century. It was interesting how popular particular subjects were. There were quite a few examples depicting the The Judgement of Paris, the story that inspired the name of my other blog, The Golden Apple. A note card by one of the pieces asserted that it was probably so popular because it gave the artist an opportunity to paint three female nudes......That seems a little creepy to me. I prefer to think they appreciated the myth and allegory.


 In this story from Greek mythology Zeus is preparing a wedding banquet for Peleus and Thetis and does not invite Eris. In revenge, she creates an apple of pure gold, inscribes it "To The Fairest," and rolls it into the hall during the banquet. Athena, Hera and Aphrodite each claims it, and Zeus orders that someone be found to settle the issue. Paris is chosen due to the virtue of being the handsomest man in the world. The result is a mythological beauty contest. Hera promises him greatness, Athena warlike prowess and Aphrodite the love of the most beautiful woman in the world. In the end Aphrodite gets the apple, Paris gets Helen, and the world gets the Trojan War and a line of condoms.

  By the end of the day I rushed through the rest of the gallery, but was stopped in my tracks by a rendering of the execution of Lady Jane Grey. She reluctantly became queen of England and ruled for nine days before being executed at the age of seventeen by supporters of Queen Mary. It was enormous, and depicted a tragic event with luminous beauty. Wow.

 

Day 6 Photostream

Day 5: A River Runs Through It

  The Thames winds it's way through the heart of London. This amazing city would not exist but for the life's blood of commerce it has provided. To honor its importance, the Mayor holds a celebration on the banks each November. A fair with crafts, food, and live music that is popular and well attended by tourists and locals alike. Into this swirling eddy of humanity we threw ourselves today.

  Any imagined renaissance-style street fair quickly faded from my mind as I realised these things are pretty much the same the world over. The Thames River Festival felt a lot like a street fair in Bellingham minus the faint smell of patchouli, and people hippy dancing to the line music. What Bellingham doesn't have is the amazing sites of Tower Bridge, Big Ben, and the London Eye. All of which I tried to soak in while negotiating the crowd, and avoiding the baby strollers that seemed to be constantly running over my toes and scraping my heels.

  The mothers that operated the little vehicles seemed perfectly comfortable with using them as battering rams to clear a path through the crowd. But why me? Perhaps they were just choosing what they thought was the path of least resistance. I have a friendly face, and they assumed (correctly) that I wouldn't make a fuss. They were women with helpless children, for goodness sake, who would make a scene over a little barked shin? My sister seemed not to have a problem, but I suppose even in this lawless river of people the cane she used for her arthritis trumped their prams.

  We finally escaped the crush of the crowd, and I departed from my companions to spent the rest of the day wandering through the streets of Westminster, and down Strand Street on what Rick Steves calls the city walk. I strayed down side streets taking pictures, and exploring places that had whizzed by as we took our bus tour. Eventually I found myself back at Temple station looking once again at the river, before catching the tube back.

Day 5 Photostream

Day 4: Mind the Gap

  "Mind the gap."

  The warning that had become a familiar sound broke my reverie. I had been distracting myself by recounting the days events in my mind. Now that I had been so cruelly interrupted, however; I was all too aware of my surroundings. Even on a mild September evening the London tube felt like a boiler room. Sweat was trickling down my back, and I was sure my hair was sticking straight up like some deranged cockatoo. As I waited impatiently for the next train I returned to my musings.

  Sylvia and Steve had decided to stay home, and so it seemed the perfect opportunity for Greg and I to spend some quality time together. In short we got our shop on. First stop: Harrods, the shopping monolith. Yeah, you know it was way too expensive, but tons of super yummy designer clothes and shoes. We divined some trends right off the bat: fur, plaid, and old English hunting togs rebooted. We carefully made mental notes, and spent the rest of the day shopping on Regent's street for less pricey alternatives. We made a pact to pass any store that sold clothing we could get State-side. No Hilfiger, no Guess, and definitely no Gap. We didn't buy any thing that day, but you can bet our bags will be heavier when we return home.

  After returning to Paddington and conferring with our traveling companions we all went to dinner at The Gay Hussar, a Hungarian restaurant that has been in operation since 1953. It is a really small establishment with just enough room for a row of tables on either side of a runway for the waiter. On one side of the restaurant caricatures of famous politicians who have dined there hang above dark coffered wainscoting. On the other side mirrors reflect their images. It is a nice white tablecloth restaurant that serves the kind of delicious food my imaginary Hungarian grandmama used to make. Both Steve and I had the wild cherry soup as a starter and, as our eyes met, we both knew we were all in for a treat. Yummy dishes with flavors of dill and paprika. Can you tell I loved it? We will most likely return again before our holiday is over.

  After all that food Greg and I decided it would be nice to take a stroll around Soho. The evening in London's gay district had a Mardi Gras atmosphere. Music blared from overflowing clubs and pubs as we walked down streets filled with boozy British revelers. One venture inside a gay pub quickly convinced us that, even if we liked being packed into a bar like sardines, we would never get a drink. A short walk led us back to the tube station where the recorded announcement was once again reminding us to:

  "Mind the gap."

Day 4 Photostream

Day 3: Shutterbug

  Today was our first complete day in town, and we decided to take one of those guided bus tours. So, okay I know these things are really touristy, but we wanted to orient our selves to London. It turned out to be a perfect day for it; slightly overcast but not really cold or rainy. Sylvia and I each ran through two sets of batteries taking pictures. Here are a few of my favorites. Check out the rest at my Flickr Photo Stream

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Day 2: Into the Woods

                    Into the woods, and who can tell
                    What's waiting on the journey? 
                                                         -Stephen Sondheim

   We made it! We are now in London, and even before we made it through customs I could tell I was going to love it. I was surrounded by well-dressed men. This is a  thrill I have experienced before when visiting a large metropolitan area, but never on this scale. I'm not saying they were all handsome, but they all clearly understood how well-cut clothing and good grooming can maximize your assets. This trend continued through the airport, express train (try not to stare), and short walk to our flat in Paddington.

  We were met on the stoop by a young woman named Caroline who showed us our flat. The building has an lift straight out of Thoroughly Modern Millie with an old style grate you have to pull closed. A tour of our apartment revealed a space that had retained much of its historic character, but is nicely updated. The big dining room window looks out on a veiw of rooftops and chimney pots. Mary Poppins and Bert danced across a landscape very much like the one we enjoy over morning tea.

  After Caroline excused herself, Sylvia and I quickly showered so that we could make the one event we had scheduled for our vacation: one of the last performances of the musical Into the Woods at the Regent's Park Open Air Theater. We made good time, and had time to stroll the park a bit. It was a sunny, hot afternoon and we peeled off the layers of clothes we wore. We were very excited that the weather had turned out so wonderfully, considering we had taken a chance in purchasing the tickets a week before. You can imagine how crestfallen we were feeling when, before the beginning of the show, a rain shower blew in. Thankfully, much as in Bellingham, these things can end as soon as they begin. Soon the rain petered off, and the show went on. The play, which weaves many different fairy tales together, was wonderfully preformed on a set that was built right into the natural surroundings of the park. 

                                                                                             

  After the show, we stopped by a little Italian restaurant and picked up dinner for the guys who were waiting back at the apartment. It wasn't amazing food, but we were all ravenous. We gobbled it up, and retired for the first good night's sleep we've had since leaving Bellingham.

                                                                            The End

                                                                Day 2 Photostream

Day 1: Fail

  Light was not even tinging the horizon as I rolled over in the comfy bed. Incredibly high thread count sheets moved across my skin as I opened my eyes, and smiled at Greg. Suddenly, as my mind moved from slumber to it's waking state, a thought entered my mind. I am not in London.

  Our departure day had begun as planned. The whole party was in high spirits. We made great time on the shuttle, and whizzed through security. The concierge at British Airway's Terrace Lounge greeted us warmly, and we made ourselves comfortable on a couch. The space was tastefully decorated in grey and cobalt blue. Steve and Sylvia joined us, and cocktails were ordered. Our holiday was toasted. One martini was followed by another. Then, just before we should have begun boarding, the announcement was made. Due to mechanical difficulties with the hydraulics there would be a delay.

  This was the first of many announcements that seemed to be designed to annoy, and timed to irritate. Nerves became frayed, and we watched as people slowly unraveled in their own unique ways: pacing, drinking, grazing. We paced, drank, and grazed. Greg returned from a walk with a report that the traveler's in the coach area were even more agitated. Apparently the bottled water they had been offered was generally considered meager compensation for the inconvenience.

  Finally an announcement was made that our flight would not be leaving until the next day. Sylvia successfully negotiated the upset crowed that formed around the front desk to get us complementary rooms, and meal vouchers at the Hilton. Now, after a nights sleep we are sitting once again in the lounge waiting to board.

  Vacations are by nature unpredictable. That is really the whole point, isn't it? They are more than just a way to fill in the blanks left from documentaries or books about a destination. They are meant to entertain us by offering a sharp contrast to our predictable daily routine. By this measure our adventure is starting out great.

  Now in honor of my Pollyanna approach to this little hiccup I will play the glad game.

      Things I Am Glad Of:
      
       1)Good company
       2)No missed flight connections
       3)Business class lounge
       4)Free cocktails :)
       5)Not plummeting to the earth

  Feel free to offer some I may not have thought of in the comment space below this blog.

I'm Leaving On A Jet Plane

  London. It was my sister Sylvia's idea, and she brought it up over our monthly mah jong game. You know, that game the four women in The Joy Luck Club play? The one with the cool looking tiles? Over the course of several months we had taught ourselves to play, and had become proficient enough to start wagering money. Penny ante gambling was the carrot we had used to lure Sylvia's husband Steve into being our fourth. Now Sylvia had come up with a novel idea for the kitty. The four of us: me, my partner Greg, Sylvia, and Steve would rent a flat in London for a month, and use the mah jong winnings we had saved over the next couple of years for incidentals while we vacationed there. It seemed like a brilliant idea.

  That was nearly five years ago. As sometimes happens with these things, life got in the way. Greg and I started a hair salon, and a year and a half later had the opportunity to buy a storefront. Steve retired early due to a nasty injury at work. It was one thing or another. The whole idea seemed like it was becoming one of those things you always planned to do, but just never got around to. Then last year, Sylvia informed us she and Steve were booking their flights. Of course they would still love to rent a flat with us if we were interested, but they were going with or without us.

  Thanks Sylvia and Steve, that was just the push we needed. We are now sitting in the living room with our packed bags by the front door. In a few hours we will be soaring through the skies on our first vacation to Europe. No work-related distractions to deal with. No mundane household chores to complete. Just the four of us, and twenty-one days in London.