So long, London!

View from the London Eye.

The past week in London has been magical. In the words of Benjamin Franklin, “Of all the enviable things England has, I envy it most its people.” I also envy their communal seating, their mince pies, their theatrical traditions, and their refusal to put their leaders on pedestals. While taking the Samuel Pepys walking tour on Christmas day, I listened to our guide talk about the public execution of Charles I and I thought how nice it would be to do away with some of our leaders, those who assume their power will go unchecked, who put their own selfish interests above those of the people.   

The British Museum. 

As for the mince pies, this was something I tried for the first time here and very much enjoyed. My taste buds declared the mulled wine at the Old Vic theater the Best Mulled Wine Ever. But not all English culinary traditions are admirable. I think it’s high time the Brits retire their tradition of eating mushy peas. Tonight when strangers sitting around me at the neighborhood pub overheard me order fish and chips and say, “No mushy peas,” they were utterly confounded. “No mushy peas?” Three men puzzled over my bizarre order. “You don’t like mushy peas?” Well, I might have some if I were absolutely starving, but there have been many culinary advances over the years that go beyond the caveman method of mashing things. I think I’ll stick to steamed vegetables, thanks.

My mom and I have managed to fit a lot into just one week, but we’ve still only made a dent in all there is to see and do here. Yesterday, we visited the British Museum and the National Gallery. I wanted to join the people sitting around the British Museum with their sketch books. Perhaps I will return to London on a sketching holiday. My mom and I admired the Elgin Marbles and wondered what kind of sound effects would accompany the slabs depicting man vs. satyr. Would the satyr be neighing like a horse or grunting and growling like a man? I most enjoyed the illustrations and the Japanese art, while my mom was taken with the Captain Cook exhibit and the Ancient Greek artifacts.

At the National Gallery, I saw Caravaggios, Botticellis, and Van Goghs, in addition to a painting of Venus admiring herself in the mirror, which I recognized from the film, “Venus,” starring Peter O’Toole. We also saw a couple Leonardo da Vincis and I thought back to an art critic on Youtube who questioned the validity of the most recently discovered painting attributed to Leonardo da Vinci. It is a pity that the Crown Prince of Saudi Arabia, Mohammad bin Salman, bought Salvator Mundi for $450 billion, when he could have fed all the starving people in Yemen for that much.

At The Royal Opera House in Covent Garden

One of the highlights of this trip was seeing the opera, Hansel

and Gretel, at Covent Garden. This fairy tale left me scarred when I was a child, but the opera version does not include Hansel and Gretel’s parents leading them out into the forest to be eaten by wild animals. The man playing the witch added both suspense and comic relief. He was a diabolical buffoon and was highly entertaining to watch. The woman who played Hansel was also very convincing as a little boy with all her energy and twitchy, herky-jerky non-stop motion. The special effects and set design were stunning, so even though it was a German opera, not French or Italian, it was still a highlight of the holiday season.

The Sam Wanamaker Playhouse at The Globe. 

Today was the last day in London and I ran out of steam. I planned to go to the Tate Modern, but I just couldn’t fit one more thing into my schedule. After walking on average about ten miles every day, my legs are stiff and sore. My mom and I saw Dr. Faustus at the Globe, an interesting play but a little outdated with its many references to the horrors of hell. That sort of thing would have been frightful to Marlowe’s audience, but now it’s more amusing than frightening. I ended the day with beers and book shopping.

Tomorrow my mom and I bid farewell to London and head over to Brussels on the Eurostar. Good bye, London. I love you. Until we meet again!

Boxing Day, a Day of Contrasts

My observations on this Boxing Day ran the gamut from excessive greed and extravagance all the way to beautiful displays of love and charity. I had no idea what Boxing Day was before I came to England, and to be honest, I don't like the idea of one of the world's largest cities practically shutting down for two whole days. Yesterday, my mom and I walked over 14 miles because there was no public transportation. Today, things were sort of back to normal. Many shops and restaurants were open, public transportation was up and running, but the museums were still closed. So, after wandering around Hampstead and seeing where John Keats and George Orwell once lived, we decided to go for a walk through Hyde Park and visit some department stores, just to say we did. 

We had coffee and dessert on the top floor of Harvey Nichols, an expensive but delicious treat. I liked the way the cherry blossoms decorating the cafe complemented my mom's grey hair and sweater, so I took some photos of her. One picture I took captures her expression just as the waitress came with our desserts. 

I have often heard students talking about Harrods, a huge luxury department store, so going inside was a way to check off something at the very bottom of my to-do list. The next time a student talks to be about Harrods I can say I've been there, but this experience has not left a positive impression on me. My mom wanted to see a shrine to Dodi and Diana, but since Mohammed al-Fayed sold the store to Qataris, the shrine has been moved. Out on the streets, people in Ferraris and Lamborghinis were showing off. A long line stretched outside, just for people who wanted to buy perfume. It all felt like a big gimmick, like something that is supposed to be fancy and exclusive, but it's really just targeting insecure people who think shopping at Harrods will boost their status. 

All this ostentatious, commercial nonsense could have been avoided if only the museums had been open. Fortunately, we had tickets to see A Christmas Carol at the Old Vic, so this Boxing Day wasn't a complete loss. The performance was magical. The actors utilized the entire theater, so no matter where you sat, you felt as though you were on the stage. While watching, I thought of our ridiculous president and how he could very well fit the part of Ebeneezer Scrooge. Instead of Tiny Tim, Trump could be confronted with the two immigrant children who died in U.S. custody in this month alone. 

After the play, the actor playing Ebeneezer asked the audience to dig into their pockets and donate to children in the UK who go hungry every day. Apparently, not much has changed since Dickens' day. But we must overcome greed and give out of love and charity. Giving to people in need would be way more valuable than anything you could buy at Harrods. 

Merry Christmas Eve from London

As Christmas approaches, our options for museums and other types of entertainment are dwindling. Almost everything in London closes on Christmas Day, including public transportation, so today my mom and I went to Borough Market, a historical market that is a must-see, to stock up on food for tomorrow. 

Our favorite stop was a cheese shop called Neal's Yard. The line outside was testament to the tastiness of their cheese. We got two types of cheese, a cheddar and a blue, to go with our loaf of olive bread and bottle of Shiraz for tomorrow. I also picked up a salami, despite my short-lived goal to not eat anything with hooves. I will go back to that goal when the holiday season is over. 

After the market, we walked along Millennium Bridge for a lovely view of the Thames, the Tower of London, and St. Paul's Cathedral. It was a glorious day, so we thought we might use our tickets for the London Eye, the big Ferris wheel, and soak up some more of the marvelous view, but when we found ourselves buried in an avalanche of people, we decided to move right along. The crowds finally dissipated when we reached St. James's Park, but the throngs of people came back with a vengeance on Regent Street. The Christmas lights were in the shape of angels, suspended in the air to give the impression of flying. It was a dazzling sight, but I was exhausted by the time we finally made it out of there and hopped on the tube. 

Our neighborhood, Hampstead, is adorable. It's quiet and charming and not too crowded. Our hotel has a French restaurant downstairs, which once was frequented by the actor, Peter O'Toole. My mom's favorite movie is Lawrence of Arabia, so she was understandably starstruck when she saw his portrait on the wall. 

Tomorrow we will walk to Trafalgar Square, one of the few locations my mom feels has remained the same since she lived here in 1968. It's going to be a long hike, but we both love exploring and the exercise will be salubrious. 

Wassail!

Somebody please pinch me. Today I joined hands with other groundlings at the Globe Theater and formed a conga line, running around the place like a little kid. When my mom and I left the Globe after the wassail party was over, we heard the bells from St. Paul's Cathedral on the opposite side of the Thames. The party itself wasn't the basis for my excitement; I was just thrilled to be in the theater itself. I've wanted to visit the Globe for years now and it finally happened. 

On Friday, we will return for a performance of Dr. Faustus. I'm a bit more knowledgeable about the story line of Dr. Faustus than I was about what a wassail party entailed. I looked it up just now and found it's an Anglo-Saxon word meaning "good health." It's also a word for mulled cider, a drink I imbibed numerous times while walking along the Thames today. 

To be honest, the wassail party at the Globe was a bit too . . . um . . . English for my taste. I enjoyed being around so many festive people fully embracing the holiday spirit, but I didn't understand the humor. I guess I was in more of a jazzy mood, which was satisfied by the cool restaurant we went to next. The restaurant, called The Flask, is hidden down an alleyway in Hampstead. They played Blossom Dearie on the stereo and I gave my feet a well-deserved break after, according to my fitbit, walking over 20,000 steps today.  

Our other fun activity today was visiting Benjamin Franklin's London home. Our tour guide stayed in the character of Polly Stevenson, the daughter of his landlady, who stayed in touch with Benjamin Franklin for the remainder of his life. Although my mom is a Franklin fanatic who has read multiple biographies of Benjamin Franklin, including his autobiography, she still looked as if everything our tour guide was saying was new and interesting. I photographed my mom standing by the window where Franklin would take his "air baths," a term he used to describe his exhibitionist behavior. Franklin liked to sit in the window naked because he said the fresh air was good for his health. I think one does not have to be naked to enjoy the benefits of fresh air, but what do I know? I didn't even know what wassail meant. 

Hampstead and Oxford

At the King William IV Pub in Hampstead, portraits of notable Brits (mostly men) cover the walls. The etched logo on the glass in front of me informed me that I was drinking a Caledonian, a lager I enjoyed in my youth. I had simply asked for a lager and didn’t know that this gem from my past was even on the menu. Caledonian is a name I enjoy almost as much as the citrusy, crisp taste. It’s the Latin name for Scotland, in case anyone is wondering. 

My mom learned to stop asking for a pint of bitter. Apparently, no one calls it that anymore. And the two ales that were served to her today were, unfortunately, bland and not chilled. My mom commented that too many of the celebrated Brits on the wall were men. I said in my disgruntled British old man voice that, indeed, Kingsley Amis did not deserve two spots on the wall. 

I then performed one of our favorite impressions, one that never gets old, of a British man who shall remain anonymous. Kevin Nealon was doing standup at an event to raise money for animal charities maybe 15 years ago, and my mom and I were in attendance. An old British gentleman interrupted the lighthearted comedy and took the microphone out of Kevin Nealon’s hands. He directed everyone’s attention to a painting being auctioned and stated in a solemn tone, “Here we see a picture of the chimpanzees looking on as the humans destroy each other.” The last three words were uttered with severe gravitas, delivered slowly for dramatic effect. The awkwardness of seeing Kevin Nealon try to transition from that interruption back into joke-telling has been a source of amusement ever since. Tonight, at the King William IV pub, its walls decked with pictures, seemed like the perfect time to reenact that scene.

Yesterday marked my arrival in London. In the Heathrow Airport, a sign at customs reads, “Abuse will not be tolerated.” I wish that kind of guarantee were given everywhere, but of course, there are places where abuse is more than tolerated; in fact, it’s rewarded. Hence, I have never needed a vacation so badly. Seeing that sign upon my arrival was a good omen.

I met my mom at Paddington Station. She wanted to show me how metro-savvy she is. (She lived here in 1968.) Twice she led me onto the wrong train and I joked that from now on I would have to be the brains in this outfit. She had bought us tickets to see Mary Poppins Returns at a theater in Hampstead and we barely made it. My mom told me she and her English sister used to go to that theater in 1968. She speaks about this English sister in more glowing terms than she speaks about her biological sisters. 

The film was delightful, a complete reversal from Detroit, the film I watched on the plane. (Detroit was also wonderful, but oh so disturbing.) When the credits rolled, the audience applauded, something I thought only American moviegoers did.

I have been missing these cozy movie theaters, the kind where you can snuggle up on a sofa with a pint of beer, a bowl of quality popcorn and enjoy a good film. To anyone else who cherishes these kinds of places, know that the Everyman Cinema in Hampstead is an essential attraction. Seeing Mary Poppins Returns, which is set in London, made the experience even more special and uplifting.

Today my mom and I spent the day in Oxford. We saw Wilfred

At the place where Tolkien and C.S. 
Lewis used to sit and discuss their writing. 

Owen’s original hand-written poems. We drank beer at the Eagle and Child and sat in the same place where the Inklings, C.S. Lewis’ and J.R.R. Tolkien’s writing group, met every Tuesday morning. We stopped in at Blackwell’s Bookshop and stocked up on some reading material. We visited the Ashmolean Museum and pursued their modern art collection. It was a perfect day. I love Oxford. I love London. I want to move here, even though I have only explored one neighborhood so far. I can confidently say that Hampstead is the bee’s knees. Tomorrow, we will go to the Globe Theater and do some more exploring. I am so excited to be in London right now. I feel inspired and happy and Christmasy. 

I leave you now with a snippet of a Mary Poppins song.

“So hold on tight to those you love
And maybe soon from up above
You'll be blessed, so keep on looking high
While you're underneath the lovely London sky!”

                                           
                                    ~Mary Poppins Returns

The original of Wilfred Owen's "Dolce et Decorum est."