Friday, September 05, 2008
The morning began with a class session with Prof. Margaret Hombreger, a professor from UEA who has worked with the Dickinson program before. She lectured us about Victorian social reforms, and talked a lot about Dickens’s social commentary, in particular. She talked about how Britain was the first industrial power, and then the positive and negative effects of that industrialization. Steam power, the Underground, telegrams, and, particularly the railways, provided new jobs, increased travel speeds, and more urbanization in general. Cities gained social power where it had previously belonged to the gentry class. The Victorians celebrated this power by building large parks, museums, shopping arcades, and department stores to encourage a new consumer culture. This, of course, was only for the wealthy. The Victorian working class did not get off so easily. For the other half, there was depression and poverty, pollution and chaos. Out of this, though, came some of the most influential social reforms of the age: universal male suffrage and the fight for women’s suffrage, eventual education reforms and reformation of the treatment of the insane.
Many authors, particularly Dickens, tried to make sense of the vast class separation in London. Going to the poor docklands in the East End was like exploring Africa. No one of class went there. There was a strange Victorian belief that poverty was the fault of the poor, not society. This resulted in an amendment of the Poor Laws, which, instead of helping the increasing poverty, established workhouses so that the lazy, poverty-stricken masses could learn discipline and improve themselves. Dickens hated the workhouses, as seen in his satirical description of them at the beginning of Oliver Twist, and his description, particularly that of the food shortage, made an impact.
We briefly discussed the Ragged Schools, which were charity schools scattered throughout London to teach the working-class children and keep them out of the workhouses. It was a place for them to receive a basic education, and often they gave out food and clothes. This discussion was particularly poignant, as we went to visit the Ragged School Museum in Mile End later in the day.
After class we had some time for lunch before we ventured to the East End. I went out and bought a lot of vitamin C because I’m getting a cold.
As a class, we took the Tube out to Mile End in the East End, No Man’s Land between the City and Canary Warf and the docklands. It is definitely different than west London. Most of the people I saw were either of Middle Eastern or South Asian background, and everything looked more run down, although not to the extent that it was in the Victorian era and even in more recent times. There’s been a good deal of refurbishment, turning old warehouses into trendy studio apartments. I know that Hall mentions this refurbishment in Salaam Brick Lane and how East Enders see it ruining the community and imposing on their East Ender’s pride. I wonder how much of it is pride and how much is fear that this new trendy-ness will force them even further away from the cultural center of the city as the culture moves spreads.
We went to the London Ragged School Museum and learned about the Ragged Schools for the poor in Victorian times. My impression of the museum itself was that it was largely designed for elementary school children in order to have them experience what it would have been like to live in the Victorian East End and to attend a ragged school. The museum guide still gave an interesting talk, even if it was designed for 8-year-olds, but I felt like I didn’t learn much that I didn’t already know. Well, that’s not entirely true. I learned that slate pencils and tablets are impossible to write on. I’ve never been more grateful for paper and pen.
I think a lot of the class-related issues that have surprised me in London stem from my general ignorance, idealism, and the fact that I’ve never lived in a city before, where so many social classes are present at once. Coming home from Goodge Street Station today, I noticed a street sweeper with his cart and broom brushing away leaves and rubbish from the gutter. It bothered me that I had never really given any thought to the street sweeping profession, and that my only real memory of ever having thought of it before was when I read Anthem by Ayn Rand in 9th grade. That book basically made the street sweeper into a ridiculous profession, where Equality 7-2521, a character desperate to learn, and Union 5-3992, a character who suffers from epilepsy and is referred to as “they of the half-brain,” are both assigned to the occupation. Obviously, in this context, Rand is making a point about individualism and writing against ideas of Communism. My only thoughts about street sweepers, though, have been colored by this description. Seeing this one man on the side of Gower Street, though, forced me to reconsider the fact that this is a real job that real people do. A strange thought to be had walking back from the Tube station, I’m sure, but I’m going to try and be more socially aware from now on.
In the evening we went to “Late at the Tate,” which is, as the name would suggest, a late-night opening of the Tate Britain. There was a live band, drinks and snacks, performance art and “interviews” with famous artists like Andy Warhol. It was all rather chic and I felt decidedly underdressed. Definitely a cool way to see a museum. I like this museum better than the Tate Modern. I saw many paintings that I remember from my Romantic and Victorian anthologies, particularly those by Dante Gabriel Rossetti and Waterhouse’s painting of “The Lady of Shallot.” (There were many different genres of art, of course. I am just particularly fond of the Romantics.) One painting that caught my attention was “Chatterton” by Henry Wallis, which portrays the death of Thomas Chatterton.
http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/5/54/Chatterton.jpg
It intrigued me, so I read the description. Thomas Chatterton was an 18th century poet who is famous for having written poetry under the guise of Thomas Rowley, a 15th century monk whom Chatterton made up when he was a young teenager. He was able to pass off his “Rowleian” poems as authentic, fooling even prominent Chaucer scholars. By the age of 15, he was a noted political writer and contributed to many magazines, arguing against the most famous political satirists of the age. At 17, Chatterton was writing political letters, eclogues, lyrics, operas and satires, both in prose and verse. But his finances were tight, and people weren’t as receptive to his works in London as they had been in his native Bristol. At the age of 17, faced with rejection and imminent starvation, he took an overdose of arsenic and committed suicide. He was really, as one fellow museum-goer noted, “the original Kurt Cobain.” I find the story very intriguing, and I want to read his works and more about him. If I can make sense of his poetry, I could see doing a thesis on him.
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Orwell was Right
Thursday, September 5, 2008
Leah and I visited the Soane Museum this morning. I didn’t know quite what to expect, but it is by far my favorite of all the museums I’ve been to. If authenticity has been my running theme for what makes a good museum, this one meets that requirement perfectly. Basically, this guy Sir John Soane was a Neo-classical architect who tore down three townhouses in Holborn to build his dream house. The use of light in the architecture was incredible, something I hadn’t seen in many other buildings from the 18th and 19th centuries. More interesting, though was his collection of…everything. This museum definitely beats the V&A and the British Museum for collection of all collections, even if it isn’t as big. In his house is Soane’s private collection of over 7,000 books, his paintings, architectural statues and pieces of various buildings from all over Europe. The best was the sarcophagus of Pharaoh Seti I, and one of the museum guides read the hieroglyphics for us, describing the soul’s passage to heaven, according to the Egyptians. It was fascinating. The most wonderful thing about the museum, though, is that the entire house has been kept in the same order as it was when Soane established it as a museum in 1837. It must be a haven for architecture enthusiasts, but I can’t imagine living in a house that is that crammed with significant artifacts. It reminded me of Hearst Castle (though not as obnoxiously grand) and, consequently of the final scene in Citizen Kane when they’re sorting through his collection of stuff and it’s all laid out in the foyer. Surprisingly, though, as much stuff as Soane had, the house didn’t seem cluttered. One of my peers described it as a pack-rat’s paradise, but I actually thought that everything was well organized and fit its space nicely. I can’t even fathom having that many artifacts. I’d be thrilled to have even one such item, and here Soane had an entire house full of things that belonged in a museum (which is probably why he left his house as one. Go figure).
In the afternoon we all went to 70 Whitehall, the Cabinet Office, and met with Robert Hannigan, Security Advisor to the Prime Minister, and members of various counter-terrorism departments to talk about terrorism in the U.K. and the 42-day detention policy. The fear of terrorist attacks is a lot older in the U.K. than in America, as we are consistently reminded, and, while no one denies the tragedy of 9/11, there seems to be a great British sense of “Oh, we’ve been through worse.” The Blitz is still very fresh in people’s minds, it seems, and the recent wave of terrorism is no worse than the Blitz or the IRA attacks. They made a point of stating, though, how different this wave of terrorism is, since they aren’t fighting a government but groups of radicals without national loyalties, and since these terrorists have no political agenda. They only want to terrorize and their goal is mass casualties, which is very different from past attacks. Because of this, the British government’s strategies have had to change. There’s a lot of anti-radical propaganda being distributed in the large British Pakistani populations, but apparently the Muslim population has been largely supportive.
I was most interested in the public relations aspect of these new tactics and the government’s attempts to limit racial profiling, since any targeting of the large Muslim population could be detrimental to the image of the government. They assured me that they keep in close contact with the Muslim population and use every opportunity they can to boost the government’s image. They told us that they recently had a case where a radical white Muslim convert had been coming to his mosque with burnt hands and arms. His imam reported him to the police, and it was discovered that he had been building a bomb.
We talked a lot about surveillance for safety purposes, and how CCTV wouldn’t work in the U.S. I think the immediate reaction at home would be that the concept of large-scale surveillance would be perceived as “Big Brother is Watching You!” Here, that fear of Orwellian authority is only in the event that CCTV falls into the wrong hands. We discussed how these measures only work if the population trusts the government. I think in Britain the people trust the government more than in the U.S., where we tend to be more wary of it and to constantly assume that it’s up to something.
Our other major topic of discussion was the U.K.’s 42-day detention policy, which is currently being debated in Parliament and is expected to be passed. Basically what it states is that the government, with sufficient concern, has the right to hold a suspected criminal for 42 days before a charge is given. They said that this is necessary because, in the case of a suspected terrorist, for example, it gives the authorities enough time to collect evidence to charge him. The nature of terrorism is changing, and with increased globalization and access to technology, evidence is more difficult to collect. This is in sharp contrast to both the U.S. and many other European countries. In the States, the maximum amount of time a suspect can be held is 2 days, and in France it is 4 days. This policy has become the center of a hot debate in the E.U. because of their dedication to standardizing human rights laws.
I guess this brings me to another interesting topic about British Government. In Parliament Square, across from Westminster Hall, Britain is building its first Supreme Court building. As soon as it’s finished in the next year, the Law Lords will move from their seats in the House of Lords into the new Supreme Court building, and, for the first time, Great Britain will have a separate judiciary. Much of this is due to the fact that the U.K. is now part of the E.U. and will have to make sure that its laws are in compliance with E.U. standards, which would be controversial if the Law Lords were left in Parliament, since the debates over the laws would occur where the laws themselves are made. Rather exciting for Britain.
So, although I’m not really one for politics, it was definitely an interesting day. Many of us were noting that, in the last two days, we’ve met more important people from the British government than we’ve even seen of our own. Not your usual tourist experience, and it really is amazing. After the meeting, Chris, Lauren, Jen, Alana, Katie, and I stopped at a café on Whitehall and got snacks. Later we got dinner at Sainsbury’s and ate in the Breakfast Room. We were supposed to meet at the Royal Albert Hall in South Kensington for the BBC Proms, but we hadn’t anticipated how long a walk it would be from the Tube station, and we ended up getting there 15 minutes late. We had to wait until there was a break in the performance before we were allowed to go up to our seats, which meant that we missed a good half an hour of the Elgar portion of the concert. The concert was beautiful, but it was the breaks between movements that were truly entertaining. No one claps between movements because the piece isn’t over yet, but everyone coughs. The minute there’s a pause, it seemed like everyone in the hall coughed. It was hilarious.
I wish I knew more about music so that I could accurately describe how wonderful the Elgar and the Tchaikovsky’s 6th Symphony that followed were...but I don’t. Just take my word for it.
Leah and I visited the Soane Museum this morning. I didn’t know quite what to expect, but it is by far my favorite of all the museums I’ve been to. If authenticity has been my running theme for what makes a good museum, this one meets that requirement perfectly. Basically, this guy Sir John Soane was a Neo-classical architect who tore down three townhouses in Holborn to build his dream house. The use of light in the architecture was incredible, something I hadn’t seen in many other buildings from the 18th and 19th centuries. More interesting, though was his collection of…everything. This museum definitely beats the V&A and the British Museum for collection of all collections, even if it isn’t as big. In his house is Soane’s private collection of over 7,000 books, his paintings, architectural statues and pieces of various buildings from all over Europe. The best was the sarcophagus of Pharaoh Seti I, and one of the museum guides read the hieroglyphics for us, describing the soul’s passage to heaven, according to the Egyptians. It was fascinating. The most wonderful thing about the museum, though, is that the entire house has been kept in the same order as it was when Soane established it as a museum in 1837. It must be a haven for architecture enthusiasts, but I can’t imagine living in a house that is that crammed with significant artifacts. It reminded me of Hearst Castle (though not as obnoxiously grand) and, consequently of the final scene in Citizen Kane when they’re sorting through his collection of stuff and it’s all laid out in the foyer. Surprisingly, though, as much stuff as Soane had, the house didn’t seem cluttered. One of my peers described it as a pack-rat’s paradise, but I actually thought that everything was well organized and fit its space nicely. I can’t even fathom having that many artifacts. I’d be thrilled to have even one such item, and here Soane had an entire house full of things that belonged in a museum (which is probably why he left his house as one. Go figure).
In the afternoon we all went to 70 Whitehall, the Cabinet Office, and met with Robert Hannigan, Security Advisor to the Prime Minister, and members of various counter-terrorism departments to talk about terrorism in the U.K. and the 42-day detention policy. The fear of terrorist attacks is a lot older in the U.K. than in America, as we are consistently reminded, and, while no one denies the tragedy of 9/11, there seems to be a great British sense of “Oh, we’ve been through worse.” The Blitz is still very fresh in people’s minds, it seems, and the recent wave of terrorism is no worse than the Blitz or the IRA attacks. They made a point of stating, though, how different this wave of terrorism is, since they aren’t fighting a government but groups of radicals without national loyalties, and since these terrorists have no political agenda. They only want to terrorize and their goal is mass casualties, which is very different from past attacks. Because of this, the British government’s strategies have had to change. There’s a lot of anti-radical propaganda being distributed in the large British Pakistani populations, but apparently the Muslim population has been largely supportive.
I was most interested in the public relations aspect of these new tactics and the government’s attempts to limit racial profiling, since any targeting of the large Muslim population could be detrimental to the image of the government. They assured me that they keep in close contact with the Muslim population and use every opportunity they can to boost the government’s image. They told us that they recently had a case where a radical white Muslim convert had been coming to his mosque with burnt hands and arms. His imam reported him to the police, and it was discovered that he had been building a bomb.
We talked a lot about surveillance for safety purposes, and how CCTV wouldn’t work in the U.S. I think the immediate reaction at home would be that the concept of large-scale surveillance would be perceived as “Big Brother is Watching You!” Here, that fear of Orwellian authority is only in the event that CCTV falls into the wrong hands. We discussed how these measures only work if the population trusts the government. I think in Britain the people trust the government more than in the U.S., where we tend to be more wary of it and to constantly assume that it’s up to something.
Our other major topic of discussion was the U.K.’s 42-day detention policy, which is currently being debated in Parliament and is expected to be passed. Basically what it states is that the government, with sufficient concern, has the right to hold a suspected criminal for 42 days before a charge is given. They said that this is necessary because, in the case of a suspected terrorist, for example, it gives the authorities enough time to collect evidence to charge him. The nature of terrorism is changing, and with increased globalization and access to technology, evidence is more difficult to collect. This is in sharp contrast to both the U.S. and many other European countries. In the States, the maximum amount of time a suspect can be held is 2 days, and in France it is 4 days. This policy has become the center of a hot debate in the E.U. because of their dedication to standardizing human rights laws.
I guess this brings me to another interesting topic about British Government. In Parliament Square, across from Westminster Hall, Britain is building its first Supreme Court building. As soon as it’s finished in the next year, the Law Lords will move from their seats in the House of Lords into the new Supreme Court building, and, for the first time, Great Britain will have a separate judiciary. Much of this is due to the fact that the U.K. is now part of the E.U. and will have to make sure that its laws are in compliance with E.U. standards, which would be controversial if the Law Lords were left in Parliament, since the debates over the laws would occur where the laws themselves are made. Rather exciting for Britain.
So, although I’m not really one for politics, it was definitely an interesting day. Many of us were noting that, in the last two days, we’ve met more important people from the British government than we’ve even seen of our own. Not your usual tourist experience, and it really is amazing. After the meeting, Chris, Lauren, Jen, Alana, Katie, and I stopped at a café on Whitehall and got snacks. Later we got dinner at Sainsbury’s and ate in the Breakfast Room. We were supposed to meet at the Royal Albert Hall in South Kensington for the BBC Proms, but we hadn’t anticipated how long a walk it would be from the Tube station, and we ended up getting there 15 minutes late. We had to wait until there was a break in the performance before we were allowed to go up to our seats, which meant that we missed a good half an hour of the Elgar portion of the concert. The concert was beautiful, but it was the breaks between movements that were truly entertaining. No one claps between movements because the piece isn’t over yet, but everyone coughs. The minute there’s a pause, it seemed like everyone in the hall coughed. It was hilarious.
I wish I knew more about music so that I could accurately describe how wonderful the Elgar and the Tchaikovsky’s 6th Symphony that followed were...but I don’t. Just take my word for it.
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Walking with the Lord
Wednesday, September 03, 2008
We began the day with a tour of Westminster Palace and the Houses of Parliament. This was the first time I’ve ever been in Westminster Palace, and I’m told that it’s actually somewhat difficult to get a tour. In any case, we had a wonderful tour guide. The building itself was gorgeous. Walking through the House of Lords was great because, for once, I actually saw gothic architecture as it was intended to be seen, covered in bright paint and gold leaf. Obviously, this wasn’t authentic medieval gothic architecture, but I think Pugin’s interiors were gorgeous anyway. If you haven’t discovered this yet, my historical imagination isn’t what it should be, and I enjoy seeing buildings restored and recreated (with the exception of Versailles, but that’s a different story). It makes me wonder why George Frederick Bodley didn’t incorporate color into the decoration when he designed the Washington National Cathedral. Ever since I learned that cathedrals were originally alive with color and gold leaf, I’ve been confused as to why the National Cathedral is simply plain stone. Perhaps this was Bodley’s attempt to mimic the style of the cathedrals in Europe, to make his cathedral look as old and authentic as those in Europe. I can’t imagine that, as an architect, he wouldn’t have known that cathedrals were supposed to be painted, especially since he was British and was an instrumental part of the gothic revival movement!
The Commons was not as well decorated. At first I thought that this might reflect a willingness on the part of the Commons to remain distinct from the Lords, some sort of pride in being “the people.” Unfortunately, it was a result of more money being spent on the Lords than the Commons. More stereotypical British class snobbery. Oh well. Either side would be a beautiful place to work, so I wouldn’t complain.
I’m concerned, though, by the fact that in Parliament (and Congress!), there’s never a day when every MP (or congressman) is present. There are not even enough seats in either House to accommodate every MP if they wall wanted to attend. Our guide said that sometimes there are days when only two people show up to debate a topic. I had this crazy idea that when you’re elected for a position like that, you are actually required to show up for work like the rest of the employed population. What, then, are the rest of our politicians doing? Is ALL that time spent dealing with lobbyists and making publicity appearances? What kind of government is it when the people who represent us aren’t actually present to do it? Please tell me there’s some sort of movement committed to making these elected officials actually do the jobs we elect them for.
Moving on, Lord Leslie Griffiths, Baron of Burry Port, member of the House of Lords, Canon of St. Paul’s, and Methodist reverend, met us in the original medieval part of the palace and took us on a quick tour of St. Stephen’s Chapel, which is closed to visitors. Like the House of Lords, the chapel was beautifully decorated and impressive, though small. Most of the excitement of being there was probably due to the fact that no other tourists get to see the chapel. We then walked over Westminster Bridge just as I was talking to him about poetry, and we recited Wordsworth’s “Composed upon Westminster Bridge” together (it was also on a poster on the bridge itself). He said he had been a medieval literature major as an undergrad and that he loved Shakespeare. I mentioned that I had recently gone on a pilgrimage to see Milton and how I had put myself on the waiting list for a ticket to his birthday evensong. Apparently Lord Griffiths had preached at St. Giles before, and he mentioned briefly that he might be able to get me a ticket. Unfortunately, that line of conversation dropped off before we could exchange any information, and I feel like it would be too much of an imposition to contact him and ask him now. Oh well.
Lord Griffiths was the nicest guy. He had the best stories and had something to say on every subject. I was particularly amused when he told me that he had actually met C.S. Lewis and they had some odd and short-lived conversation, the subject of which I forget. He made a point to have a conversation with every one of us, asking about our majors and our interests. He had the wonderful habit of pointing at things with his umbrella when he wanted to stop and talk about something. We were all too polite to mention that we’d already done a tour of Southwark and the South Bank. We stopped for lunch ad a pub right on the river, which was chilly and windy, but a nice enough day that we sat at tables outside. I got soup, so that helped with the cold. After lunch, we walked down Bankside, saw the Clink and stopped a while at the replica of the Golden Hinde, which was Sir Francis Drake’s ship. We then walked across the Millennium Bridge to St. Paul’s.
Once again, I have to mention how much I love St. Paul’s. For me, even more than Big Ben or the red phone booth, it has become a symbol of London. I’ve seen a lot of gorgeous buildings here—this city seems to be defined by its architecture— but I’m always drawn to St. Paul’s. I finally got to go inside the cathedral, and it certainly did not disappoint. My first impressions, in comparison to Westminster Abbey, were that St. Paul’s is very colorful and very…round. Westminster Abbey is gothic and therefore has the vaulted ceilings and pointed arches. Christopher Wren’s St. Paul’s Cathedral is in the English baroque style, so everything is either twisted or curved. The color came from beautiful mosaic work on the ceiling and gold leafing everywhere. I know it’s not as old as Westminster Abbey, but I got the feeling that the original design of the cathedral (well, Wren’s design, anyway) was better maintained at St. Paul’s than the original design at Westminster Abbey. It also seemed distinctly Anglican, probably because it was built after the creation of the Church of England and, therefore, it avoided having any Catholic influence. I don’t know if I can describe exactly why. The references to saints were minimal the decoration assumed to have a more literate population, since there weren’t as many stories being told in the decoration, as opposed to medieval cathedrals, were stories were told on any free space available. Also, since Anglican services are held in English, I suppose there wasn’t really a need for visual translation.
I walked up the stairs to all three galleries: the Whispering Gallery (99 ft. and 259 spiral steps), the Stone Gallery (173 ft. and 378 steps), and, at the very top, the Golden Gallery (280 ft. and 530 steps). I stopped at all three, although I couldn’t get the Whispering Gallery to work for me. The view from the higher galleries, though, was absolutely beautiful. I certainly got my exercise today.
At 5pm we were invited to sit in the Quire and listen to evensong, which was a beautiful service. I’d like to go to evensong at Westminster and compare, and I’m still crossing my fingers for evensong at St. Giles.
I took the Tube back to Tottenham Court Road and got a sandwich at Sainsbury’s. I ate dinner with Chris, Jen, Alana, Lauren, Katie, and Juli in the Breakfast Room. Then Chris, Jen, Alana, Lauren, Katie, and I went to the local patisserie for ice cream. I had the Ferrero Roche ice cream, which was an unexpected option, but delicious.
We began the day with a tour of Westminster Palace and the Houses of Parliament. This was the first time I’ve ever been in Westminster Palace, and I’m told that it’s actually somewhat difficult to get a tour. In any case, we had a wonderful tour guide. The building itself was gorgeous. Walking through the House of Lords was great because, for once, I actually saw gothic architecture as it was intended to be seen, covered in bright paint and gold leaf. Obviously, this wasn’t authentic medieval gothic architecture, but I think Pugin’s interiors were gorgeous anyway. If you haven’t discovered this yet, my historical imagination isn’t what it should be, and I enjoy seeing buildings restored and recreated (with the exception of Versailles, but that’s a different story). It makes me wonder why George Frederick Bodley didn’t incorporate color into the decoration when he designed the Washington National Cathedral. Ever since I learned that cathedrals were originally alive with color and gold leaf, I’ve been confused as to why the National Cathedral is simply plain stone. Perhaps this was Bodley’s attempt to mimic the style of the cathedrals in Europe, to make his cathedral look as old and authentic as those in Europe. I can’t imagine that, as an architect, he wouldn’t have known that cathedrals were supposed to be painted, especially since he was British and was an instrumental part of the gothic revival movement!
The Commons was not as well decorated. At first I thought that this might reflect a willingness on the part of the Commons to remain distinct from the Lords, some sort of pride in being “the people.” Unfortunately, it was a result of more money being spent on the Lords than the Commons. More stereotypical British class snobbery. Oh well. Either side would be a beautiful place to work, so I wouldn’t complain.
I’m concerned, though, by the fact that in Parliament (and Congress!), there’s never a day when every MP (or congressman) is present. There are not even enough seats in either House to accommodate every MP if they wall wanted to attend. Our guide said that sometimes there are days when only two people show up to debate a topic. I had this crazy idea that when you’re elected for a position like that, you are actually required to show up for work like the rest of the employed population. What, then, are the rest of our politicians doing? Is ALL that time spent dealing with lobbyists and making publicity appearances? What kind of government is it when the people who represent us aren’t actually present to do it? Please tell me there’s some sort of movement committed to making these elected officials actually do the jobs we elect them for.
Moving on, Lord Leslie Griffiths, Baron of Burry Port, member of the House of Lords, Canon of St. Paul’s, and Methodist reverend, met us in the original medieval part of the palace and took us on a quick tour of St. Stephen’s Chapel, which is closed to visitors. Like the House of Lords, the chapel was beautifully decorated and impressive, though small. Most of the excitement of being there was probably due to the fact that no other tourists get to see the chapel. We then walked over Westminster Bridge just as I was talking to him about poetry, and we recited Wordsworth’s “Composed upon Westminster Bridge” together (it was also on a poster on the bridge itself). He said he had been a medieval literature major as an undergrad and that he loved Shakespeare. I mentioned that I had recently gone on a pilgrimage to see Milton and how I had put myself on the waiting list for a ticket to his birthday evensong. Apparently Lord Griffiths had preached at St. Giles before, and he mentioned briefly that he might be able to get me a ticket. Unfortunately, that line of conversation dropped off before we could exchange any information, and I feel like it would be too much of an imposition to contact him and ask him now. Oh well.
Lord Griffiths was the nicest guy. He had the best stories and had something to say on every subject. I was particularly amused when he told me that he had actually met C.S. Lewis and they had some odd and short-lived conversation, the subject of which I forget. He made a point to have a conversation with every one of us, asking about our majors and our interests. He had the wonderful habit of pointing at things with his umbrella when he wanted to stop and talk about something. We were all too polite to mention that we’d already done a tour of Southwark and the South Bank. We stopped for lunch ad a pub right on the river, which was chilly and windy, but a nice enough day that we sat at tables outside. I got soup, so that helped with the cold. After lunch, we walked down Bankside, saw the Clink and stopped a while at the replica of the Golden Hinde, which was Sir Francis Drake’s ship. We then walked across the Millennium Bridge to St. Paul’s.
Once again, I have to mention how much I love St. Paul’s. For me, even more than Big Ben or the red phone booth, it has become a symbol of London. I’ve seen a lot of gorgeous buildings here—this city seems to be defined by its architecture— but I’m always drawn to St. Paul’s. I finally got to go inside the cathedral, and it certainly did not disappoint. My first impressions, in comparison to Westminster Abbey, were that St. Paul’s is very colorful and very…round. Westminster Abbey is gothic and therefore has the vaulted ceilings and pointed arches. Christopher Wren’s St. Paul’s Cathedral is in the English baroque style, so everything is either twisted or curved. The color came from beautiful mosaic work on the ceiling and gold leafing everywhere. I know it’s not as old as Westminster Abbey, but I got the feeling that the original design of the cathedral (well, Wren’s design, anyway) was better maintained at St. Paul’s than the original design at Westminster Abbey. It also seemed distinctly Anglican, probably because it was built after the creation of the Church of England and, therefore, it avoided having any Catholic influence. I don’t know if I can describe exactly why. The references to saints were minimal the decoration assumed to have a more literate population, since there weren’t as many stories being told in the decoration, as opposed to medieval cathedrals, were stories were told on any free space available. Also, since Anglican services are held in English, I suppose there wasn’t really a need for visual translation.
I walked up the stairs to all three galleries: the Whispering Gallery (99 ft. and 259 spiral steps), the Stone Gallery (173 ft. and 378 steps), and, at the very top, the Golden Gallery (280 ft. and 530 steps). I stopped at all three, although I couldn’t get the Whispering Gallery to work for me. The view from the higher galleries, though, was absolutely beautiful. I certainly got my exercise today.
At 5pm we were invited to sit in the Quire and listen to evensong, which was a beautiful service. I’d like to go to evensong at Westminster and compare, and I’m still crossing my fingers for evensong at St. Giles.
I took the Tube back to Tottenham Court Road and got a sandwich at Sainsbury’s. I ate dinner with Chris, Jen, Alana, Lauren, Katie, and Juli in the Breakfast Room. Then Chris, Jen, Alana, Lauren, Katie, and I went to the local patisserie for ice cream. I had the Ferrero Roche ice cream, which was an unexpected option, but delicious.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
The British Steal Things
Tuesday, September 02, 2008
I woke up late and missed breakfast, pried myself out of bed to take a shower, and then went to The Jack Horner pub with Lauren and Alana for lunch. Not one of my favorites, but I did see the most interesting thing I’ve ever seen on a menu. Faggots with Bubble and Squeak. Interesting because I have absolutely NO idea what it is. The description said that it was “pork faggots,” which I can only assume are like hot dogs. What bubble and squeak are, Lord only knows.
We went to the British Museum for a while. What an overwhelming place. It and the V&A are competing for the title of “collection of all collections.” Walking through the rooms was a maze of eras and cultures. I would be in a room featuring artifacts from ancient Egypt, and the next one would be about American printing in the 20th century and feature pieces by Jackson Pollock. Of course we saw the Rosetta Stone, too. More than the V&A, though, the British Museum seemed like a collection of things that were probably taken during colonization. Of course, this theft became a central issue in the Elgin Marbles drama, where Greece demanded that Britain return the pieces of the Parthenon that they had taken. Obviously Greece has not gotten them back, seeing as they’re still in the British Museum. One way that the V&A seemed to get over this problem, was by taking plaster casts of what seemed like every architectural and sculptural masterpiece from all over the world. These were the rooms, in particular, that reminded me of that scene from National Treasure. When I first walked into the Cast Court, I didn’t realize that everything was a plaster cast, and I thought, once again, that the British had stolen some of the most significant architectural pieces of the Middle Ages. Thank God for the signs about the plaster casting, otherwise I might have gotten angry and indignant. As it is, the plaster casts present a wonderful way to see beautiful doorways, statues, effigies, columns, and crosses that, otherwise, you might have to travel all over the world to see…or Britain could just take them. The casts avoid those problems.
One thing that interested me about the museum was that they advertised, on the same signs that told you not to touch anything, that they lead a Touch Tour for the blind, and that only they are allowed to touch artifacts like Egyptian sarcophaguses and Grecian statues. Maybe I just have never looked at the signs long enough, but I think that such a tour would never be offered in an American museum. All of our artifacts are behind bullet proof glass and you have to maneuver and contort yourself in order to get a good view of anything. Once again, I’m finding that the British seem to be much more trusting of their history (and of other countries’ history, apparently), and that perhaps that reflects a greater respect and possibly appreciation in the society.
In the evening we found this nice Indian restaurant and had a wonderful dinner, then went back to Wild Times with Lauren, Jen, Chris, and Phil for swing dancing. It was fun and a bit more up-beat than last week. I thought this would be the time for us to finally meet British people, but instead we met Molly from Grinnell College, Iowa. Oh, irony. But no worries. She’s very nice and taught me how to Lindy Hop. I think we’re going to try to get together again before we leave for Norwich, maybe dancing again next week.
I’m exhausted now and should go to bed. I need to look semi-awake tomorrow for our meeting with Lord Griffiths, Baron of Bury Port.
I woke up late and missed breakfast, pried myself out of bed to take a shower, and then went to The Jack Horner pub with Lauren and Alana for lunch. Not one of my favorites, but I did see the most interesting thing I’ve ever seen on a menu. Faggots with Bubble and Squeak. Interesting because I have absolutely NO idea what it is. The description said that it was “pork faggots,” which I can only assume are like hot dogs. What bubble and squeak are, Lord only knows.
We went to the British Museum for a while. What an overwhelming place. It and the V&A are competing for the title of “collection of all collections.” Walking through the rooms was a maze of eras and cultures. I would be in a room featuring artifacts from ancient Egypt, and the next one would be about American printing in the 20th century and feature pieces by Jackson Pollock. Of course we saw the Rosetta Stone, too. More than the V&A, though, the British Museum seemed like a collection of things that were probably taken during colonization. Of course, this theft became a central issue in the Elgin Marbles drama, where Greece demanded that Britain return the pieces of the Parthenon that they had taken. Obviously Greece has not gotten them back, seeing as they’re still in the British Museum. One way that the V&A seemed to get over this problem, was by taking plaster casts of what seemed like every architectural and sculptural masterpiece from all over the world. These were the rooms, in particular, that reminded me of that scene from National Treasure. When I first walked into the Cast Court, I didn’t realize that everything was a plaster cast, and I thought, once again, that the British had stolen some of the most significant architectural pieces of the Middle Ages. Thank God for the signs about the plaster casting, otherwise I might have gotten angry and indignant. As it is, the plaster casts present a wonderful way to see beautiful doorways, statues, effigies, columns, and crosses that, otherwise, you might have to travel all over the world to see…or Britain could just take them. The casts avoid those problems.
One thing that interested me about the museum was that they advertised, on the same signs that told you not to touch anything, that they lead a Touch Tour for the blind, and that only they are allowed to touch artifacts like Egyptian sarcophaguses and Grecian statues. Maybe I just have never looked at the signs long enough, but I think that such a tour would never be offered in an American museum. All of our artifacts are behind bullet proof glass and you have to maneuver and contort yourself in order to get a good view of anything. Once again, I’m finding that the British seem to be much more trusting of their history (and of other countries’ history, apparently), and that perhaps that reflects a greater respect and possibly appreciation in the society.
In the evening we found this nice Indian restaurant and had a wonderful dinner, then went back to Wild Times with Lauren, Jen, Chris, and Phil for swing dancing. It was fun and a bit more up-beat than last week. I thought this would be the time for us to finally meet British people, but instead we met Molly from Grinnell College, Iowa. Oh, irony. But no worries. She’s very nice and taught me how to Lindy Hop. I think we’re going to try to get together again before we leave for Norwich, maybe dancing again next week.
I’m exhausted now and should go to bed. I need to look semi-awake tomorrow for our meeting with Lord Griffiths, Baron of Bury Port.
My Holy Pilgrimage
Monday, September 1, 2008
At 10AM we had class in the Breakfast Room. We discussed the plays that we’d seen, and the reactions were surprisingly varied. After we had seen Her Naked Skin, I was under the impression that everyone had been as disappointed as I had been, but some people didn’t think it as that bad. We argued about whether the lesbianism played into a stereotype or if it was supposed to further emphasize the alienation of women from a man’s life. We discussed what we thought the main plot of the play actually was supposed to be: the suffragette movement or Lady Celia’s personal story. I still think that the play was first written as a suffragette story and then had these personal layers added on top. Others thought that it was just advertised incorrectly, and that it really was a personal story set to the backdrop of the suffragette movement.
I really enjoyed Let There Be Love, but some people found it just as unstable a plot as I had found Her Naked Skin. The discussion did bring about some issues that I hadn’t really noticed when I saw it. Alfred’s racism, someone noted, was so pronounced in the first few scenes, and then dissipated within one scene of meeting Maria. There was also the issue of lesbianism in this play, and of estranged family members, interracial marriage, and generational conflict. Thinking back on it, I wish that the interracial marriage of Alfred’s older daughter had been expanded upon a bit more, but I think the rest of the issues were handled well. I didn’t feel distracted by too many storylines, as I did with Her Naked Skin.
Most people seemed to really enjoy Timon of Athens. A couple people found all the bungee cords and the net distracting, but many people thought that it helped keep there attention during what, poorly directed, could have been a very boring play. Our issues of comparison between the other plays here were mostly about staging. I think that most people found the Olivier Theatre (where we saw Her Naked Skin) to be too big, too distant. I thought that the environment made the play very cold and…sterile, which, perhaps, was the intention, since much of it takes place in a prison/hospital. Maybe this was supposed to make the audience feel as alienated as the suffragettes or Lady Celia personally. Maybe this was completely a mistake. In any case, it resulted in my not being invested in the characters or the outcome of their struggles.
I don’t think anyone had a problem with the Tricycle Theatre. I think people liked the more intimate setting of the smaller theatre.
Some people liked being a groundling and having the play take place all around them (including overhead!). Others thought it was too distracting, and, since we were standing just at stage level, it was hard to see some of the action. But just as Her Naked Skin felt cold and distant, I thought the set-up and staging of Timon of Athens made the play inviting, engaging, and warm, despite the subject matter.
The biggest issue as far as the plot of Timon of Athens was Timon’s motivation for being so generous. At first reading, and upon seeing the production, Timon seemed naïve and genuinely generous. Some people, however, raised an interesting point by arguing that Timon was not doling out charity but making an investment, trying to buy his friends in case he ever did need them. I tend to think the former because of the scene where Timon pays for one of his loyal servants to marry the girl he loves. That character never appears again and would have no means with which to repay the favor in the future. I am, however, open to arguments.
We tried to find the similarities between the three plays. Power struggle seemed to be the link between Her Naked Skin and Timon of Athens, and the issues of torture and misanthropy that arise because of the power struggle. Although I definitely enjoyed Let There Be Love, I fail to see the link between it and the other two plays. Perhaps the generational struggle could be compared to the gender struggle in Her Naked Skin, but that’s a stretch.
After a quick lunch, I went on a solitary pilgrimage to St. Giles Cripplegate in Barbican to see Milton’s burial place. This year marks the 400th anniversary of his birth, and many places in London are celebrating, if you know where to look. St. Giles’s is celebrating with a special evensong service on Sept. 17, led by the Archbishop of Canterbury, during which they will sing songs written by Milton’s father, and there will be a reading of some of Milton’s works. Unfortunately, you need a ticket to get in. I went to ask about a ticket, and got a very strange look when, when asked if I was affiliated with the church at all, I answered, “No. I’m just a really big fan of Milton.” They were out of tickets, but I got put on the waiting list. I really hope I can go. It sounds like it will be amazing.
It was surprisingly a beautiful area. Strange, that this church is stuck in the middle of a rather modern flat complex in the business district. Reminded me a little of Lake Anne Plaza in Reston.
I really like the City. I always find myself drawn toward St. Paul’s. I’ve been going there a lot for the Tube stop, but I just really enjoy the atmosphere. I know that Wilson, in London: A History, mentions that it sometimes seems as if no one in London works because they’re always out and about, but I think that’s truer in Westminster than in the City. It was pleasantly quiet as I walked to St. Giles, and then up through the highwalks. The only people I saw, for the most part, were the occasional business men in suits, probably going to or from lunch.
From Barbican Station I intended to take the Circle Line down to the Victoria & Albert Museum, but something was wrong with it and it was only going to Baker Street, not the entire way around. It did, however, make a stop at King’s Cross, so I decided that this was the perfect time to find Platform 9 ¾. I had some nice Korean tourists take a picture for me, and then I jumped on the Piccadilly Line toward South Kensington to the V&A.
I’ve never seen such a collection of…collectables. I came in through the tunnel between the museums and the Tube, and the first room I encountered was titled “Europe: 1600-1800.” That one room I can only describe as the most luxurious Home and Design showroom I’ve ever seen (and I’d know, from all those years of following my parents around to showrooms). There were clocks, furniture, paintings, wall hangings, ivory sculptures, elaborately carved and inlayed boxes, whole rooms reconstructed. Unfortunately, I didn’t get to see much of the museum because I had to rush back to Skype with Mike (who never actually turned up). The “Europe: 1600-1800” room was my favorite of what I saw, though. I felt more engaged with the way they set up the displays than in the other museums I’ve seen. I loved he reconstructed rooms, with the painted leather wallpaper and original wooden ceiling, or the ones that looked like they were plucked straight from Versailles. It gave me a far better sense for how certain pieces actually functioned in the homes of the people who collected them far better than the London Museum did in presenting the various artifacts found around London. Like the London Museum, things were presented in a rough chronology, but the London Museum lacked personality, I think. Just a collection of objects. The V&A’s exhibits created an environment. If someone asked me to pick one must-see site in London, I would pick this museum. In fact, if someone asked me to pick one place in the world to visit, it would probably be this museum. Remember the scene in National Treasure when the finally find the treasure and it’s this massive collection of artifacts from every possible era and area? Imagine that slightly more organized, but no less grand, and you have the V&A.
In the evening I was convinced to go to a gay club called Heaven, near Trafalgar Square, with Chris, Lauren, Alana, Katie, and Phil. We got there a bit early, so we wandered around and decided to stop at a pub. The one we ended up at was, ironically, called Halfway to Heaven, and was a gay bar. I wonder if they’re affiliated. I wasn’t in the mood to waste money, but everyone else had a drink. Phil was blatantly propositioned by a middle-aged drunken gay man, and we decided that that was our cue to leave. We wandered back to Heaven and got in line. After a rigorous security process, we went inside. The others got drinks and we sat down for a while, then we headed out to the dance floor. The music was a bit too loud, but good, and I’m a big fan of strobe lights. I was jealous when I saw people with glowsticks, and angry when I saw that they didn’t actually know how to rave. Next time I go clubbing, I’m bringing glowsticks and some shoelaces, and I’ll show them all. Phil, Alana, and Katie all managed to find partners at some point during the night. I started to feel a bit lightheaded from the lack of air, so I decided to leave. Lauren wasn’t feeling so well, either, and was a bit drunk, so together we managed to figure out the bus system and get back to the hotel. Last I checked, Chris, Phil, Alana, and Katie were still there. I texted them the buses they needed. I hope they get back all right.
At 10AM we had class in the Breakfast Room. We discussed the plays that we’d seen, and the reactions were surprisingly varied. After we had seen Her Naked Skin, I was under the impression that everyone had been as disappointed as I had been, but some people didn’t think it as that bad. We argued about whether the lesbianism played into a stereotype or if it was supposed to further emphasize the alienation of women from a man’s life. We discussed what we thought the main plot of the play actually was supposed to be: the suffragette movement or Lady Celia’s personal story. I still think that the play was first written as a suffragette story and then had these personal layers added on top. Others thought that it was just advertised incorrectly, and that it really was a personal story set to the backdrop of the suffragette movement.
I really enjoyed Let There Be Love, but some people found it just as unstable a plot as I had found Her Naked Skin. The discussion did bring about some issues that I hadn’t really noticed when I saw it. Alfred’s racism, someone noted, was so pronounced in the first few scenes, and then dissipated within one scene of meeting Maria. There was also the issue of lesbianism in this play, and of estranged family members, interracial marriage, and generational conflict. Thinking back on it, I wish that the interracial marriage of Alfred’s older daughter had been expanded upon a bit more, but I think the rest of the issues were handled well. I didn’t feel distracted by too many storylines, as I did with Her Naked Skin.
Most people seemed to really enjoy Timon of Athens. A couple people found all the bungee cords and the net distracting, but many people thought that it helped keep there attention during what, poorly directed, could have been a very boring play. Our issues of comparison between the other plays here were mostly about staging. I think that most people found the Olivier Theatre (where we saw Her Naked Skin) to be too big, too distant. I thought that the environment made the play very cold and…sterile, which, perhaps, was the intention, since much of it takes place in a prison/hospital. Maybe this was supposed to make the audience feel as alienated as the suffragettes or Lady Celia personally. Maybe this was completely a mistake. In any case, it resulted in my not being invested in the characters or the outcome of their struggles.
I don’t think anyone had a problem with the Tricycle Theatre. I think people liked the more intimate setting of the smaller theatre.
Some people liked being a groundling and having the play take place all around them (including overhead!). Others thought it was too distracting, and, since we were standing just at stage level, it was hard to see some of the action. But just as Her Naked Skin felt cold and distant, I thought the set-up and staging of Timon of Athens made the play inviting, engaging, and warm, despite the subject matter.
The biggest issue as far as the plot of Timon of Athens was Timon’s motivation for being so generous. At first reading, and upon seeing the production, Timon seemed naïve and genuinely generous. Some people, however, raised an interesting point by arguing that Timon was not doling out charity but making an investment, trying to buy his friends in case he ever did need them. I tend to think the former because of the scene where Timon pays for one of his loyal servants to marry the girl he loves. That character never appears again and would have no means with which to repay the favor in the future. I am, however, open to arguments.
We tried to find the similarities between the three plays. Power struggle seemed to be the link between Her Naked Skin and Timon of Athens, and the issues of torture and misanthropy that arise because of the power struggle. Although I definitely enjoyed Let There Be Love, I fail to see the link between it and the other two plays. Perhaps the generational struggle could be compared to the gender struggle in Her Naked Skin, but that’s a stretch.
After a quick lunch, I went on a solitary pilgrimage to St. Giles Cripplegate in Barbican to see Milton’s burial place. This year marks the 400th anniversary of his birth, and many places in London are celebrating, if you know where to look. St. Giles’s is celebrating with a special evensong service on Sept. 17, led by the Archbishop of Canterbury, during which they will sing songs written by Milton’s father, and there will be a reading of some of Milton’s works. Unfortunately, you need a ticket to get in. I went to ask about a ticket, and got a very strange look when, when asked if I was affiliated with the church at all, I answered, “No. I’m just a really big fan of Milton.” They were out of tickets, but I got put on the waiting list. I really hope I can go. It sounds like it will be amazing.
It was surprisingly a beautiful area. Strange, that this church is stuck in the middle of a rather modern flat complex in the business district. Reminded me a little of Lake Anne Plaza in Reston.
I really like the City. I always find myself drawn toward St. Paul’s. I’ve been going there a lot for the Tube stop, but I just really enjoy the atmosphere. I know that Wilson, in London: A History, mentions that it sometimes seems as if no one in London works because they’re always out and about, but I think that’s truer in Westminster than in the City. It was pleasantly quiet as I walked to St. Giles, and then up through the highwalks. The only people I saw, for the most part, were the occasional business men in suits, probably going to or from lunch.
From Barbican Station I intended to take the Circle Line down to the Victoria & Albert Museum, but something was wrong with it and it was only going to Baker Street, not the entire way around. It did, however, make a stop at King’s Cross, so I decided that this was the perfect time to find Platform 9 ¾. I had some nice Korean tourists take a picture for me, and then I jumped on the Piccadilly Line toward South Kensington to the V&A.
I’ve never seen such a collection of…collectables. I came in through the tunnel between the museums and the Tube, and the first room I encountered was titled “Europe: 1600-1800.” That one room I can only describe as the most luxurious Home and Design showroom I’ve ever seen (and I’d know, from all those years of following my parents around to showrooms). There were clocks, furniture, paintings, wall hangings, ivory sculptures, elaborately carved and inlayed boxes, whole rooms reconstructed. Unfortunately, I didn’t get to see much of the museum because I had to rush back to Skype with Mike (who never actually turned up). The “Europe: 1600-1800” room was my favorite of what I saw, though. I felt more engaged with the way they set up the displays than in the other museums I’ve seen. I loved he reconstructed rooms, with the painted leather wallpaper and original wooden ceiling, or the ones that looked like they were plucked straight from Versailles. It gave me a far better sense for how certain pieces actually functioned in the homes of the people who collected them far better than the London Museum did in presenting the various artifacts found around London. Like the London Museum, things were presented in a rough chronology, but the London Museum lacked personality, I think. Just a collection of objects. The V&A’s exhibits created an environment. If someone asked me to pick one must-see site in London, I would pick this museum. In fact, if someone asked me to pick one place in the world to visit, it would probably be this museum. Remember the scene in National Treasure when the finally find the treasure and it’s this massive collection of artifacts from every possible era and area? Imagine that slightly more organized, but no less grand, and you have the V&A.
In the evening I was convinced to go to a gay club called Heaven, near Trafalgar Square, with Chris, Lauren, Alana, Katie, and Phil. We got there a bit early, so we wandered around and decided to stop at a pub. The one we ended up at was, ironically, called Halfway to Heaven, and was a gay bar. I wonder if they’re affiliated. I wasn’t in the mood to waste money, but everyone else had a drink. Phil was blatantly propositioned by a middle-aged drunken gay man, and we decided that that was our cue to leave. We wandered back to Heaven and got in line. After a rigorous security process, we went inside. The others got drinks and we sat down for a while, then we headed out to the dance floor. The music was a bit too loud, but good, and I’m a big fan of strobe lights. I was jealous when I saw people with glowsticks, and angry when I saw that they didn’t actually know how to rave. Next time I go clubbing, I’m bringing glowsticks and some shoelaces, and I’ll show them all. Phil, Alana, and Katie all managed to find partners at some point during the night. I started to feel a bit lightheaded from the lack of air, so I decided to leave. Lauren wasn’t feeling so well, either, and was a bit drunk, so together we managed to figure out the bus system and get back to the hotel. Last I checked, Chris, Phil, Alana, and Katie were still there. I texted them the buses they needed. I hope they get back all right.
Trip to the East End
Sunday, August 31, 2008
We all woke up late today. I had to pry myself out of bed in order to get breakfast. I don’t really feel like skipping breakfast, seeing as it’s the only free meal I get all day. Lounged about for a while, writing journals and IMing people. Then housekeeping came by, and we figured we should probably leave the room.
Leah and I went out to the East End, to Spitafields Market. We were starving, so our first mission was to find a cheap place for lunch. I figured this would be easy, and got excited for cheap Indian food. After reading Brick Lane and Salaam Brick Lane, I assumed we would come across something. No such luck. After wandering for a good twenty minutes, we finally settled on this little café and bought jacket potatoes. Since they were less expensive for take away, we got them to go. Of course, they didn’t give us any plastic forks, so we ended up sitting on a curb eating them with our hands. I don’t recommend it. We walked around Petticoat Lane Market for a while and I bought two Pashminas for ₤5. Not bad.
The stark contrast between the Spitafields and Petticoat Lane Markets was really interesting. Spitafields Market is in a very nice shopping center, in a covered marketplace like Covent Gardens. Many of the stalls are clothing, but it’s all very artisan and boutique-y. Nothing was under ₤20 that I saw. The people there varied in ethnicity and age, but everyone seemed to be relatively well dressed and posh-looking. Petticoat Lane couldn’t have been more different. Less than a ten minute walk from Spitafields Market is this side road crammed with tables and stalls selling a jumble of second-hand and overstocked clothes, shoes, scarves, electronics, and jewelry. Things were pretty cheap, certainly more so than at Spitafields. More interesting, though, is, as Leah noted, we were the minority there. Most of the people at this market were South Asian or African or…not of European descent. The area of the market was decidedly different from the upscale shopping center of Spitafields, too. A rather dirty, cramped side road in a bit of a run-down neighborhood. This was more of how I imagined the East End, based on the books I had read. I can only assume that this reflects the class differences between immigrants and the more upscale reconstructed part of the East End. Personally, I think I’ll take Petticoat Lane over Spitafields. I can afford it.
We all woke up late today. I had to pry myself out of bed in order to get breakfast. I don’t really feel like skipping breakfast, seeing as it’s the only free meal I get all day. Lounged about for a while, writing journals and IMing people. Then housekeeping came by, and we figured we should probably leave the room.
Leah and I went out to the East End, to Spitafields Market. We were starving, so our first mission was to find a cheap place for lunch. I figured this would be easy, and got excited for cheap Indian food. After reading Brick Lane and Salaam Brick Lane, I assumed we would come across something. No such luck. After wandering for a good twenty minutes, we finally settled on this little café and bought jacket potatoes. Since they were less expensive for take away, we got them to go. Of course, they didn’t give us any plastic forks, so we ended up sitting on a curb eating them with our hands. I don’t recommend it. We walked around Petticoat Lane Market for a while and I bought two Pashminas for ₤5. Not bad.
The stark contrast between the Spitafields and Petticoat Lane Markets was really interesting. Spitafields Market is in a very nice shopping center, in a covered marketplace like Covent Gardens. Many of the stalls are clothing, but it’s all very artisan and boutique-y. Nothing was under ₤20 that I saw. The people there varied in ethnicity and age, but everyone seemed to be relatively well dressed and posh-looking. Petticoat Lane couldn’t have been more different. Less than a ten minute walk from Spitafields Market is this side road crammed with tables and stalls selling a jumble of second-hand and overstocked clothes, shoes, scarves, electronics, and jewelry. Things were pretty cheap, certainly more so than at Spitafields. More interesting, though, is, as Leah noted, we were the minority there. Most of the people at this market were South Asian or African or…not of European descent. The area of the market was decidedly different from the upscale shopping center of Spitafields, too. A rather dirty, cramped side road in a bit of a run-down neighborhood. This was more of how I imagined the East End, based on the books I had read. I can only assume that this reflects the class differences between immigrants and the more upscale reconstructed part of the East End. Personally, I think I’ll take Petticoat Lane over Spitafields. I can afford it.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
A Night of Misanthropy
Saturday, August 30, 2008
We met Prof. Rudalevige outside Southwark Cathedral on the south bank of the Thames. He lectured a bit about the history of the cathedral and of the area in general. Because it was outside of the boundaries of the City of London, the south bank, or Bankside, area became both a military headquarters (for defense of the London Bridge), and also a headquarters for debauchery, outside the jurisdiction of the laws of London. Consider, for instance, how all the play houses of the 16th and 17th centuries are on the south side of the river. It’s also where all the brothels and bear-bating rings were. These things were all condemned by the church (theaters were considered the “seat of the devil”) and were actually torn down during the Cromwell years following the Civil War. Ironic, since all the prostitutes that worked the theatres were in the employ of the Church.
Southwark was also the convergence of all major roads leading from the south of England. In fact, as we exited the Tube station, we walked along Borough High Street, which was the original Roman road leading from the south. We got to see the only surviving coaching inn left in London, of which there used to be many on the outskirt of the city. Coaches traveling to London from the far counties could stop there, stable their horses, have a meal and find lodging before moving on into the city. This last inn, the George, is now just a restaurant, but it has been preserved by the National Trust and was probably frequented by Dickens. Also in Southwark, although we didn’t get to see it, is the site of the Tabard, the 14th century inn where Chaucer begins The Canterbury Tales.
We walked through the Borough Market, which is an enormous food market. Everything you could possibly imagine. It was fantastic. I bought some Turkish Delight, because it reminded me of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. Not bad.
Then we had a tour of the Globe. I know that Wilson said that the Globe I toured is as authentic as Disney World. I’ll admit, I did have a sense of walking through a Renaissance Fair. And then I found out that this Globe, the third Globe to ever have been, isn’t even on the site of the original Globe. It’s about two minutes downriver. A mite depressing. What is on that original sight that’s SO important that they couldn’t move it to rebuild the Globe? Priorities, people!
Chad and I walked back to Borough Market to get some lunch. We got separated, but I met up with Leah, and we bought a loaf of ciabatta bread, a wedge of cheese, and some peaches, and went to sit over by the river. It was a gorgeous day, and we had a lovely little picnic. I can’t accurately describe how beautiful a view there is from that side of the river. The dome of St. Paul’s towers over everything. Today was just a beautiful day. The Thames isn’t exactly sparkling blue, but maybe they’ll clean it up for the Olympics like Sydney cleaned the bay in 2000.
Lauren and Chris found a Samuel Peyps Pub and were very excited.
After lunch we met up at the Tate Modern Gallery and were allowed to wander around on our own. I can’t say it’s my favorite museum. I don’t mind all of it, and I admire the ideas behind some modern pieces. I just prefer to look at paintings for their content, and not consider the inner torment of artist or be made aware of my isolation as a viewer or human being.
I wonder who decides the definition of “art.” Even though I didn’t always like the pieces in the Tate Modern, I will admit that some of them can be considered “art.” They took time and effort to conceive and create. But when a piece of “artwork” consists of two stuffed birds nailed to the wall by arrows and a stick-figure house drawn on the wall around them…that is not art. It’s a taxidermy project in a day-care center.
I was so tired, though, after these last few days that my eyes could barely focus on anything I was looking at. I tried to see as much as I could before I felt like I had to leave, but eventually I did decide that I needed some time to lie down before I had to come back for Timon Of Athens. So I walked across the Millennium Bridge, around St. Paul’s and down to the St. Paul’s Tube station, and took the Tube back to the hotel.
We arrived at the Globe for Timon Of Athens. I’ll admit, I wasn’t too excited at the prospect of having to stand for three hours after having walked all day. I was pleasantly surprised. The standing wasn’t that wonderful, but I wouldn’t have had it any other way. It’s as a groundling that you get to have to real Globe experience. The actors would often run through the audience in and out the doors, and when they were onstage, their monologues were often directed at the groundlings, not the people in seats. It was FANTASTIC. Why isn’t it better known?
Of the three plays we’ve seen so far, this was certainly my favorite, for a number of reasons. I loved being a groundling, being involved in and surrounded by the action. The plot, for the most part, actually worked and was engaging (unlike Her Naked Skin), and it was hilarious, even though it is a tragedy. The acting was fantastic! And Flavius the Steward was played by Patrick Godfrey, who plays Leonardo da Vinci in Ever After. That was exciting. I knew he looked familiar. As we were exiting the theatre, we saw fireworks over toward the East End. Although we weren’t too sure why there were fireworks going off, it seemed like a fitting end to a beautiful day. It was too nice a night to just go back to the hotel, so I went to a pub and got drinks with Lauren, Chris, Alana, Katie, and Jen.
The staging of the play was really interesting, although I’m sure it sparked some debate. Unlike authentic Shakespearian productions, this one had a set, though not an extensive one, at least on stage. Above us, covering the entire groundling pit and stage, was a net suspended from the rafters. The net had some holes in it periodically, and the entire stage was rigged with bungee cords and high wires. There were “crows,” or actors dressed in black costumes with cloth wings, which would fly around on the wires and jump around on the net, making eerie bird noises and just generally serving the purpose of a bad omen. Some of characters would enter from the holes on bungee cords. Certainly not authentic Shakespearian, and I’m not quite sure what the Bard would have thought of it, but I really liked being thrown into the atmosphere. It kept my attention. So did the costumes. They were period (although which period, I’m not entirely sure), but the fabrics were very shiny, sometimes glittery, and the colors were surprisingly bright in places. Also, everyone but Timon and his servants had capes cut like the wings of the birds, with jagged edges suggesting feathers. I guess this means to suggest that all of Timon’s “followers” are like crows or, more accurately, vultures. This all culminates in both birds and Athenians’ frenzied devouring of Timon’s body after his death. The whole play ended with Arcibialdes leading the Athenians in a militaristic Mediterranean line dance what was a bit creepier than the “jig” that traditionally ended a Renaissance tragedy was supposed to be.
I know not everyone LOVED Timon of Athens, but I thought it was wonderful, and I can’t wait to go back to the Globe to see Merry Wives of Windsor.
We met Prof. Rudalevige outside Southwark Cathedral on the south bank of the Thames. He lectured a bit about the history of the cathedral and of the area in general. Because it was outside of the boundaries of the City of London, the south bank, or Bankside, area became both a military headquarters (for defense of the London Bridge), and also a headquarters for debauchery, outside the jurisdiction of the laws of London. Consider, for instance, how all the play houses of the 16th and 17th centuries are on the south side of the river. It’s also where all the brothels and bear-bating rings were. These things were all condemned by the church (theaters were considered the “seat of the devil”) and were actually torn down during the Cromwell years following the Civil War. Ironic, since all the prostitutes that worked the theatres were in the employ of the Church.
Southwark was also the convergence of all major roads leading from the south of England. In fact, as we exited the Tube station, we walked along Borough High Street, which was the original Roman road leading from the south. We got to see the only surviving coaching inn left in London, of which there used to be many on the outskirt of the city. Coaches traveling to London from the far counties could stop there, stable their horses, have a meal and find lodging before moving on into the city. This last inn, the George, is now just a restaurant, but it has been preserved by the National Trust and was probably frequented by Dickens. Also in Southwark, although we didn’t get to see it, is the site of the Tabard, the 14th century inn where Chaucer begins The Canterbury Tales.
We walked through the Borough Market, which is an enormous food market. Everything you could possibly imagine. It was fantastic. I bought some Turkish Delight, because it reminded me of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. Not bad.
Then we had a tour of the Globe. I know that Wilson said that the Globe I toured is as authentic as Disney World. I’ll admit, I did have a sense of walking through a Renaissance Fair. And then I found out that this Globe, the third Globe to ever have been, isn’t even on the site of the original Globe. It’s about two minutes downriver. A mite depressing. What is on that original sight that’s SO important that they couldn’t move it to rebuild the Globe? Priorities, people!
Chad and I walked back to Borough Market to get some lunch. We got separated, but I met up with Leah, and we bought a loaf of ciabatta bread, a wedge of cheese, and some peaches, and went to sit over by the river. It was a gorgeous day, and we had a lovely little picnic. I can’t accurately describe how beautiful a view there is from that side of the river. The dome of St. Paul’s towers over everything. Today was just a beautiful day. The Thames isn’t exactly sparkling blue, but maybe they’ll clean it up for the Olympics like Sydney cleaned the bay in 2000.
Lauren and Chris found a Samuel Peyps Pub and were very excited.
After lunch we met up at the Tate Modern Gallery and were allowed to wander around on our own. I can’t say it’s my favorite museum. I don’t mind all of it, and I admire the ideas behind some modern pieces. I just prefer to look at paintings for their content, and not consider the inner torment of artist or be made aware of my isolation as a viewer or human being.
I wonder who decides the definition of “art.” Even though I didn’t always like the pieces in the Tate Modern, I will admit that some of them can be considered “art.” They took time and effort to conceive and create. But when a piece of “artwork” consists of two stuffed birds nailed to the wall by arrows and a stick-figure house drawn on the wall around them…that is not art. It’s a taxidermy project in a day-care center.
I was so tired, though, after these last few days that my eyes could barely focus on anything I was looking at. I tried to see as much as I could before I felt like I had to leave, but eventually I did decide that I needed some time to lie down before I had to come back for Timon Of Athens. So I walked across the Millennium Bridge, around St. Paul’s and down to the St. Paul’s Tube station, and took the Tube back to the hotel.
We arrived at the Globe for Timon Of Athens. I’ll admit, I wasn’t too excited at the prospect of having to stand for three hours after having walked all day. I was pleasantly surprised. The standing wasn’t that wonderful, but I wouldn’t have had it any other way. It’s as a groundling that you get to have to real Globe experience. The actors would often run through the audience in and out the doors, and when they were onstage, their monologues were often directed at the groundlings, not the people in seats. It was FANTASTIC. Why isn’t it better known?
Of the three plays we’ve seen so far, this was certainly my favorite, for a number of reasons. I loved being a groundling, being involved in and surrounded by the action. The plot, for the most part, actually worked and was engaging (unlike Her Naked Skin), and it was hilarious, even though it is a tragedy. The acting was fantastic! And Flavius the Steward was played by Patrick Godfrey, who plays Leonardo da Vinci in Ever After. That was exciting. I knew he looked familiar. As we were exiting the theatre, we saw fireworks over toward the East End. Although we weren’t too sure why there were fireworks going off, it seemed like a fitting end to a beautiful day. It was too nice a night to just go back to the hotel, so I went to a pub and got drinks with Lauren, Chris, Alana, Katie, and Jen.
The staging of the play was really interesting, although I’m sure it sparked some debate. Unlike authentic Shakespearian productions, this one had a set, though not an extensive one, at least on stage. Above us, covering the entire groundling pit and stage, was a net suspended from the rafters. The net had some holes in it periodically, and the entire stage was rigged with bungee cords and high wires. There were “crows,” or actors dressed in black costumes with cloth wings, which would fly around on the wires and jump around on the net, making eerie bird noises and just generally serving the purpose of a bad omen. Some of characters would enter from the holes on bungee cords. Certainly not authentic Shakespearian, and I’m not quite sure what the Bard would have thought of it, but I really liked being thrown into the atmosphere. It kept my attention. So did the costumes. They were period (although which period, I’m not entirely sure), but the fabrics were very shiny, sometimes glittery, and the colors were surprisingly bright in places. Also, everyone but Timon and his servants had capes cut like the wings of the birds, with jagged edges suggesting feathers. I guess this means to suggest that all of Timon’s “followers” are like crows or, more accurately, vultures. This all culminates in both birds and Athenians’ frenzied devouring of Timon’s body after his death. The whole play ended with Arcibialdes leading the Athenians in a militaristic Mediterranean line dance what was a bit creepier than the “jig” that traditionally ended a Renaissance tragedy was supposed to be.
I know not everyone LOVED Timon of Athens, but I thought it was wonderful, and I can’t wait to go back to the Globe to see Merry Wives of Windsor.
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