Well, England was a great experience overall. When I finally got into London it was after midnight and I had to run to catch the last underground train that was running that night to get to my hostel. The hostel I stayed at was in the “Elephant & Castle” neighborhood, which is a really artsy area on the south bank of the Thames River. I checked in, and went right to sleep.
On the 11th I started my day by checking out this little corner of tiny shops and things that I had seen walking from the tube stop to the hostel the night before. It looked a little like the whole area was constructed primarily out of shipping containers, but everything was brightly painted, and generally had a very hippie/bohemian vibe to it, and I wasn’t disappointed with what I found there. There’s a great little Cuban sandwich shop that’s tucked away deep inside the maze of containers, that is run by a couple of super friendly young guys. I saw a menu of about five different versions of sandwich that they sell written in chalk on a wall outside the shop, and immediately knew that this sounded like a great early lunch. I walked right in, but when the guy behind the counter noticed me he started to tell me that the shop wasn’t actually open yet, not for another hour or so- but then he stopped mid-sentence and changed his mind saying, “You know what? I could just go ahead and make you a sandwich!” While he was making the sandwich for me he turned on the music system for the shop, which accidently came on really loud, playing some trance music. He started to rush back to turn it down and change the music, but then he saw that I was already rocking out to it, so he asked me if I like loud techno. I replied, “Yeah actually!” So he said, “Alright then! We’ll just leave this on like this then!” and both he and the other guy who worked there started dancing around while making the sandwich and getting the shop ready to open. The sandwich itself was absolutely amazing by the way. I ended up in a conversation with the other guy, and he started giving me some tips about what to see while I was in town. I asked him if there were any good clubs for this kind of music, because that was actually kind high on my list of things I wanted to do in London. He said that actually, one of his favorite places was literally across the street from the containers, built under the arches of the old railway station there. I wrote down his suggestion to try that place out, as well as a few other suggestions he had.
Next I walked a few blocks to the Imperial War Museum, which had been recommended to me by Guy, my last roommate in Scotland. It was fantastic. The museum was made following “The Great War” or the first World War, and so quite a bit of the museum is dedicated to that, but there are also significant displays on other topics. I ended up spending several hours there, taking in everything in detail, only leaving when it was closing.
When I finally left it was dark out, but I was determined to find something interesting to see or do, though I had no idea what that would be yet. I got to an Underground station and looked at the map for a bit, and seeing a stop at “Baker Street” I thought that might be interesting to check out, so I got on and headed that way. I knew that during WWII the Special Operations Executive or SOE had its headquarters on Baker Street, but I didn’t know where- but I also knew the precise location of something more famous, though fictional: Sherlock Holmes’ apartment at 221B Baker Street. The tube station there is decorated with various Sherlock Holmes stuff, and at street level there are some restaurants capitalizing on the location by naming themselves various Sherlock Holmes names… but at what should be the actual apartment address? Nothing. The addresses somewhat conspicuously skip over 221, and meanwhile there is not even a shop, let alone a museum or statue or anything at the actual address. It’s a bit boring, in fact.
I grabbed a great burger and banana milkshake from a place around the corner, but I was literally their last order of the day and so I was told that I had to get it to-go, so I sat outside on their patio eating it, eavesdropping on the Arab guys who had been ahead of me in line arguing about whether English or Arabic was the harder language to learn. I doubt that they had any idea that I could understand most of their conversation, haha.
I’m trying to remember if I did anything else that day, but I don’t think I did- everything is kind of running together now in my memory.
On the 12th I started by making the trip to Chelsea FC’s stadium, Stamford Bridge; as I’m a fan and my roommate at home in San Diego is a huge fan of the team. I walked through the neighborhood a bit, trying to see if there was anything of local color that I should be noticing, that could turn into a good gift idea for my roommate Nick, but there didn’t seem to be much to go off of in the immediate vicinity- not a lot of shops in general right by the stadium. I did find a pub though that was clearly within walking distance of the stadium (and was on the far side of the stadium from the tube station, so more likely to be a local’s spot) and so I went inside and asked the barman for ideas. My thought was that I wasn’t just looking for things you could easily buy from the team’s website with their logo on it- I wanted something that connected to the team, but was something one could really only get by having physically gone to the Chelsea neighborhood in London. He told me that on gamedays there were always street hawkers in the neighborhood selling hats and scarves and things, but that most of them clearly had the same supplier, and didn’t have anything particularly unique that one couldn’t find in the official stadium store. Right next to his pub however, there was a guy who set up a stand each gameday that sold more unique gear- shirts of his own design and such, The barman also told me that I might want to check out the official shop anyway, as apparently they were having some big sale, with most things 50% off- some upcoming change to the uniform or something triggering the clearance sale. I thanked him for the info, and promised that I’d be back in the neighborhood the next day for Chelsea’s game against Leicester City.
As I walked back past the stadium I stopped in to check out the store, which especially with the sale going on, sold gear at shockingly reasonable prices compared to most stadium stores I’ve been to in America. I also ended up walking around the stadium, just soaking in the chance to be there, as I definitely cannot afford tickets, lol. There was actually a small museum for the team there, so I went in and had a look around. Certainly a lot of the museum was things like the cleats that some famous player from the 11,920’s wore or some such- which being a new fan of the team was of less interest to me, as it’s not like I grew up with stories from older fans of Chelsea’s great games in days past. They did however have a bunch of stuff on the actual history of the team, and the history of the stadium which I found interesting. The modern stadium actually holds significantly less people than their older one did, as their older one had quite a bit of standing area, so people would just jam-pack their way in to watch the games. Now all of the standing area has been converted into seating, so it’s more comfortable, but fewer people can get in and the ticket prices are higher. I was also reasonably impressed with the team’s commitment to social progress- the museum celebrates things like the first black player on the team, and calling out some of the problems that the team has had with bigoted fans in the past without mincing words about it at all.
From Stamford Bridge I continued on to the Royal Hospital in Chelsea, which houses the “Chelsea Pensioners” (from which the team got it’s old nickname- now they’re officially just “The Blues” but the pensioner nickname has stuck around a bit). Anyway, the actual Chelsea Pensioners are war veterans of the Royal armed forces (maybe just the Army? Not sure) and as such the hospital is also home to the National Army Museum, which had been recommended to me by a staff member at the Imperial War Museum when I told them that I was also interested in 16th through 19th century stuff- of which the IWM doesn’t have much of. The National Army Museum did have some of that though, as well as stuff from all of their periods of history. I was definitely impressed with their presentational style- it felt very honest to the experience of soldiering: dark humor, honest examinations of lives of boring routine and crappy duty, how various factors combine to induce many in the profession to indulge in a variety of vices, and then punctuated with stories of the bravery occasionally required by soldiers. I liked that heroic depictions were just one component of examining bravery (along with mention of mistakes and even war crimes) which is itself just one dimension of what being a soldier is about. They don’t deny that there are heroes in the army, but they don’t paint it as only heroes, all day every day.
When I left the National Army Museum I was definitely hungry, but was a bit frustrated at what my options were at Sloane Square, the tube stop closest to the museum. Basically the area is a fashion shopping district, swarming with French tourists who have nothing better to do with their money than to spend it on diamonds or overpriced handbags, etc. There were a couple of restaurants there, but they looked pretty formal, maybe the kind of place that even would require reservations, and I wasn’t interested in something that fancy or that expensive. I was shocked though that there really didn’t seem to be anything else in the area! I mean, if people are going to come to Sloane Square to shop all day, there must be places for them to sit down and eat, right? I’m still convinced there must be, but I must’ve looked in the wrong direction or something. I ended up walking quite some ways, almost to the next tube stop in fact, before I found a place that seemed reasonable. I got a pint of some local beer and bangers & mash (British-speak for sausage and mashed potatoes) Finally sated, I walked the rest of the way to that next tube stop, and went back to the hostel.
I took a much needed shower, gave my electronics time to recharge, and figured out exactly what my plans for the night would be. After comparing notes on a few different places, I settled on the club the guy at the Cuban sandwich shop recommended, in part due to his recommendation, but also in part because it was an easily walkable distance from the hostel. Per the club’s website, they actually don’t admit people wearing suits, which is quite the opposite from plenty of clubs I’ve been to in the past- so while I’m a little disappointed that I’ve brought my suit along on the trip for basically nothing now, it’s also nice to not have to worry about people spilling drinks on my nice clothes, etc.
Supposedly the club opened at 2100h, so when I arrived at 2300h I was surprised to see that it hadn’t opened yet, and that I was only 4th in line. Eventually we were allowed in, and I got myself a shot of tequila, but damn it was a tiny-ass shot. I’m not sure what’s up with the UK and precisely measuring their liquor to these small proportions, but it’s a little annoying. The club itself is cool though- very minimalist- just a dark dance floor with some lights that make designs on the ceiling, and LOUD techno music. It took a little while for people to start to show up, and loosen up to start dancing, but eventually these things happened, and eventually the club actually got totally packed, which I find kinda fun too. At one point I complained to one of the bartenders about the shot sizes, and whether or not there was any better way of actually getting a buzz because the tiny amounts of tequila they were giving me were not cutting it, especially when I’m sweating it off quickly by dancing. One of the other bartenders overheard, and so he came over and said just one word: absinthe. He lined up a double for me, and poured one for himself, and that finally did the trick to get me suitably intoxicated for dancing at a practically underground club like this. I had a great time, and left the club around 0400h, with the club still going strong. Supposedly they stay open until 6am, which is crazy to me- clubs in the US don’t do anything like that in my experience.
When I woke up on the 13th I went back to the Cuban place to get another great sandwich, where the guys who worked there recognized me and asked about how my trip was going so far, and if I had liked the club the last night. What I thought was really cool though was as I was waiting for my sandwich, the guy who had given me the recommendation for what clubs to go to came in through the door with a painting of a Cuban flag under his arm- he said that he just saw it at some little art shop that was in the neighborhood, and thought it would be perfect for their shop, so he just bought it from the artist for like 20 pounds and walked it over on his day off to put it on the wall! It seems like these guys maybe recently started the business, but I think they’ll go far with it.
I then went back to Stamford Bridge to have a look at the stand next to the pub, and the barman was right- that guy really did have different and more interesting wares than the swag sold by the other carts and stands. I was really hoping that maybe I’d find someone outside the stadium with an extra ticket, or who had to leave early- or even just a scalper- but there were tons of cops around, and lots of signs indicating that they are very opposed to those kind of transactions taking place, so no luck. :-/ I could hear cheering from the stadium over something, but I later heard the game went nil-nil even with Leicester down a man.
From there I figured I should try to see some of the traditional tourist sites while I still had the chance, so I took the Underground to Charing Cross, which is where Trafalgar Square is. The monument to Admiral Nelson is really quite impressive. It’s very tall (52m), and giant bronze lions guard the base of it. It definitely made me think about what does it take for a nation to decide to put a statue of you on top of a giant column in a big public square like that. It also made me think, what if there were an earthquake here? It would not be fun to have that thing fall down on you.
I went up the steps to the National Galleries, but only had about 40 minutes until they closed. Unfortunately, I made a wrong turn early on into my exploration of the place, and ended up deep in a section devoted to religious art- which is fine, but particularly out of context is pretty boring because it’s all the same: here’s Jesus suffering, here’s Mary with a halo, here’s baby Jesus, yada yada yada. Also, I think that the actual artistic quality and style of that medieval stuff is just kinda lacking, regardless of the somewhat boring topic choice that all art from that period suffers from. As soon as I realized my mistake, I set out quickly for parts of the museum which had things from the 11,700’s to the 11,900’s… With only 25 minutes remaining, I didn’t want to waste it on art I didn’t particularly like. Fortunately I found some good stuff, including some Monet and Manet (I like Monet much more than Manet), but what I really liked were some of the dramatic landscapes that started being made by painters (particularly Italian ones) in the 11,700’s.
The museum closed, and now I was left wondering what I should do next. I wandered a bit, moving up the hill from the Thames, until I found myself at Leicester square. It’s a bit like Times Square in New York City- a lot of lights, a lot of people, lots of places to eat, lots of high-end entertainment, plenty of souvenir shops. I got my requisite flag of England, and debated with myself as to whether I should buy a United Kingdom flag too. For that matter, I wondered if I should get a European Union flag. I ended up deciding that I would get such flags of conglomeration when I’ve managed to visit at least most of the represented regions- in the case of the United Kingdom, having only seen Scotland and England out of the four member countries (not counting the Caribbean Islands it’s associated with), I’ll need to wait until I visit Northern Ireland, Wales, or any of those islands to feel like I’ve seen “The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland”.
I walked by a stand advertising discounted theater tickets, and I was somewhat surprised at how many shows seemed to be performing currently, until I remembered that London is actually known for being a theater town- dating all the way back to Shakey himself. I went in, hoping to catch something of local writing, but unfortunately most of the interesting options were sold out, so I opted for “Glengary Glenross” by David Mamet, as I often like his stuff (but not always) and the seat available was quite good for the price. Tickets in hand, I still had time to kill before the show and some hunger to abate in the meanwhile, so I determined to continue to take advantage of the excellent Indian food that is easily available throughout the UK. After completely stuffing myself with some Vindaloo Josh and a couple pints of Kingfisher, I made my way to the Playhouse Theater, overlooking the bank of the river.
My seat was in the front row of the lower balcony- absolutely perfect view for just 38 pounds. The performance was pretty damned good- I’ve seen the movie before a long time ago, but have never seen or read the play, but I definitely liked it. It definitely calls back memories I have of my various times as a commission salesman. The set design and lighting was fantastic, and the small cast does a great job. As I left the theater I decided to walk across the pedestrian bridge that was there so that I could enjoy the view of the city- it was funny though, as I started walking I overheard some fellow theater-goers (definitely English) commenting on how they usually cringe at hearing British actors attempt to do American accents, but how this wasn’t bad and that they thought the accents were believable. I silently agreed that they weren’t bad, though I could definitely tell that they were having to put them on- whenever a scene began there was usually a rough moment until the actor fully dropped-in to the accent they were supposed to have.
The view as I crossed the bridge was fantastic- the London Eye (the big ferris wheel) off to my left, and the houses of parliament with Big Ben off to my right. When I got to the southern side there was a great guitarist playing really interesting covers of classic songs like “Piano Man” and “Hey Jude”, and there was a cart selling hot whiskey, which is something I hadn’t heard of before, so I bought some and listened to the music for a while, tipping in the couple of pounds I had left in my pocket. Getting on the tube again I made my way back to Elephant & Castle, and then decided that I’d hit up that techno club again, which was fun, but not quite as fun as it had been the previous night despite the fact I liked the music more on the second night; the ratio was significantly worse on Saturday, I think around 4 guys to every girl instead of being about even on Friday.
When I woke up today (the 14th) I was pissed. Somehow I was not awoken by the alarm I had very specifically set on my phone. I really don’t know how this happened. The most logical explanation is that it must’ve gone off, and I must’ve turned it off and gone back to sleep, but I honestly have absolutely ZERO memory of this, so it’s a struggle to understand what happened. The consequences of waking up late have been pretty bad. I was supposed to board a train for Paris at 1030h today, but with me only waking up at 1000h there was no way I was going to make it in time. There goes 65 pounds down the drain. Unfortunately, the price of all forms of transportation to Paris seems to have grown significantly over the last couple of days since I bought my train ticket; meaning that buying a new one would be more than 140 pounds, and I just don’t have the money to spend so much on transportation. Unfortunately the ticket I had previously purchased was also non-refundable. So instead I bought myself the cheapest travel I could get to Paris: 22 pounds for a 10 hour bus ride (instead of the four hour train trip). The good news is that it’s given me the chance to catch up on writing, but I’m mad to be out the extra money, and to have lost the whole day to transit instead of having time to explore. I have friends from San Diego who are in Paris today, but will be leaving in the morning, so it looks like I’m going to miss them; as my bus gets in to Paris just after midnight, and then I’ll still need to get across the whole city to my hostel in Montmarte, just praying that the reception at the hostel is 24h.
Well, that’s about it for now, but more as I get time!