British Museum and Soane's Museum

Okay....so while I had every intention of sitting and updating this thing like a crazy person last weekend, I got sidetracked by gorgeous weather and steel drums. More on that later. Must catch up from where I left off first.

British Museum. 8/14/07. Because I got tired of the horrific tantrums Conrad threw at me every tutoring session, I decided to try something new: going to a museum instead of sitting in the living room going over math problems. So Conrad and I went to the British Museum.

Big mistake. I have never been so embarrassed by the behavior of a child before. He showed a very morbid interest in the Egyptian mummies, and behaved like a cranky toddler for the rest of the visit.

Needless to say, I was very disappointed that things went that way, because I had been looking forward to visiting the British Museum for, oh, I don't know, fifteen years (ever since I had my Egyptology phase as a kid). I have decided to go back later on without Conrad and after school starts in the hopes that there will be fewer people taking pictures of things I want to see.

Like the Rosetta Stone. Somehow I'd forgotten that it was on display there, so in a similar manner as my first glimpse of Parliament and Big Ben, I came around a corner in one of the museum's Egypt galleries and happened to wind up straight in front of the Rosetta Stone. Nerd that I am, the floor dropped from beneath me, my stomach joined it shortly thereafter, my eyes suddenly welled up, and goosebumps merrily traipsed across my entire body. But could I get close to the display case to see it up close in all of its tri-lingual, key-to-understanding-ancient-Egyptian, has-now-become-a-catchphrase-for-anything-involving-monumental-breakthroughs-in-translation glory? Nope. Too many jerks taking pictures with big lenses. I was forced to lurk around the fringes of this shutterbug mob, up on my tiptoes in a last-ditch effort to examine the marvelous piece of rock. Oh, and Conrad was ready to leave. I tried to explain to him the Stone's significance, but apparently I'm the only one who was blown away at ten by the Rosetta Stone.

We left and had hotdogs from the stand outside the gates. Sat in front of the museum and made short work of them. They were good.

Other thoughts on the British Museum: walking through the Chinese exhibit, I started thinking about how many of the exhibits are comprised of stolen goods. All that wonderful history, but should it be returned to the country of origin? White girls can't really go to Egypt, and Communist China seems risky and dirty. And there's no guarantee that those governments would make them freely accessible to the public. But the fact remains that some of it was stolen. So what do you do? I haven't decided yet.

Okay. So, still 8/14/07. Next we went to Soane's Museum. Long story short: wacky architect fellow designs the oddest house I've ever been in. Looks like this from the front (left), but inside is quite a different story. I liked it better than the Royal Pavillion for sheer zaniness. Unconventional staircases, tiny courtyards with dog graves right next to a room with the sarcophagus of Seti I or some other such Seti, along with a portrait room with hinged shutters so you can store more paintings than walls would normally allow. It was a fantastic little jaunt, and more importantly, Conrad enjoyed it as well.

It's along a pretty little park where they beheaded someone during the reign of Charles II. Now there are tennis courts.

So. Now to 8/15/07 and, coincidentally, hitching a ride on the no. 15 bus. Then I'm going to call it quits for the night and try to get some sleep.

Okay, so the no. 15 is one of those double-decker affairs, and both of my tour guides recommend riding it because it shows you "all the best and most famous sights". Only problem was, I'd seen most all of the sights it had to offer, like Trafalgar Square and so on. However, the bus ride itself was entertaining enough to be worth the £1 it cost me to ride from Marble Arch to the Tower of London. A Spanish family sat nearby, chattering away in Spanish, so when I closed my eyes, it was almost exactly the same as riding the bus to Huntington every when I was a junior lifeguard. And the bus driving itself reminds me of driving in Mexico...sort of a free-for-all that's really hard on the brakes.

Anyway. I have to say that the Tower of London was the first sight I'd seen that wound up being bigger than I'd expected. Lots bigger, in fact. Somehow I'd never learned that it was an old fort. I guess I was expecting something like the building where they keep the crown jewels in Copenhagen (which wasn't very big, just tall and forbidding). But the Tower just sprawls along beside the Thames. I'm going to have to go back and get a better look, and I think I might be able to talk Conrad into going with me.

So that about does it for the British Museum, Soane's Museum, and the no. 15 bus. Here's the link for the pictures:

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=46020&l=166c4&id=560310472

Next post: the London Eye, the London Aquarium, and maybe more. Depends.

Catch you later.....

Exhaustion

Okay, so I know it's been a week since I last posted anything, but I've been so busy I truly haven't had a chance to sit and post again. I am terribly sorry. They're going to Ireland without me this weekend, so I should have a chance to sit and write everything down without any distractions. I promise to tell you about the following: British Museum, Soane's Museum, bus rides, the London Eye, the London Aquarium, Soho, Australians, why tutoring = torture, Oxford/Regent Streets, Uno marathons, and Cafe Pacifico.

Lots to cover. Will go bit by bit and break it down by each day.

Thanks for your patience....

Now that I'm comfortable, I wander!

Last Thursday was my last day without Conrad. Jayne (Sonja's friend/sort of business partner) does the Night Market greenery at Covent Garden on Thursdays, so I hopped a train down there. As it turned out, the theme for the day was going to be "it was smaller than I expected."



Starting with Covent Garden. To be fair, I really hadn't envisioned any sort of size, but the whole thing just seemed small. The Jubilee Market reminded me of the swap meet back home, just indoors and on a smaller scale. Pashmina scarves, two for £6.99! I think there was a guy selling designer sunglasses around the corner....

There was a guy there with a booth devoted to chiles, so I stopped by to find out if he knew where I could find New Mexico chile peppers. No luck. Asked for Hatch green chile, got a blank stare. I think he was impressed that I stumped him. So now it's back to the internet to find out if they go by another name, although I doubt it. Guess I'll just have to wait until I get back home.

Jayne told me of a candy shop just around the corner that stocks all sorts of American candy. I've been jonesing for proper bubblegum since I got here, so I decided to check it out. Expecting a huge place with floor-to-ceiling shelving and a ladder on wheels and a track so you could reach the top shelf, got a dinky little shop with cheap DIY shelving. No ladder necessary. However, heaven. I got bubblegum, Dots, Reese's Pieces, Twizzlers, Pop Rocks, Lemonheads, and Creme Savers. Oh, and Jolly Ranchers. Heaven. And, randomly, the guy behind the register is from Modesto. We chatted a bit about traffic, then I headed back to the tube station.

And of course, I got sidetracked. Saw a sign for Trafalgar Square, decided to go check it out in the daytime. It was weird being there with tons of other people. Finally got to take a picture of the double-decker bus with the O2 ad that's grammatically incorrect. Hoo-ray. Headed under the Admiralty Arch and walked past St James's Park to get to Buckingham Palace. Which was smaller than I expected it to be. Bear in mind, I've only ever seen one other royal residence (in Copenhagen), and that one was huge! Buckingham just didn't do it for me. Although I did enjoy the big Queen Victoria Memorial. She looks crankier in marble.

Walked to the station at Victoria and went home.

So I guess it's safe to say that I'm now at ease with riding the tube and walking everywhere. I really need to keep a street map with me though. And I need to learn the bus system. But for now, I need to go wake up Conrad and get the day going. We're playing catch-up with tutoring since I didn't stay at Bunny's house, and thus far it's been really rough. Lots of crocodile tears and tantrums. I'm hoping it'll get better by the end of the week.

Here's the link for the latest pictures: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=45191&l=1ca68&id=560310472

I'll explain more about the wig next post.

Hope you're having fun...

Weekend shenanigans...

It’s 10:00pm as I’m sitting down to write this. I’ve just finished a bowl of ice cream, and I’m working my way through a cup of tea. Why the mundane detail? I HAVE HEARTBURN!!!!

Utter ridiculousness. Missed making Mexican last night because nobody had gone to the grocery store yet this week, so I whipped up something tonight (chicken, vegetables, and quesadillas). I went a little overboard on Tabasco sauce tonight. Not sure why. I actually had to go and get two glasses of milk, my mouth was so completely on fire. And now I have heartburn. So I ate some chocolate ice cream. Yum.

But, I’m an idiot for getting heartburn.

So, since I can’t fall asleep until it goes away, I’m going to write a bit about my adventures last weekend.

As I’ve already mentioned, I went out to a pub by myself on Friday night, where I made some new friends. Two of these new friends got my digits and promised to call me on Saturday to invite me along to their friend’s birthday party. My first thought is “Right, you’re really going to call some quirky American you just met in a pub…” But to my utter surprise, I got a phone call late in the afternoon. Ate dinner, took a shower, and headed out to Soho Square and a bar called The Edge.

Lordy. After about five minutes, it’s apparent from the throbbing music and the primarily male patrons that I’m in a gay bar. This realization is coupled with a sigh of relief, as I no longer have to worry about guys thinking that I’m flirting with them, and I can just have a conversation. Fan-tastic. Danced a bit, tried Sambuca for the first time, talked about tamales with a Mexican girl, and before I knew it, we were leaving for some other club.

Which is where it got a little bit nuts. There were mostly-naked twinks frolicking in empty kiddie pools in the entrance, along with a UK version of the George Foreman Grill making free hamburgers for everyone coming in/going out. Weird. We headed upstairs to the bathrooms, and ended up hanging out at the dance floor there. Here’s where it went nuts. I hadn’t been dancing in a long long long while, and there’s nothing like shaking your ass at a gay club. Especially when it’s to cheesy US pop hits and terribly Eurotrash synth pop stuff. I danced, drank more beer, and generally had a fantabulous time.

I had told my new pub friends not to leave without me since I was going to ride the night bus back with them (they live two stops south of me on the tube). So we left the club around 3:30 and caught a bicycle cab to Piccadilly Circus (where Jamie was sure we’d be able to catch the bus we needed to take). So we start wandering around Piccadilly, and I manage to avoid being a tourist and kept my camera in my purse.

That lasted until we hit Trafalgar Square. I had to take pictures. Nevermind that it was past four, and the sun was beginning to come up, I was determined to take a picture. Jamie suggested we climb up on one of the lions. So we did. After that, we searched some more for the N155 bus, before finally giving up and hailing a cab. I crawled into bed at about 5:15 that morning.

At 9:00, Sonja came in and woke me up to go to Brighton. I groggily dragged myself out of bed and threw the necessities for a day at the beach into my backpack. Or so I thought. When we got to the train station, I realized I’d forgotten my bathing suit. Oops. But there was no going back, since it was already 10 and we had to catch a train. I had managed to make myself a Thermos of coffee (thanks Mom! I used my Christmas present old school Thermos thing!), so I nursed that the whole way, and tried to clear my head.

I was so happy to see the ocean. I can’t even begin to describe it. There were two strange things about Brighton: I couldn’t smell the ocean, and the pebbles. Maybe the ocean smell I’m used to is derived from all the gross crap that’s in the water in Southern California, or maybe the close proximity of cars, buildings, and other smell-reducing agents makes Brighton odorless. Who knows? I could, however, feel it in the air the second we got off the train. I love ocean air. I should become a mermaid.

Anyway, Brighton is adorable. There are tons of shops, and the buildings are all old, and it’s got a pretty sizeable gay/lesbian community. Had I been thinking, I would’ve taken a picture of the rainbow flags flying from the Queen Hotel. The flags seemed a bit redundant…

But the beach itself is made up of pebbles. There is no sand to be seen. Just pebbles about the size of silver dollar (a proper silver dollar, not a Sacajawea or Susan B. Anthony dollar). They’re really hard to walk on in flip flops, and they’re even harder to walk on barefoot. They are, however, really comfortable to lie down on. Especially right after you’ve gone for a swim and you’re slightly chilled. The sun has warmed both your towel and the rocks beneath, so it takes very little time to lose the chill of the ocean. And while there is no surf to speak of, there’s a really strong westerly current at Brighton, so the short swim that I took was extraordinarily tiring.

And yes, I did go swimming even though I didn’t have a bathing suit. I went in my shorts and wife beater. It was a weird feeling, swimming fully clothed, but the dip in the ocean finally cleared my head from the previous night’s activities. And it felt so damn good to be back in the water. I haven’t yet figured out how to hoodwink Conrad into letting me go back next week, this time with a proper bathing suit.

We also went to the Royal Pavilion while in Brighton. I suggest you look it up on the net. If you come visit me, I will definitely take you to see it if you’d like. It’s amazing, and that’s all I’m going to say about it.

But, my heartburn has faded away, and I’m starting to do the same, so I’m going to stop typing now. If you’d like to see pictures from my weekend, please check out the album I’ve posted on facebook: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=42859&l=e5cd4&id=560310472. If you haven’t joined facebook yet, you should.

Oh yeah. This is what the beach looked like that day in Brighton (the picture was taken from the pier)

Crazy.

The countryside

It's a nice day out again, and I should probably be outside enjoying the sun, but I've got the house to myself for a few hours, so I'm going to do some cleaning while there won't be anyone in the way. Figured I'd post a bit on my adventures in the countryside before I get to mopping.

The countryside, at first glance, appears to be just as it seems in movies and on television. The greenery is astounding. Everything is so soft and rounded, no jagged mountains mucking up the gentle roll of the terrain. The clouds stack up one right after another straight on to the horizon and beyond. It’s quite breathtaking. On the drive back to the train station, the parts I could see through breaks in the hedges were so beautiful, my throat closed up in response (and no, it wasn’t allergies….I’m not allergic to anything).

Bunny’s house is also something that seems so clichéd that it can’t possibly be real. The yard between the first and second gates is home to her chickens, ducks, and pigeons. There are so many trees, you can’t see anything from the lane. After the second gate, there is another yard, the end of the gravel driveway, and a rough wooden awning unobtrusively extending from the side of the house. Her flower garden out front is a wild tangle of growth, and there is a small arch to a side garden complete with wicker lawn furniture. The side garden gets full sun in the morning and early afternoon before the house gets in the way of things. The roof sags as though it’s weathered too many rainstorms to be anything more than grudgingly cheerful when the sun comes out.

The house itself is an old barn. There are two parts to it, the main barn and the long barn. Corn was kept in the main barn, while cows took up residence in the long barn. According to Bunny, there was cow shit piled head-high in the long barn when she found the place. The long barn is now her sitting room, with bookshelves and couches and a baby grand and everything else that makes a sitting room a sitting room. The side that borders the lane is about halfway below-ground, with big windows all along the opposite wall that look out into the back garden and the view beyond. There is a huge fireplace and gorgeous exposed crossbeams in the ceiling. The main barn houses the kitchen, dining room, and a water closet on the ground floor, and the three bedrooms and two bathrooms (one en suite) are upstairs. There is also an attic, two-thirds of which is storage, with the remaining space devoted to a fourth bedroom. It is accessible through a ladder in the ceiling of one of the bedrooms. The upstairs was designed and added by Bunny. It creaks like hell, but doesn’t feel unsafe or rickety.

Nothing in the house fits. Nothing is comfortable to sit on. The only thing that was really relaxing was the bathtub, but the separate hot and cold water taps on it kept it from being perfect. If you forget and stretch out your feet while filling it, you’re in for a nasty surprise.

All of the doors leading outside are split, so you can leave the bottom half closed and still let in a breeze and some sunlight. Unfortunately, this also lets in tons of flies and other buzzing insects, so I found that one needs to keep an eye out for bees and wasps at all times. The doors inside the house also feel like they’re part of the old barn, with old-fashioned iron latches rather than doorknobs. There are windows everywhere, so the house is filled with sunlight, weather permitting.

The back garden echoes the riot from the front garden, with a nice bit of open grass in the middle. The plants climb up the sides of the house and would probably claim the grassy area within a couple of months if they were allowed to. You can see the surrounding hills that are dotted with more fields, all of which have been clearly delineated by dark green hedges. Some of the fields in the distance are home to sheep, others have scattered cattle.

Directly behind the house is a big field that belongs to the gentry who live in the nearby castle (not a proper castle, mind you, it was built in the Victorian era, although I haven’t seen it, so it might be a decent imitation…). Cows wander through the field, grazing where it suits them. The arrive via the lane that runs by her house in a great clamor of hooves, moos, and whistles of the men driving them. Sometimes they come right up to the barbed wire fence that separates her house from the fields and look you square in the eye while they chew their cud.

Did I mention that the barn is listed in the Doomsday Book? If you don't know what that is, look it up. It'll tell you how old the barn is.

I've got some pictures of all of this, but I'm still trying to collage them together so you can get a good view of the whole front of the house.

Next on the menu: gay bars in Soho and pebbles in Brighton.

Time to get my mop on. Hooray.

The Rose and Crown

I woke up Friday with every intention of doing some serious cleaning around the house.

I got up, had breakfast, then went back to my room to get dressed. I tried to get into my wardrobe, which, because of its close proximity to my bed, will not open all the way. After the frustration of the past two days (which will be further explained in the next post), I simply could no longer abide by the difficulty presented by the too-near bed. I then decided I would re-arrange my room to better suit all the furniture I have.

I'm very glad I did. Despite the fact that it took me all day and caused me to work up a bit of a sweat (the sun is still gracing London with its marvelous presence), I now truly feel at home in my room. If you know me well, then you know how important my room, and especially my bed, can be to my sense of comfort. Today's re-arrangement is the first sign that I genuinely feel at home in my surroundings. Took long enough.

I still managed to do a bit of cleaning, mostly vacuuming and ironing, but by dinner, I felt quite accomplished, which was a welcome change after the disaster of my visit in the country (again, more later).

I had decided at some point during the afternoon that I should probably get over any lingering doubts about forging out on my own and just go to a pub by myself. After meeting Conrad's grandmother, I've had this overwhelming sense of homesickness that had yet to rear its ugly face since my arrival at the end of June. A night of fun might just help me focus on what I love about the people I miss, rather than just obsessing about missing them.

I like going to karaoke bars because people seem to have such fun. Folks forget their own vanity and go up to sing because they want to. The karaoke places I liked back in the states were dive bars and considered dirty, but the people inside didn't care about how much money you made or the car that you drove.

After some careful internet research, I found a place nearby that seemed promising. The Rose and Crown pub, which advertises karaoke on Friday and Saturday nights. So I went. It turned out to be everything I was hoping for. Old folks, strange karaoke choices, and reasonable prices. Even made a couple of new friends. I've been invited out tomorrow night. This whole time I've been here, I've thought that people aren't friendly or approachable. Turns out, I just need to go to a pub and ask someone if you have to tip the bartenders (which, as it turns out, you don't). Amazing.

So, after sorting out my room and going to the pub, I'm starting to agree with my assertion that moving to London is quite possibly the best decision I've ever made.

Cheers.

Oh my god.

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/20097968/?gt1=10251

Ten and a half years of being pregnant.

Why? They don't live on a farm, so they don't need free field hands, nor do they own a family business that would profit from having all that free labor.

Why? Seventeen kids. And they're not done....

Sunburned? In London?

Yes folks, with a little hard work and complete disregard for good skin care, it can be done.

Check that out.

Only took two hours.

The sun came out to play today.

In fact, it was so nice out, I dried my laundry on a clothesline for the first time in my entire life.

I would love to write more, but I'm a bit wiped out after all the sun and some fantastic beef quesadillas that I made for dinner. Quick note: Conrad and I are going to stay with Bunny (his grandmother) out in the country for a spell. Not sure how long I'm going to be there. She doesn't have internet. I'm sure I'll have tons to share when I get back though.

Catch you later.......