There and Back Again: March 15th, 2014 (British Museum, Poet's Corner, Phantom, and Morally Delicate)

March 15th, 2014

London to Paris

Early Morning

To pick up where I left off. We ate lunch in the park, then walked a lot. We saw Covent Gardens, Trafalgar Square, crossed the London Bridge, and stopped in Piccadilly Circus, where we split into groups for free time. Most people stayed to go shopping (the Circus is basically a giant, outdoor mall), while a few of us went to the reconstructed Globe Theater. For those of you scratching your skulls, that's the theater where Bill Shakespeare's works were performed. After a thirty-minute walk, we find out… The theater exhibit is closed for a performance. Apparently, calling two days ahead wasn't early enough… We couldn't get tickets, or even poke our heads in. So, after a brief venting session and some crippling moments of indecision, we decided not to waste the walk over and settled on a tour of the Rose Theater, a smaller competitor of the Globe that was discovered back in the 1980s and saved from development by the likes of Sir Ian McKellan and Dustin Hoffman. Our tour guide was a very English woman named Jane, who had obviously done some time in the theater herself. We followed her to the original site of the Globe- now an empty lot- and then to the theater, where we were again disappointed. The foundations of the building had to be kept in complete darkness to prevent algae from growing on the surface of the water… Why there was a pool of water in the middle of the theater, I have no idea, but God forbid algae grow on it. That being said, we could view the ruins only by a thin strip of red lights running along the floor, which did relatively nothing. The tour wasn't a complete waste, however… Our group was the only one that got to ride a double-decker bus.

Afterwards, we went to a place Tommaso called 'a little British pub'… Serviced entirely by French people. The food was good, though- some kind of fried chicken cutlet with gravy and mashed potatoes, and a banana cream pie for dessert. After dinner, we went back to the hotel, heard a little bit from a missionary working in the country, and crashed… Hard. I slept so deeply they could have yanked my tonsils out and I would have simply rolled over.

Day three of London started at 7 am- breakfast at the hotel, then off on a bus for a guided tour. Our guide, Joel (or 'Joelle', as he pronounces it) was memorable. He repeatedly referred to us as 'morally delicate', but that didn't stop him from swearing mildly and frequently referencing 'slap and tickle' and unfortunately shaped British architecture. Needless to say, he was a hit.

After he gave the Welsh a thorough raking over (something about football), we were obliged to tell him that our driver, Sarah, was Welsh. His face… We died. The only time we ever saw him speechless, I believe.

He had a sense of humor about his own country, also; while discussing the Royal Wedding in 2011, he affectionately described his queen as being 'dipped in custard'- a reference to her lovely yellow outfit.

Upon learning that we were Protestant, he also invited us to jump up and down on Charles Darwin's grave when we visited Westminster Abbey. Should say a bit about the way we are viewed by outsiders… Slightly convicting.

Joel took us to the outside of St. Paul's Cathedral, London Bridge, and Buckingham Palace, where we watched the changing of the guard… obligatorily, I suppose. He left us there and the group split again- a few to go to Harrods, a few to go to 221B Baker Street (the actual address, as I found out later… not where Sherlock is filmed), and the rest of us to the British Museum.

After waiting twenty minutes for a crappy takeout 'burger' (a fried patty on bread, once again served by Frenchmen), we wolfed down our food in the museum courtyard and raced inside to spend forty minutes going through a collection that could take years to see. I went to the Ancient Egyptian exhibit, where I was graced by the presence of Cleopatra, along with many other scribes, kings, and queens whose names I can barely remember, and certainly not spell. A quick peek inside the Babylonian and Assyrian exhibit yielded spectacular murals, and then I was off to see Sutton Hoo.

For those of you who did not spend your childhood immersed in the free DK guidebooks that came with your Chik-fil-a kid's meal (as I obviously did), you should know it was a burial site believed to from around the time of Beowulf. To be more exact… three cemeteries, two 6th century, one 7th century. One contained an untouched ship burial stocked with Anglo-Saxon artifacts.

There's an ancient Saxon helmet that pops up whenever you read about the site, and it stuck in my head as a little kid- I was determined to see that helmet someday.

Fifteen minutes remaining. I race to the end of the Ancient Europe exhibit looking for Exhibit 41. The course, the exhibits end at #39 by an unmarked set of closed doors. Seeing as how closed doors usually mean ‘don’t even think about it’ in museums, I backtracked to the entrance.

EXHIBIT 41 IS CLOSED.

Shoot.

This is all very ridiculous, I know. But it gives me an excuse to come back… I WILL see that darned helmet.

Ten minutes left. I see a flight of stairs and run down them, hoping to hit the first floor (where we came in). Instead, I find myself stuck between the Ancient Mexico exhibit and the Enlightenment Gallery.

Back up the stairs. Find the correct staircase, head to the first floor. Find out I could have cut through the Enlightenment Gallery and saved myself ten minutes of stairs. Recognizing my innate ability to lose myself practically anywhere (it's a gift, I know) I latched onto some girls from my group and went to find the Rosetta Stone. The Stone was mobbed with people, so I had Michael take a picture for me (taller… could see over the heads) and then spent thirty seconds admiring the much more impressive Egyptian columns and statues on display… Huge. We also got to catch a glimpse of a moai- again, for those of you not educated at the knee of the Chik-fil-a kids' program… it's an Easter Island Head. Some of you seem to be fond of the phrase 'Dumb dumb. You give me gum gum.' Whatever makes it easier for you.

Outside we go, and off to Westminster Abbey. The place is huge. As in… enormous. And while I'm never one to approve of spending vast quantities of money on a building when beggars are living down the street, this place was an exception. While I know it's less of a church and more of a museum, it still felt fitting to be a place of God. Due to Lent (actually, this is on the hour, Lent or not), they said a very brief, very solemn prayer during our visit. Afterwards, you could hear the organ playing… To be as non-cheese as possible, it felt sacred. Don't take photographs, don't do anything touristy (no posing with Elizabeth I, for example)… just walk and remember.

The graves at the beginning were mostly old, rich dukes and duchesses no one remembers. There were a few knights circa 1300, as well as Elizabeth I, Mary I (buried in the same room… Mary in an Anglican Church, no less), Mary Queen of Scots, and Anne of Cleves. I must have missed 'ol slap n' tickle himself', as Joel called him… Henry VIII.

Poet's Corner, though… Be still my beating brain.

I actually stood on Sir Laurence Olivier and looked directly across at Shakespeare (or his memorial, at least). Weeks after watching Hamlet, no less. I looked slightly to my right, and what did I see but the three Brontes, all neatly stacked on top of each other. Behind me, Dickens is laid out, and Handel looms over him. I am surrounded by Shelley, Hardy, Milton, Byron, Kipling… Wow. Just, wow. Amazing.

Michael… Is this the 'pretending not to be impressed' part you told my mom about? ;)

After strolling outside for a moment, I ducked back inside to find Darwin. And for the record, I didn't lay a toe on him. We passed Churchill and the Unknown Soldier on the way out, as well.

After having my mind completely blown apart (is this the act they call 'fangirling'? I believe it is), we stopped at a little square of shops and restaurants for dinner. The pub we ate at was more authentic… Still served by Frenchmen, though. Fish n' chips with soggy fish, good chips, and cream puffs to end. The English could learn a thing or two from their Southern brethren about frying fish. That being said, Southerners could learn a thing or to from their English cousins about portion control.

Michael, Bekah, and I then head off to Her Majesty's Theater for The Phantom of the Opera. A note… Theaters with royal names are under the patronage of that royal… Prince of Wales, the Queen, etc. The visit left me with one impression of Her Majesty- she's cheap when it comes to A/C. Despite roasting our American rears off, the play was excellent… The music was even bearable. I'm not a fan of musicals, as a general rule. The stage effects, though, were amazing… The boat, the roof, the chandelier… awesome.

Afterwards, we headed back to Waterloo, where we waited for the train and I had The Lady in Black explained by a guy who obviously couldn't decide between his sandwich and me. In his defense, the sandwich looked really good.

We returned home for a two or three hour nap, then enjoyed a 4:30 wakeup call and checkout. Currently on the Eurostar, Paris-bound. Explains my shaky handwriting. Actually, I just don't care, sooo… Sorry. See you in Paris.

Abigail

Those last few sentences are an accurate reflection of that 4:30 wakeup call, eh? Grumpy Abby.