The Shack

I wrote about serendipity a little while ago. I seem to be on some kind of quest although I'm only now really aware of it. It probably happened before deciding to go to London, but it became clearer sitting in the chapel in Westminster Abbey and even at my brief visit to Stonehenge. Hints of it have been showing up for quite a while. Some of the reading I've done lately has caused me to reflect in a way the author may not have intended (initially, Murakami). It might even go back to when I once more delved into the work of Virginia Woolf.

There's an old Chinese expression that says: When the student is ready, the teacher appears. It has happened to me in the past, and I know I have been that teacher at times, too. I don't know how to read the original Chinese, but I wonder if it might not translate as clearly into teacher as we might think, such as, an actual physical teacher. Maybe the teacher is present but in something that he or she has created, such as a book, if the teacher is an author, or maybe the universe, if the teacher is God. There are books that serve that purpose, I would hope, in everyone's life. They often come along when you're ready to read them but maybe you weren't even aware you were looking for them. Maybe it's more like, when the reader is ready the book appears. Some of those books are quite popular and are shared by many people. Some don't reach large groups but create a ripple effect from the few that do find them. Moby Dick was one of those early ones for me. So was The Old Man and the Sea. Much later, Jonathan Livingston Seagull was one. Then there was Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. More recently, Ishmael was the book. I believe The Shack by William P. Young, may also be one of those books. Driven much by way of mouth, the book has, a year after its publication, become a number one best seller on the NYT trade paperback fiction list, and at Barnes & Noble and Border's. I read about the book Tuesday in an article in the NYT. I bought it yesterday and have now read it, finishing it tonight while sitting on an old beach chair watching night fall on the ocean at the Hollywood Beach. Mr. Young wrote it for his family. Others read it and felt it deserved a wider audience. According to the NYT article, Christian publishers rejected it because it was too controversial (in the book, the main character meets God, all three persons of God, in an old shack, where something horrible had happened several years before that had permanently clouded the man's life and his relationship with God--oh, God is a large African American woman); secular publishers rejected it because it was too Christian. The author and his two friends pooled $15,000 and published it themselves. It has sold perhaps a million copies now. It will probably be made into a movie (please don't let it be Whoopee Goldberg that plays God).

It is necessary to read this book to appreciate it. It's better to not give many details away in talking about it. I could see why orthodox Christian religions wouldn't care for it too much. At one point in a discussion between Mack, the main character, and Jesus (well, you know, God), Jesus says, "An awful lot of what is done in my name has nothing to do with me and is often, even if unintentional, very contrary to my purposes." Mack responds to that with, "You're not too fond of religion and institutions?" Jesus' response to that is, "I don't create institutions--never have, never will." We might wonder, what would we say to God and ask God if we had a weekend alone with Him? Mack doesn't necessarily ask what we might consider the big questions, but maybe that's because he realizes how unimportant they really are. He is hurting terribly, both from his childhood and from something terrible that happened in that very spot, four years before. He blames God for that, as well as himself, and wants to know the answer to some universal questions about pain and suffering, good and evil, and how all this fits in to God's plan (if there is a plan) and could possibly be a manifestation of His supposed love for us. The answers aren't always easy to hear, understand, or accept. This may put this book in the same company as The Book of Job, the work of Melville (Moby Dick and The Confidence Man), Rabbi Kushner (When Bad Things Happen to Good People), and a plethora of other writers and thinkers. Will all readers like and accept the answers? That depends on the reader. It is a decidedly Christian book, which may turn off non-Christians, but the question they might want to ask is what actually does it mean to be a Christian, and who really is Jesus? The answer has very little to do with doctrine and scripture and definitely not televangelists.

It's a beautiful book, one that will bring joy and tears to the reader. I will be reading it again. Ultimately, it is a book about love. There is a website for the book if you care to read more about it or order the book.

Noted Weatherman Dies

And in other news, noted weatherman, Al Sleet, died yesterday. The crusty old, "hippy dippy" weatherman, had been telling America which way the wind was blowing (and who was doing the blowing) for decades.

It must be an interesting time in heaven: first Tim Russert and now George Carlin.

Back to Earth

My favorite zen saying is: "What do you do before satori comes? Chop wood and carry water. What do you do after satori comes? Chop wood and carry water."

Going to London was an enlightenment for me. The paradox about satori is that once it hits you, you are never the same, and yet you need to continue on the same path in the same place as you were before. As you get older, you still hope the world will change, but you know that it won't. What was odd about my trip was that I read three novels by Haruki Murakami while I was there: After Dark, Kafka on the Shore, and Norwegian Wood. At times, as I sat or walked in the park, I almost thought I was in Japan, so great is Hurakami's ability to transfer his reader to another place and another time, maybe even another mentality. Those books, along with my experiences in London, made me feel I should be moving on to something new or perhaps doing things in a different way. It just doesn't seem like nothing should be different. I'm glad I still have the rest of the summer off. I can't realistically retire for another two years, and even then financially (income as well as health insurance-wise) it isn't really something I could easily do.

It just seems like it's time for something different.

Final Hours

Unfortunately, all things end. I had dinner tonight at the Bayswater Pub where I ate my second night here. I had the shepherd's pie again. The girl told me it was made with "English beef" and not lamb. Soccer was on the big screen telly. Interestingly, a family came in and sat down but were told that they had to leave because children were not allowed in there. A soccer team came in after their game. They had all signed the ball, so it must have been their last game. They were a rather jovial and loud bunch. They all raised a pint or two to their season. Chris would be right at home here. My bill came to about 14 pounds. I had a 20 pound note left and, since I won't need any more English money (I've still got a pocket full of change--for my granddaughters), I gave the waitress all of it.

I've had a wonderful time here. I hope to return someday.

Economics

My last day in London. There were other things I would have liked to see, but I think I crammed a lot into my brief time here. Next time, I'd plan on going and staying in the countryside, especially Ely. It gives me something to come back for. Maybe I could get a job teaching at Hogwarts. I took a walk in an opposite direction from where I usually went today. I ended up in Notting Hill (no Hugh Grant or Julia Roberts). I was amazed at the people on the sidewalks. I thought they were tour groups, but they were mostly hordes of young people, taking in all the shops. I walked through a lot of residential areas. There must have been a lot of building during the Victorian era (she did reign for 64 years). They are stately buildings with several flats in them. The ceilings are high, and the walls are large. Many had very little decoration on the walls. Given the rent they pay, I'm not surprised if they can't afford anything else. I talked to a woman of middle age about the cost of things. She said people will work two weeks of the month just to pay their rent. She is an engineer and works all over the world. She said Americans are always amazed at how much more things cost here. She said she made a good salary (I didn't ask) but still pays a good portion of it for rent. She said she also has property in the country but prefers to stay in the city. I asked her whether teachers were paid well, and she said no. They'd have to live outside the city, but then that is balanced by transportation costs and commute time. I asked about taxes. She said employers can structure taxes around the pay; she said large employers like KPMG do better by employees. Apparently there is a property tax that goes by the size of your place, from studio on up. I'm not sure if this applies to rentals, as well. I remember that Priscilla had said that the tax man had even come up with a tax based on how many windows your place had, which was why there were so many windows bricked up (she pointed them out on the tour). One interesting thing Priscilla also said had to do with chimneys. Their use was banned because of the pollution (they burn coal). London was known for its respiratory illnesses. It's made the buildings much cleaner, too. Strangely, I came upon a couple of parks today in my walk that were gated shut and listed as private parks. One had to be a member to use them. Oddly enough, when I decided to come back to the hotel, I discovered I wasn't all that far away. I had somehow curved my way back from Notting Hill. I'm going to miss the health food restaurants around town (Pret a Mange). I've grown very fond of the aged cheddar cheese sandwich in wheat bread with romaine lettuce, tomatoes, and pickles (I still say they are cucumbers). They also have large, soft pretzels, but they have seeds instead of salt. I need to keep up this level of exercise and eating right. I suspect if I did I could reduce my medications greatly. That is especially true after seeing the news that Tim Russert died yesterday at 58 from heart problems. Tim and I went to the same high school in Buffalo. His best-selling book, Big Russ and Me, was about lessons learned from his dad and from Canisius High School. He was a life-long Buffalo Bills fan and always touted his Buffalo roots for making him what he is. As a political analyst, he had no peer. His being two years younger than I am gives me pause. Life is indeed fleeting. They say he's already up in heaven, debating inconsistencies in scripture with God. I hope he also asks Him what He has against the Bills.

Randomness

Does anyone recognize what place is in the picture below?




I took a trip to the King's Cross rail station. They don't recommend anyone's trying to get through there, but it is there.

I spent part of the day in frustration as I walked all over Bloomsbury looking for the Charles Dickens Museum. It wasn't really near the underground station, but I kept walking around. I asked several people, and none of them knew where it was. The colorful city maps that show up in various parks did show it, but each time I thought I had gotten to where it was, the next map showed me to be miles away. I finally asked a man in uniform who was giving a parking ticket to two very angry construction workers who had left their truck too long. He gave me very explicit directions to the street the museum was on. I followed them to the letter and ended up nowhere near it. I finally gave up and went back to the underground. I went to Westminster one more time as I wanted to get a London tie in the Abbey gift shop. Silk ties, in some of the men's shops I went into, which did not say London anywhere on them, were going for around 90 pounds. Needless to say, I didn't buy one.

Chris raised a good question in my last post. What kind of salaries do people make to afford these incredible rents? Short of stopping people and asking them, I decided to check out Craigslist and see. A company called Pebble is looking for someone to work on Apple computers for customers and clients. Depending on what Apple certifications the person may have, the pay range was from 25,000 to 32,000 pounds a year with performance related bonuses. That’s not bad. By contrast, someone else was looking for a dental nurse (it wasn’t clear whether they really meant an RN or not). This paid 18,000 pounds a year. Another group is looking for an RN in midwifery, delivery, etc. It doesn’t list salary, but has this interesting line: “Keep more of your hard earned money in your pocket with 20% tax cap. This is a great place to grow your career, get more hands on experience and save some money. Relocation assistance and retention bonuses available.” It makes me wonder if there are different tax rates for different occupations. A customer service position was listed at $7 to $10 (it said dollars and not pounds). Another company is looking for “morning people” to sell breakfast food to commuters, for four hours a day at 7.50 pounds an hour. Some publication is looking for film reviewers, paying 40 pounds for 500 words. I noticed an ad the other day for English teachers to do tutoring, and that paid around 7.50 pounds an hour. So, I don’t know if that begins to answer the question. I am at a loss to figure out how people live here. I just looked at one ad, and it listed several one bedroom apartments. The price range was from 380 to 445 pounds per week! That’s 19, 760 to 23,140 pounds a year. Amazing.

I guess I won’t be moving here any time soon.

Sinatra Lied

I have had yet to see even one foggy day in London Town. A couple of times today, it wanted to rain, but it never really did The temperature never got above 59 degrees. I just came back from an evening walk, and it's 57 degrees now. My Elvis jacket sure came in handy. I did some walking around Bayswater (which is where I'm staying) after walking the length of the park to the rose garden and then coming back by way of the road outside of the park. I was struck by one edifice within a cluster of stately manors, known as the Spire. The facade looks like an 18th century church (thus the spire), but it is now very pricey apartments or maybe condos. Some very expensive hotels are interspersed throughout the area, but most seem to be private residences. Though I do see young people walking around these areas, I'm not sure how they could afford to live here. I looked in the window of a real estate office in the area and saw two bedroom flats going for anywhere from 345,000 pounds to over 1,200,000 pounds. Some of the buildings looked nice, but that's a lot of money. Some said for sale and some said for leasehold, whatever that means. I think it has to do with whoever owns the land. Most of it in this area is owned by some duke whose name I forget. He owns the two priciest areas in London. The US Embassy is on one of those areas. We usually own the land our embassy is on, but he wouldn't sell it. According to another tour guide, he did say he once owned land in the US that he lost after the war (Revolutionary). He'd be willing to swap. It was in Northern Virginia, and maybe some guy named Jefferson now owned it. That might be made up, but he does lease the property to us for $1 a year. We are apparently building a new embassy on land we purchased. Anyway, the duke leases the land, but it's as if the people own it. Imagine how rich this family is (I obviously know it can't be the same actual guy after 200+ years!). Too bad their name isn't Ellingham. Regular apartments in this area go either weekly or monthly. They do have "special"rates for students abd set a limit on how many people can share an apartment. They make South Florida and Chicago rents seem reasonable.

I bought two more novels by Murakami which I haven't seen for sale at home. I did a lot of reading today, after watching Germany lose in soccer. I also gave people directions to somewhere today. Amazing. I went to a laundromat, as well. I know my friend Terri said it's just as easy to throw out the old clothes, but I figured I'd give them a wash. It cost 3 pounds for the washing machine and 1 pound 50 pence for the dryer. The detergent was also 50 pence. I noticed a weird thing about the water. It is so soft that soap can not be washed off in the shower. Texas was kind of like that, but this goes way beyond. I hope I don't start sweating again in my clean shirts. I may start sudsing.

Missed her by this much

I was sitting in Kensington Gardens this morning reading a new novel by Haruki Murakami. The usual assortment of joggers and dog walkers were going by. I had seen one nice space before I sat at my bench that faced a nice, green field, but chose to stay where I was. It started raining a little bit, so I decided to head for a nearby covered pavilion. That's when I saw the large, deep red helicopter in the green space. There were quite a few people standing at the fence watching it. That's when I remembered that Priscilla (the dotty tour lady) said that the Queen went everywhere in a red helicopter. I went over there, but the doors were already closed, and it was lifting off. I asked someone standing there who was in the helicopter, and he quite matter-of-factly said, "Why, it's the Queen." That's when I noticed the policemen with machine guns. The helicopter lifted off, people waved at it, and it sped away. I was about 50 yards away from the Queen. If I had sat on the bench I first noticed, I would have seen her walk to the helicopter. Darn. Yes, I know I'm an American, but it would still have been exciting to see the Queen that close-up.

Kew Gardens

Despite an ankle that feels sprained, I made my way out again. Navigating the underground is old hat now. Kew Gardens is almost at the end of the underground line. My first surprise is that there is a very quaint little town there. The gardens are a brief stroll through the town. There were many little shops at the station. I bought a book at the Kew Book Shop on my way back to the station. I had to use one of the ATMs, as well ("A Hole in the Wall"). Money goes pretty quickly here. There was a 13 pound admission charge. Kew Gardens covers some 300 acres. It is a world class garden but much more than that. They carry on research in conservation and horticulture. According to their brochure, they employ around 200 science staff, 75 affiliated researchers, and 110 horticulturists. There are perhaps millions of flowers, trees, and plants. There are a couple of green houses (glass houses here), including the Temperate House, which used to be the largest glass house in the world. It was very humid. It was amusing to see plants and trees that are in my yard. The Princess of Wales Conservatory reminded me of the Botanical Gardens in Buffalo, though this was much larger. There are many areas designed to feature specific regions of the world and types of vegetation. I spent several hours there but didn't see it all. Like the National Gallery, there were scores of school children there. I was particularly impressed with one school as the students all wore deep purple sweaters. The English system seems to certainly value field trips. There are benches all over the gardens. Many of them have plaques honoring people who loved the gardens. One I sat on had a plaque for a lady named Daisy who lived from 1881 to 1983. The environment certainly agreed with her. At first, it seemed like I had missed the full colors as many flower beds were bare and being rebedded. But, I finally did find many colorful areas with incredibly beautiful flowers. A couple of spots were especially breath-taking, and I found that several artists had set up their easels and were painting watercolors.



The lady on the left was painting. I found my own quiet spot to jot down some notes and ended up writing a short story. It was more than just the ambiance that inspired me, though.





There were many clusters of lavender growing everywhere. It reminded me of my favorite song that Erin used to play for me when she played the piano, "Lavender's Blue."




I took many more pictures, but these are enough for now. Ironically, the one thing I kept looking for, any acknowledgement of Virginia Woolf, was something I never found. Her brilliant story, "Kew Gardens," which I teach in my short story class, is the main reason I wanted to see the gardens. I asked one of the guides about it, and he said there was nothing he knew about it. At the information desk, they were not aware of any connection to Virginia Woolf. A couple of the men did posit the opinions that she wasn't "all there." The woman in charge of the guides had never heard of the story. They wrote it down in their book as they keep track of things that people bring up. I thought that was rather remarkable. One of the men did say that Virginia lived in Richmond, which is the last stop on the underground line (actually, it's above ground by this time). The reason I had mentioned it in the first place is that I had been trying to figure out where she was when the story was written. I never did, which is probably appropriate as there is no real narrator unless it's the garden itself, Gaia, or God. To have an actual spot would have limited it. The woman had pointed out one of the lakes in there and said, without knowing anything about the story, maybe she wrote near one of the lakes since "she had an affinity for water." I don't know if she was being funny or not. Maybe she was thinking To The Lighthouse rather than the fact that Virginia drowned herself. Anyway, maybe I started something, or maybe they were just humoring me. Virginia certainly inspired me to not only visit the gardens but to write a story while I sat within them. For both of those reasons, it was a successful trip.

Art and Soul

I not only braved but think I’ve mastered the underground (subway). I bought an all-day pass and used it to get all over town. I did still end up walking quite a bit, including two trips across the Blackfriers Bridge, the second time with my feet and legs crying out for me to jump into the Thames and end their suffering. It doesn’t look like I can use it to get to the airport, though, as it leaves too late on Sunday morning.

Today was a no camera day. They aren’t allowed in the Abbey or the galleries, so I left it in the hotel. The National Gallery is truly a national (and wordwide) treasure. What an incredible collection it is. Though they would like a donation, admission is free. I could have spent all day there. What was delightful was that the gallery was full of groups of school children of all ages. They could often be seen sitting on the floor in front of a painting, deep in discussion with one of the docents. I enjoyed listening to their comments. I made my way to my old friends, the Impressionists and Post-Impressionists. One of Cezanne’s large bathers was there, as well as many smaller works and a couple of self-portraits. I was struck by how flat and thin the paint was on his paintings, as opposed to Van Gogh’s, for example. His apples in Chicago are more thickly-painted (at least in my memory). There were several Van Gogh’s, including his “Yellow Chair” and a very famous wheat field scene and one of his sunflower paintings. There were also beautiful works by Pisarro, Manet, Monet, and some spectacular pieces by Degas. Seurat’s “Bathers at Asnieres,” a world famous painting, was also there. Note to Dean: I kept my distance. Surprisingly, they had no works by Utrillo. When I asked about that at the information desk, they did say there was a Utrillo listed in the national collection, but it’s in the Royal Residence. I’ll bet the Queen has it hanging in her bedroom. She has impeccable taste. I find my tastes have narrowed over the years, and I wasn’t all that impressed with the old masters. I did enjoy the sensuousness of Velazquez and the Spanish disregard for majesty in their portraits. Rembrandt, of course, has no equal. I laughed again at the obvious sense of humor of the Brueghels, especially Pieter the elder. I wonder if the faces in his paintings are of friends of his? Even in his painting of the visitation of the magi, the Christ child has the face of an old man. I did appreciate the rich colors of Titian. Rubens left me cold. However, my breath was literally taken away when I saw one of my most favorite works of art in the world: “The Supper at Emmaus,” by Caravaggio. Every power that he possessed as an artist is represented in this painting. His use of chiaroscuro was never better. If you are not familiar with this painting, look it up. I thought I knew it well, but to see it in person was to reveal it to me in a whole new way. It must feel like the apostles did when they realized that the man that they were eating with was Jesus. After that, I had seen enough. I did decide to go to the Tate Modern since everyone says you should when you are in London.

Thus began another train ride, with switches and then the hike across the bridge. I was greatly disappointed in the Tate. Aside from the fact that it was hard to get to it, its layout isn’t conducive to easy access. It could also have been my encounter with Caravaggio, but nothing there impressed me at all. It may take another 100 years before some art historians can decide what “modern” art was all about. There were some art “installations,” which is to a work of art as a pile of scattered car parts is to a Porsche. They had an exhibit on the history of street photography, which I bypassed. They called it “Street & Studio: an Urban History of Photography.” One of their posters had a street-looking type holding a camera like it was a machine gun. It rather reminds me of the current crop of “spoken word poets,” who seem to think they invented reciting (when they are not spewing) poetry outloud. No knowledge of the past can produce great delusions in the minds of “artists.” Wow. I must be getting old. Blame it all on Picasso. The only thing I did appreciate was that there were several cut-out pieces by Arp. Funny, though: the word Dada never came up. The walk back over the Blackfriers Bridge was especially painful. There was a young woman in a red dress that did brighten up the place more than any of the art did.

Before I did the art scene, I went the spiritual route, trying to grasp what had eluded me at Stonehenge. I spent a couple of hours in Westminster Abbey. I’ll save most of my reflections for another time, but it was an uplifting experience. The history of the place itself would be more than enough. But, as they like to point out, it is an active house of worship. Every coronation of every king and queen of England, dating back to 1066 (William the Conquerer), has happened in Westminster. Kings and queens are buried there. As with all sites of historical interest in London, they provide a free commentary to take along and make it easier to know what you are looking at. Jeremy Irons provided the commentary, though it was often interspersed with discussions by experts, music, and some videos. One of my favorite places was the Poet’s Corner. The first poet buried there was Geoffrey Chaucer, though it was mainly because he held a government office. Others came later. There is a statue and tribute to Shakespeare, but he isn’t buried there though they did talk once of moving him there. Sir Laurence Olivier is also buried there, not far from Chaucer. The prize, of course (not counting kings and queens) is the tomb of Sir Isaac Newton. It is on the altar where they say services every day. Charles Darwin is also near him, but he has only a spare, nondescript slab with his name and dates on it. I wonder if that should surprise me or not? I did spend some time just sitting (yes, and maybe praying) in St. Faith’s Chapel, which is set aside for just that purpose. Another impressive thing is the Grave of the Unknown Warrior. It was in a place of prominence, right near the entrance to the Abbey. It was surrounded in beautiful red poppies (and, yes, they do grow in Flander’s Fields). The British do know how to honor the men and women who protect and serve them. Too bad more Americans don’t feel the same way about their warriors. It’s interesting to note the names and monuments to people most of us have never heard of, but they were important to England. To spend the time to reflect on what is really contained in the Abbey and everything that has happened there for more than a thousand years, is to perhaps begin to understand what it means to be English. No people is perfect, no country is always right or just or altruistic, but I’m proud to have England as part of my heritage.

Into the Bath

My trip today worked out to be a 14 hour day. Most of it was on the tour bus, or at least that's what it seemed. We started with a visit to Windsor Castle. What an incredible place. It's easy to see why it is the Queen's favorite residence. No photos were allowed inside, unfortunately. I did buy a book about the castle which is full of color pictures (as well as a present for Erin). It was amazing to see all the opulence. I especially liked all the suits of armor, including Henry VIII's, and all of the armament (swords, pistols, rifles, etc.) Most art galleries would kill to have what is in the residence, including a fantastic self-portrait by Rembrandt, many paintings by Hans Holbein, Van Dykes, etc. The changing of the guard was exciting. Here's just one external view.




Next on the agenda was Stonehenge, the main reason I booked the expensive trip. Imagine my disappointment when we were told we had 25 minutes to see it. They never said anything about that in the information about the trip. I realize that most people may not feel the spiritual bond I do with the place, but 25 minutes? There was no later bus, so I couldn't stay as I would have had no way to get back to London. I took many pictures but not from all the angles I wanted. The area is roped off, so it wasn't possible to touch or interact with them.







So much for spiritual connections. We then made our way to an English pub, the Churchill. I had a meal of pork, which was pretty good. I sat with three young people from the US. We talked sports, careers, and Harry Potter. They didn't care for their meals. The young woman was a communication major, and is working in local television right now. We spent over two hours there (and only 25 minutes in Stonehenge!).

The next stop was the Town of Bath. Throughout our bus ride, we were regaled with a running commentary by our dotty tour guide, Priscilla. Her views on life, the world, and everything else were insane but funny ("Girls. Elope. Save your dads some money.") I never did figure if she were a socialist or not. She was against the wars but definitely in support of our troops, so she was all right with me. Bath was built on an ancient site/town built by the Romans who discovered the gushing heated waters. I went in to see the baths but was not impressed. The Bath Abbey was impressive. The Romans may have built the baths and worshipped pagan gods around the year 60. After the Norman conquest, a cathedral was built in the 1090s. The cathedral was in ruins by 1499. The present Abbey was built to replace it and destroyed in 1539. In 1611, the Abbey was reroofed and fully repaired. It was bombed in WWII and finally restored from 1991-2000. One interesting fact is that the walls are full of plaques and what look like grave markers. I asked someone who worked there if these people were buried in the walls. He said the walls were too narrow. There are some 4,000 people buried beneath the church! I spent quite a while talking to a young Canadian man when he asked me whether I could translate something that was in Latin (I did); he was with me when we heard that, so we were both amazed by that.





The ride back to London took almost three hours. Tomorrow I intend to visit Westminster Abbey since I couldn't go inside Sunday. My young Canadian friend had been there Saturday. He was impressed. I am tired but hanging in there. BTW, petrol (gasoline) costs about 120.8 p per liter. That works out to almost $8 a gallon. People who drive into London to work have to pay a charge on certain days (unless it's an electric car). According to Priscilla, there are some 1 million bike riders are on the streets going to work every morning. They are trying very hard to get a handle on the energy crisis. I give them credit.

If it's Sunday, it must be London

Today has been a busy day. The canyon formed by the buildings here conducts sound very well. Some Londoners (or tourists) never sleep. When I decided I might as well get up to go to the bathroom, it was 4:45 a.m., and it was already light out. It gets dark very late, too. Breakfast wasn't until 7:30, so I had some time to kill. All of this walking is agreeing with me. My blood sugar was 88 this morning. For me, that's almost a little too low, but it's interesting, anyway. Quick note to self: Don't have two bowls of cereal in the morning, especially with whole milk; your stomach can't take it. Anyway.

I left early to see how long it will take me to get to my pick up point tomorrow for Stonehenge. It's only 10 minutes, but it means I'll miss breakfast. I'll have to see what opens down the street that I might go to. I then went back to Kensington and Hyde Parks. I ended up sitting on a bench watching people for a good while. People were jogging by the hundreds. I took a picture later of part of the park. Almost every area is full of people like this. I asked someone about that, and he said they came out in the winter, too, if the weather wasn't too bad. He said it does snow sometimes. The pictures should be a little bigger today if you click on them.




At the far end of the park is a starting point for the double-decker tour bus. It was a little walk, but I decided to do it. The pick up was right by the Speakers' Corner in Hyde Park, but it was early, and only a couple of mild speakers were there. Once I got on the bus, I was able to see all the sites in London. It was also possible to get off and walk around and pick up the bus later (once you figure out which is their pick up point). I took well over a hundred photos but will only share a couple now. Let's just say that I saw a lot. Over the next six hours, I saw Westminster Abbey (can't go inside on Sunday--I'll go back to that one), Parliament and Big Ben, Buckingham Palace (the crowds were huge, so I didn't see the changing of the guard but saw the Queen's Guardsmen parade down the street and through the gate to the palace), London Bridge, The Towers of London (there's more than one there), The "London Eye" (I will not go on it--too scary), the Globe Theater, and also took a cruise on the Thames River. Not bad, eh? When I finally got back to Hyde Park, I watched some of the speakers. It was fascinating. The most interesting one was a man (they all stand on soap boxes of some sort) who was arguing for Christianity against Islam, especially the Koran. Moslems were in front of him, arguing just as vehemently. I asked someone whether they ever got violent; he said hardly ever as the police are always around. I eventually made it back to the hotel to find that the bar (as it is) does have Diet Coke, but it's closed on Sunday. I bet I have sweated off several pounds already.

Anyway, here are a couple more pictures of the 100+ I've already taken. A Chinese couple asked me to take their picture in front of the London Bridge. When another person did, I asked him to take mine, too, just to prove I really was here.



For some reason, this whole scene reminded me of Benny Hill.




I swear it's the one in London and not Arizona.




I did get to hear Big Ben chime several times. I have to say that I love London. It is the most interesting place I have ever been.

A Lesson in Humility

I again went to Kensington Gardens and then Hyde Park. I wish I had a pedometer so I'd know how many miles I walked. Given how my feet and ankles ache, I'd say it was a lot. Top on my list today was to see the Princess Diana Memorial Fountain. There are colorful signs all over the parks, which tell you where you are and where other things are. Though it seems easy to follow, in reality it wasn't. There were sign posts telling which way the fountain was, as well as signs in the sidewalk, but they also pointed out this was the Princess Diana Memorial Walkway and also there was a memorial playground. Every time I came to a new sign, I had somehow skirted around the memorial. Finally, I saw this huge monument rising into the distance.



It turned out to be the monument to Queen Victoria's beloved Albert. It had seemed rather too ornate for Princess Diana. Across from this monument is Royal Albert Hall. I still don't know how many holes it takes to fill it (obscure Beatles reference [the Beatles have been my background music since I got here]).



I sat in front of this for a while. There are many skaters as well as joggers, walkers, and bikers (everyone wears a helmet--I don't know if it's required or more of the British sensibleness); there were people actually giving skating lessons there, as well as a skating obstacle course. A group of men on elongated skates that looked like skis was making its way through the park, too. I kept walking.

There was some kind of show that had a good part of the park closed off. It seemed to have to do with aviation and was sponsored by Red Bull (figures). I asked one event attendant where the memorial fountain was, but she said she wasn't from around there and was just working the event. I started to wonder whether it was inside the enclosed area. I knew I was looking for a body of water that started as the Long River, went under the Serpentine Bridge, and then became the Serpentine River. After much more walking, I finally found that. I saw a smaller enclosed area off to my right with people walking inside it. Amazingly, it turned out to be what I was looking for. Given the other monuments in the city, I was looking for something that, if I had thought about it, would have been totally out of character for Diana. One could walk by this and not even notice it. It's a simple ellipse of constantly flowing water. The bed and "rapids" are made of a grey granite. The sign noted how it was built and the idea was to make something totally available to everyone, from every walk of life, without pomp and circumstance. They succeeded.





The fountain is beautifully simple and elegant, just like Diana. Young women in particular seem to like to sit on the edge and bathe their bare feet in it. The whole outer area that surrounds this site is set with beautiful flowers, especially roses. There is something very human about all of this.

After I left, I had no clear idea as to where I was or where my hotel was. I crossed the Serpentine Bridge, had an "aged cheddar cheese sandwich" from a cart nearby, and followed what I thought was a general direction that felt right. I also sat quite a lot. There were literally thousands of people in the parks. They were doing all sorts of activities or just enjoying the beautiful day. I think we are spoiled in Florida because we can go out every single day and enjoy nature. Many of us take it for granted. Not here. I love their exuberance. I was one of the few meanderers. Amazingly, I did eventually recognize where i was and eventually made it back to the hotel.

It seems like a wonderful time for a nap.

Morning has broken

Now I know what a continental breakfast is. They have a nice little dining room in the basement (only for breakfast). It runs until 9:45, so I almost didn't make it. The shower is so small that it's not possible to bend over in it. The water is so soft that the soap wouldn't come off. I had a croissant, orange juice (they don't seem to care whether drinks are cold or not), and a bowl of raisin bran cereal with warm milk. They did have a "full English breakfast" if you wanted to pay for it (6.50 pounds--about $13 US). One thing I found funny is that they list a side of beans on toast. The breakfast also had a lot of fresh fruit and huge slabs of ham, which I avoided. There seem to be a lot of German tourists here, some English, and others from places I couldn't tell. I haven't seen another American yet.

It is currently 54 degrees out. Time to explore.

Britannia Rules!

I am in London. The transatlantic flight was incredible. British Airways knows how to run an airline. I’ve never been on a 747 before, so that was impressive. The snack, meal (chicken or salmon dinner—including roll, Key lime pie, mashed potatoes, carrots, and a bite-size candy bar), and breakfast were all terrific. Though I choose to read and tried to sleep, they had many channels of music and movies for free. The shuttle ride to the hotel left something to be desired. It took over two hours of incredibly small and clogged roads. The hotel was a surprise. It wasn’t what I expected. It looks like a residence. The room is small and quaint, but it will do. I’m typing this at a desk next to my second-floor window, which overlooks a park. The current temperature (at 9:25 p.m. London time) is 59 degrees. It has been rather pleasant. I wore my Elvis jacket tonight when I went out.

I don’t really have a feel for London yet as I’m not really near anything I’d recognize. The hotel is in Kensington Gardens. I did walk to a large park complex that includes Hyde Park. People were everywhere: some were jogging, riding bikes (where permitted—I’ve already seen that the British are big on following the rules), playing in the grass, and just plain enjoying life. I finally just sat and watched and listened to the people walking by. I will go back on Sunday to see the Princess Diana Memorial Fountain (and take pictures) but also to see the “Speakers Corner.” Every Sunday afternoon, people from all political persuasions gather there to espouse their beliefs, to debate, and to declaim. I can’t wait to see that. I may schedule my trip to Stonehenge for Monday. I haven’t decided. One thing I can say for sure is that London is an incredibly cosmopolitan city. The number of ethnic restaurants is incredible. I’m ashamed to admit that I had my first meal at McDonald’s. Getting money from the ATM was a snap. So is spending it. I just ate dinner in an Italian restaurant. I was impressed that the waitresses seemed to all speak several languages. I’m not sure why they kept addressing me in French.

I did get accosted by a fairly aggressive guy on the way back to the hotel. He said he was Scottish and his car broke down. He had a handful of change and needed more. He said his grandchildren were in his car. He actually followed me into the hotel and asked for the manager to borrow some money from him. You have to give in your key each time you leave, so I needed to pick it up at the desk. So far, the girls who have been working the front desk are not English. I asked the girl whether it would be difficult to get to Ely from here; she obviously had never heard of it. My destitute friend told her it was the smallest city in England, had a great cathedral there, and was on the way to Cambridge. In case you’re wondering, Ely is where my ancestors are from. I’ll peruse my guidebook tonight and try to figure it out.

A group of guys just walked under the window on the street singing something I couldn’t make out. This is a very jovial city and very alive. Though I’m definitely not a big city person anymore (if I ever was), I think I’m going to like it here.