The Brilliant Bits

January 23, 2008

I'm not a religious person. I choose very deliberately to avoid worshipping any person or place or thing to the point of blinding myself to its faults. But… I can't declare myself completely devoid of such adoration. London certainly feeds my soul in a way nothing else quite can. I suppose there is the good fortune that my dalliance there is always too brief to ever grow disharmonious – even with the little annoyances that might color it were it my day to day. But so much of it makes me want to remember every precious moment in the soot ridden, damp air. It releases from me spontaneous smiles, when so often in my life those are hidden away.

I do regret that I didn't get to visit and see all the places I had hoped to revisit – or see for the first time. BBC kind of lost its opportunity right away, as did Kew and the glorious Hampstead Heath. I also somewhat begrudge the tourist-like quality of rushing about from place to place, snapping photographs playing the cliché American visitor. But all in all, it was a week to be treasured.

Some highlights:

Walking. We had lots to see. The tube is an experience in and of itself, with its history and the creepy ominous air of the subway. Not to mention a day pass (no weekly passes) was ten bucks. And to get one's money's worth, making use of that pass would have been cost effective. But to spend the time underground is just… ridiculous. All the architecture, hearing the accents as you pass by the sidewalk – and the chance to stumble upon something random or forgotten along the journey. I thank Gabbie for her patience with me trying to remember my familiar paths through the West End and along the Thames. Most of the time I got it right – but there were some times (with luggage in hand) that I got it not so right. Although… I was able to give someone directions which made me oh so happy. The walks were hurried to get to a destination before closing – or in time for curtain. Feet and backs ached to prove their idleness in recent months… but it did provide a guilt free consumption of pints and banoffie pie. Yes indeed!

The Imperial War Museum. That was a revisit. I love it. I made it a determined location after Atonement. The exhibits make my soul ache. It doesn't celebrate war, but makes a point to celebrate those who fought and survived. The Blitz Experience wasn't what I remembered – a nearly terrifying comprehension of being bombed in the dark. Now it's a little more like Henri II crying out about his eye slot. But the trench was nauseating and haunting. The 1940's house took up memory on my camera to steal ideas for sets. And, of course, the gift shop was a glorious chance to get some booty for my Dad. It was also something to hear the skies open up and pelt down the rain on the high glass ceiling of the former Bethlehem Mental Hospital. Oh – and I found a new play for future possibilities, My Boy Jack.

The National Theater. The only theater we actually went to. We went twice though and saw two excellent plays, Happy Now with Olivia Williams and Much Ado About Nothing with Simon Russell Beale and a whole army of brilliant actors. Phenomenal. Can recite that play but it made me cry with the love confession scene and striking up of pipers. Oh – and we saw Voldemort himself in the bookshop. Shorter than I thought – but his eyes are… dreamy.

Tesco. Our last stop before returning to Heathrow. I actually wanted to cry when I went there – and then again today when I went to an American grocery. It wasn't until then that I regretted not living there, that I missed the little day to day things – the ability to buy scones for 59p. Or the weird sandwiches. The produce. Wheatabix and Mueslix. Marzipan in the baking section. Cheese… which brings me to…

Dairy. I don't drink as much any more. It has soured my stomach for it. But this whole week was full of mochas and lattes (yes, mostly at Starbucks, bad girl - but they are pretty hard to avoid!). The cream on the banoffie pie. The cheese. The milk in my tea. So much better. I don't know exactly what the hell we do to our dairy over here – but I was very sad that bringing any of that back was completely forbidden. Reason 1456 to go back.

And finally… perspective. I hated the fact I was being a cheesy American tourist. Mostly because it made the pictures look so dorky. But I really noticed it when this guy from Amnesty International stopped us in Covent Garden and immediately changed his manner when he heard the accents and our confession we were from Boston. It's been six years since I was there, six years during which we started a big mess in Iraq and helped Tony Blair sell his soul. It really is an interesting thing to see outside of the US – outside of New England – and get a grasp of the fact that we aren't really that… special. We have money… but… they think we're a bunch of Bible thumping idiots. A general stereotype… but it's not entirely without merit or truth.

There are lots more. Lots more. The Odeon in Leicester Square. Soho. The lights in Piccadilly. The fountain in Trafalgar. Jury's in Nottingham. British men. The clothes worn by British men. The parks we never got to see, really. Tea. Scones. Robin Hood action figures… British men.

So, yeah, it was a great trip. So great I've already begun plotting the return next January. Hampstead Heath, here I come!