act I

A good tourist knows how to read a map. A better tourist knows how to fold it up quickly. The best will never be seen with a map and will look very similar to the locals. Yes, London would not be the same as it is without its millions of tourists, buses, and pigeons, but that’s no excuse for us, the tourists, to forget common decencies when in a foreign area. After three full days in Her Royal Majesty’s hometown, I’m more than thrilled to admit (or brag) that I was stopped three times on the street to be asked directions. That, my faithful readers, is a good tourist if I do say so myself.

Beginning with my actual act of traveling may be a bit boring to some, but I can hardly find reason to discuss a journey if I don’t first discuss how it all began. Because let’s be honest. Our mood on a trip is completely dependent upon on those painfully long journeys. That’s precisely what mine was. Painfully long. I normally sleep like a baby, but when it comes to sitting up and sleeping, I cannot physically do that. So, on planes (like the one to Scotland and the one I’m dreading back to the states) and buses I’m at a major loss. The first part of the trip was not too terrible. I had met two girls from The United States were both studying in Paris. We talked about for a bit and I called it quits to try and at least close my eyes on the overnight bus ride. We left at 10PM. The bus was scheduled to arrive at 7:30AM.  The journey went quickly to hell once we stopped to get more people in England (I can’t remember where. It was 3:40 in the morning, so I was a bit unaware of my surroundings). I had had my own seat up to this point, but now the bus was going to be full. In walks a very proper young woman close to 6’ and very well dressed. She headed towards the seat next to mine and right before stashing her designer bag into the cabin overheard, continued to walk once she saw a window seat in the back. I was devastated, but not as much as when two tawdry women (British rubbish as some would say) sat one beside me and one in front. 3:40 AM. Loud, brassy, ceaselessly-chattering, woman.

When we arrived in London, I agreed to walk around for the day with the two girls I had met (one was actually from Ohio and goes to Case Western). This turned out to be another tragedy of my trip. I guess England - not being successfully invaded since 1066 - goes even further than ruining militaries but also visitors’ aspirations. We first get off the bus and head to the station. There I had the privilege to pee for 30p. Yes, England charges for toilet use. For that much money I also changed my clothes, making me look a bit more like a Londoner. The three of us headed off, and I quickly realized we wouldn’t be traveling together for long. They were constant complainers. Always looking at the rubbish on the ground rather than the luxury of a blue sky. We walked first to Buckingham Palace, which was practically unoccupied outside. It was a Wednesday morning, which was fortunate. There are rarely tourists about on Wednesdays. We took some pictures, which included them urging me to get one posing in front of the Palace. I laughed at the absurdity of such an idea. It’s not my home. Why would I take picture in front of it?

We began walking towards the West End so I could get in line to get tickets to a show that evening. After only a block, the complaints from the two (due to frigid weather) were too much for me to handle. We went our separate ways at Piccadilly Street. I then headed to get tickets. My trip was now on the upswing. After buying standing room tickets for the matinee showing of The Audience for only 10£. I headed in search for my hostel to drop off my bags. Once I exited the station that I knew was correct, I felt like the world was rewarding me for my dismal traveling. As I emerged from the London subways (designed more similarly to Washington D.C.’s than to New York’s) the hostel I was to be staying at was right across the street. I went upstairs and entered splendid room. I had never been in a hostel before, so I was quite hesitant about the experience. I had always heard horror stories of computers being stolen, people being assaulted, and various other awful stories. None of these things happened to me. No one really talked to one another (many people slept at different hours of the day likely because of jetlag), but that’s fine because I was rarely there anyways. 

I headed back into town and still had a bit of time to spare before the show, so I explored Trafalgar Square. It was simply stunning, and will likely show up in my next video montage, whenever that may be. I headed to the Adelphi Theatre, which is a bit of a walk from all the others to check if there were tickets available this week to The Bodyguard (based on the movie, which was originally intended for Steve McQueen and Barbra Streisand. Luckily they both turned the role down. Can you imagine how awful that would have been? Barbra in the role of a submissive woman, who NEEDS a man? No mega-star break for Whitney Houston?). As I walked into the theatre to inquire about tickets, it just so happened that they had one front-row seat available for 25£. I took it. I knew I may be completely worn out for the show, given I hadn’t slept the night before and that I was going to be standing for 2 hours and 20 minutes for The Audience, but I didn’t care. It was all for the love of theatre.

Now, here’s when I could go into great detail about the shows I saw, but I’m sure many of you could care less. Rather, a general overview of my thoughts would be more appreciated. While I feel discussing it in any condescended manner seems unfair to the show, I will do it this once. So first, The Audience. This show is about the weekly, private meetings between Her Royal Majesty and The Prime Minister. While constructing a play out of conversation unknown, I was expecting an overly fabricated story. Instead, for two and a half hours I stood in the back of a theatre mesmerized by the story of a queen who was constantly confronted by her childhood self who yearned only to ride bikes with friends, live in Scotland, and that her parents would have a son, thus freeing her from the thrown. Words can’t even do justice to the production. It has replaced my best theatrical experience of all time, Follies, which was quite a high standard. Helen Mirren (Oscar winner for The Queen) plays HRM in the show, and does so with a precision actors can only hope to achieve.

Later in the night I saw The Bodyguard, which starred Heather Headley (Tony Award winner for Aida). The show, though weak on the writing, was thoroughly entertaining and kept me awake the entire time. Granted, I was in the front row right next to the speakers, but hearing all the classic Whitney Houston songs was brilliant. Slightly heartbreaking, but a bit mundanely so.

On Thursday I was meeting up with a friend with whom I became acquainted back at Baldwin Wallace. Cherish studied at BW and lives in London, so when I traveled there, I wanted to make sure we met up. Before doing so, I traveled some on my own to Platform 9 ¾, Parliament, and several other places that are escaping my mind (I’m typing this on the bus-ride back to Scotland. Fortunately, my seat neighbor is much better. In fact, this whole bus is rather kind and well behaved. The girls next to me are a bit giddy because just last night they were seeing One Direction. By seeing of course I mean watching the concert, buying the bag, reading the embellished programs and taking it as far as learning choreography from their music videos which they are rehearsing as I type. No joke.) I digress. When Cherish and I met up, my day became one I’ll remember forever. But you'll have to wait until Wednesday to hear.

So many worlds, so much to do, so little done, such things to be.
                            -Alfred Lord Tennyson