act II

Tea at Harrods is the normal thing to do (so I hear) for those who wish to experience a classier British tradition. Unfortunately, the tearoom at Harrods is under construction, and so tea had to be had different establishment: A four-star hotel/bar/tearoom/restaurant in the 5^th Avenue equivalent of London.  Greeted at the door by a man in coat tails and a top hat, we entered into the atrium that I couldn’t even begin to describe. We walked through the bar with the faint sounds of Betty Buckley’s Memory in the background and entered the tearoom. Betty was the first sign that this was going to be incomparable to all of London. This was going to be an event. Once we arrived in the tearoom, the waiter pulled each of our chairs out for us to sit in, took our napkins and set them on our laps. We were to do none of that. I’ll skip the details of our tea conversation, but we laughed a great deal trying to decide what one discusses during tea. Everything about the tea was marvelous, and when our waiter (who’s name was Loris) came back, we were still laughing from all the extremeness of the event. He laughed with us a bit and told us, “Life is too short and too sad not to laugh.” I couldn’t have said it better myself, Loris. *For any of you care to check this place out, CLICK HERE for the website. A bit down the road I should be able to post some pictures we took. Oh… and before I move onto the next portion of the day, I have to at least mention the toilets (they don’t use the word restroom, which I find disturbing.)  Anyway, there were leather couches and chairs in the bathroom as well as a natural hand-soap selection and moisturizer. As for paper towels and obnoxiously loud and inefficient hand-drying machines (Yep, those ones that expose every human being’s impatience) there were none. You were to dry your hands with one of the 100 or so neatly rolled, hand towels aligning the sidewall and then dispose of it in the woven basket next to the sink. I would have spent a good deal of my day in the restroom, but there were places to go and things sights to see.

Once we left we headed to Oxford street for a bit of shopping. None of us had the intention to actually shop, as Oxford Street is more for, let’s say, those in the 1%. So instead of going into the top shops, we settled for shopping center with Prada, Burberry, Louis Vuitton, and other over-priced, desperately-drooled-over, designer clothing. We looked and didn’t dare touch the merchandise. After not too long we decided to sight see a bit more. Now, one thing I’m certain has been clear from my posts is my cheapness. I’m very money conscious, and I find it ridiculous to pay to get into a building: especially a church. Westminster Abbey cost 16£ to enter. I was appalled, so I didn’t go in. I did see it, though! That has to count for something. I did, however, go into St. Margaret’s Church, which is right next to Westminster. I very nice church, it is the final resting place of Sir Walter Raleigh, who’s epitaph read, “Should you reflect on his errors, Remember his many virtues, And that he was mortal.” A lesson relevant for more than just Raleigh’s tombstone. We traveled all around the city, walking by Shakespeare’s Globe on the way to the Tate Modern Museum, which was closed (I got to go Friday, though so it’s all good!). Cherish and I then split from the other two to go see DAME Judi Dench in Peter & Alice, a play about the two young, now grown (clearly, since Judi’s not getting any younger), children who inspired the books Peter Pan  and Alice Through The Looking Glass, respectively.  The play was beautifully painful and joylessly enticing. I know that doesn’t make the play sound any good, but it was worth every pence! Cherish and I sat in the box seats, so we were within fifteen feet of the stage, which was remarkable. Dame Dench’s acting was impeccable, but the best acting came not from the Dame but rather, Ben Whishaw (Q in Skyfall). However, by the end of the play I was confronted with the most emotional inquiring, which my mind still wonders to each day. At what moment do we stop being children? Is it a moment or a process?

Enough of that!

After the play traveled to an Icebar by IceHotel. For 40 minutes, we went into a room made 100% of ice and partied with our iced drinks and frozen fingers. I’ll be posting pictures soon. It was one of those experiences I’m thrilled I did but will never do again. Too cold for my taste.

My final day in London started nice and early with a 7:30AM alarm. This may not sound early for all you teachers out there, but for this college student who has class starting at 1:00PM each day, 7:30 is EARLY! I did this because I desperately wanted to see one more show: The hottest ticket in town. The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time was recently transferred from The National Theatre, and the current production is the only one in London with a 5 star review from every newspaper. Fortunately I got a ticket after waiting for 2 hours, but I had many hours until the show. So, I traveled a bit more. My two main destination was Portobello Road, but on the journey I stopped at a great number of stores including a record store where every record was 10 pence (I bought a Shirley Bassey LP!) and a store of all vintage clothing and items. I took a video of this place because it was wickedly exciting. Nothing was older than 1970, and though I didn’t purchase anything, it was quite a treat just to walk through the atmospheric shop and explore decades I never experienced first hand.

Portobello Road, as any who have been to London will attest to, is one of the most difficult places to find. For how well-known the daily street market is, the two subway transfers and countless road-turns would make the journey difficult for anyone without a map and sense of general direction. Once on the right path, it became clear which way the market was. A street where the riches of ages are stowed. Anything and everything a chap can unload is sold off the barrow in Portobello Road. A pen used by Shelley! A new Boticellli! Even the sniper that clipped old King Edward’s cigars! (Thanks, Sherman Brothers.) I spent hours sifting through the treasures of the market, which stretched close to ten blocks. A good lot was terribly expensive, as there were solid-gold pocket watches, ceramic pieces from the Dark Ages (Middle Ages, or Medieval Times, whichever classification you prefer to use for 500-1500 A.D.) *SIDE NOTE: The different names for those years reminds me of what one of my ‘acquaintances’ (I use that term lightly) said when discussing The Civil War a couple weeks ago. She had corrected me by saying, ‘You mean the War of Northern Aggression.’ I was shocked. I guess it all depends on how you look at it. That’s beside the point though. The treasures to be found at the market are indescribable.  I was seconds away from buying an authentic Burberry coat for 60£, but decided against it because I barely have room in my suitcase for the things I’ve already collected here.

The night came rather quickly and it was time for my final show in London. One I was most looking forward to. The piece, based off the best-selling novel of the same name, is a first-person approach to Asperger’s Syndrome and the struggle of the condition not only from Christopher, the one with the syndrome, but also from his neighbors, parents, teachers, and anyone he encounters. The show was very touching and was a true theatrical experience. The design of the stage was the most fascinating concept I have ever seen. Millions of lights encased the story in a blank box illuminated and illustrated not by the typical set piece but by lights representing houses, trains, escalators, and subway platforms. It was a brilliant show, and I won a button for having a name that is a prime number! (Give each letter of your name an alphabet value: A=1 B=2, the count up all the numbers of your first and last name) My name = 137, so I now have an orange button with a white, hand-drawn smile face representing a pivotal part in the show’s story.

I didn’t care to stay out much later than the ending of the show (it was 2 hours and 40 minutes), so I headed back to my hostel and packed for my departure in the wee hours of morning.

The drive back to Stirling was remarkable. After stopping first in New Castle, England to drop all but three of the bus’s occupants, I was able to have my own seat where I could prop my feet up. The sun was shining for the first time since leaving Scotland, as if it was a warm welcoming back home. I had missed Scotland greatly. It’s greenness, it’s polite rain, and it’s pacificity. The bus drove alongside the Eastern shore board, and for the remaining three hours I saw some of the most gorgeous sights. Cliffs galore with drops of more than 100 meters and islands of only a mountain (I know, it sounds weird but they’re real. Dunbar if you car to look it up on Google maps). There were even several castles along the way.

Surprisingly, I wasn’t too sad to be out of London. It was a nice city, but it wasn’t for me. Scotland has effortlessly made its way into my heart and will stay that way. I’ll take a green mountain to a skyscraper any day.

To me, concusses seems to be the processes of abandoning all beliefs, principles, values, and policies.
                                                       -Margaret Thatcher