I arrived in London around 2:30 in the afternoon Friday. The train was crowded, I sat on the floor by the door (which rattled and made me jump every time another train passed) reading a wonderful book I got when I left Glasgow. I bought it before I left, but realized I didn’t have enough cash with me for the rest of the evening so returned it and bought it again when I went back into town the next day. It’s called An Intimate History of Humanity or something and its about people and their emotions and interactions throughout the ages. It’s absoultly wonderful and I had a strange affinity for it from the moment I saw it (I bought it twice I wanted it so much!). I found out why once I started reading, as the auther thinks like I do, many of the things he writes are things I’ve either directly contemplated or the summary of hundreds of years answers to questions I’ve posed to myself. Its very exciting as I haven’t been very interested in reading like I was as a kid since…well…I was a kid. I was much too busy with all kinds of crap the last 10 years or so, and when I picked up a book by choice I only finished it maybe one time out of ten. Anyways, back to London, I found my way to my hostel without any problem, although carrying my luggage across the 3 different underground changes was a real pain. I dropped off my things and walked down to the Portobello Market. It is in a beautiful area and filled with antiques, fresh food and a bit of the usual sunglasses-bags-scarves crap. I would find out later from a little birdy that Ann had a shopping spree there when Grammie and her visited earlier in the year.
I bought some old records and an amazing 1790’s map which I at first refused to buy when I found out was 5pounds. The guy was totally offended and told me it was over 200 years old under his breath. I was caught off-guard, I had thought it was a copy, and after much though eventually bought it. It was very unique looking.
I will mention another thing I have forgotten all this time: THIS PLACE IS FREAKING EXPENSIVE. Ugh it’s terrible. Everything is priced about the same as at home, but our money is worth half as much. It is impossible to get a decent meal for less than ten bucks and a sale seemed to mean absolutely nothing. I usually don’t buy much when I travel til maybe the very end, but I am nearing the end here and I still have no desire to buy anything (sorry guys…don’t have much to bring back) as everything cool is ridiculously overpriced (to my poor American eyes hehe). It’s really added a lot of anxiety to the trip, and its crazy to think I would have spent at least twice as much if I hadn’t been fed and housed by the conference and Rhiannon and her family. To give you a clue, I still spent the entire $500 bursary, $100 I got out at the airport, $60 from Rhiannon’s mom to pay for shipping Rhi’s books from La Jolla and a few credit card charges in the two weeks I was here. And almost all of it just on food and train/bus tickets.
I talked to a slightly creepy West African guy while I had sausages and mash (veggie sausages, I haven’t been too into meat lately) and in my haste to leave, forgot my bag of purchases until I had wandered around for about 15 minutes, parusing vintage dresses and boots (Hannah, you would have gone NUTS). It was still there when I got back, amazingly, and I headed back to the hostel. I dropped off my things and grabbed a book, then walked down the street just a bit to Hyde Park and laid in the grass reading til dark.
The book, my mood before leaving home of general craziness, the intensity of the conference, staying with so many different people and traveling has made me very introspective and quiet, I was unsure of what to do with myself for the evening. I had been planning a trip to the brewery of my latest favorite beer, but upon inspection of the map I discovered it was really far out of town, and the show Iris recommended was the next night. I was at a loss for what to do with myself so I put on a jazzy outfit – blue and yellow paisley suspenders included – and packed all the things for an introspective night out (book, paper & pen, bottle of gratefruit juice) and asked the front desk for something to do. It was a good plan, because with my funny outfit they had a sense for what I wanted to do, rather than if I had been wearing my usually plain clothes they probably would have sent me some place usually plain. The bar they recommended wasn’t the best match for my mood, but I got a glass of my favorite scotch and sat outside looking in at the rugby match between France and Argentina. People came out periodically and chatted and eventually I retired to warmer quarters and read my book. In a loud bar playing techno. Yes. It was funny, but I really didn’t know anywhere else to go (I asked for a coffee shop or something but no ideas). I got bored and left to try out a dim sum restaurant (too loud and restauranty), coffee shop (too awkward and filled with men) and a fish and chips shop (too expensive and stark) to finally return to the coffee shop. I ordered a pot of tea and jacket potatoe with cheese (aka baked). Ate a bit of potato and found a hair so even though it was very good, I gave it back. I wasn’t very hungry and it was around 11 anyways so too late for eating much. It was actually very relieving to find that hair because the silly thing cost like ten bucks.
I made it home by 2 or so: I had an evening. Strange, but an evening. I still felt that need to be creative, so I wrote for a long time (some of the fruits you all may be seeing in the mail…depending on who is reading this…although not the really good parts of course. Hard to write anything substantial on a postcard). I wanted to get a bit of sleep so I didn’t set my alarm. As I thought I couldn’t get up in time for breakfast but the seven other people in my room woke me up before I missed too much of the day. I had showered the night before, so I just got dressed and headed out to find the Tate Modern (the museum of art part of the name is implied I guess…oh so modern). I finally decided to give into the weather I had found rather than the weather I had anticipated and wore a tank top and skirt. I packed tights in case I got cold and planned to buy a cardigan because they seem to be all the rage with the hipsters here (the boy ones that is) and I wanted one.
The hostel was so hot all the time, poor circulation and lots of people, so I was happy to be less dressed, layered and umbrellaed than normal. When I stepped out I was optimistic that the clouds would burn off…you say this isn’t California oh do you? Yeah I had forgotten I guess. I had gotten rather crappy directions, but figured it wouldn’t be that hard to find, as nothing in London had been so far (nothing like Glasgow…ohhh Glasgow how you got me lost!). To my surprise the subway station I had planned to get off at was closed so I had to get off one earlier at Victoria. 
This turned out alright, as I stumbled upon Buckingham Palace, Wesminster Abby and London Eye, all things I hadn’t even thought about existing in the world I was in. These big famous names and cold wind had my pace quickened and I wandered more than a few miles. I stopped at another museum and asked for more directions, stopped in a hotel and put on my tights behind a staircase (no human eyes could see me, but who knows about digital ones, oh well.), stopped at a cart to get a flake (ice cream cone, it was second to last on my list of must-have British food, leaving only fish and chips.) and hurried on as directed by the girl in the museum. 
I walked by everything I had already before, through St. James’s park (that’s how they spell it, and say it strangly enough.) and across Victoria station again. At this point I was getting really tired, not just of walking but of being hungry and cold. I still hadn’t found a suitable place for breakfast (other than the soft serve of course). Finally, in the distance I saw a red neon fish and chips sign. Sadly it wasn’t a sit down place (which was almost all I wanted) but my desire for f&c and a change of pace won. It was the most reasonable price I had found in the city ($10) so I was at least pleased with that. I found a little park and sat down to eat and drink my ginger ale.
Some police men mumbled that they wanted to do the same thing and sat at the next bench and had lunch. One threw a little crumb and an entire flock of pidgeons came down from the heavens. Well actually there had been a few crippled ones meandering around before. Much to my surprise, those with missing feet stayed earth-bound, never flying. Cruel world it is. The copper encouraged me to throw some of my excess fries to the little crippled birdies, as I had Mary Poppin’s feed the birds endlessly looping in my head at the ‘young ones are hungry, the nests are so bare’ part and I couldn’t help it. The only thing I had read on the enterence sign (oddly enough) was fine print about not feeding the pidgeons, but if the man himself is doing it….I left my tray with spare fries right on the bench. I didn’t look back to see them devour it.
I had asked the police how to get to the museum too and although they gave me a few different answers, I had a feeling I was going the right way. I recognized a street name I had seen on the map as a leg of the road I was looking for (raods tend to change names along their length) and between bus maps, small signs and my previously thought to be excellent sense of direction (I was called a homing pidgeon just last week) I found it finally. Finally finally. I had the feeling that it was close to closing time and worried if I would make it to the show at 6 in time, but I went to the bathroom and asked the information desk for a map anyways. I had to ask the hour three times I honestly didn’t believe the girl until she showed me a map on the screen and I glanced down at the clock in the corner (scares me where my trust lies sometimes). It was only 2pm. I thought it was 5. I couldn’t believe how much ground I had traveled in such a short amount of time. I added and readded. I had left the hostel at 11am. I have recovered, but I truly thought the world had stopped while I was lost. There was just no way I had walked that much, been that lost, seen that many things in that little time span.
I hurridly paced the museum looking for a nice piece of art located in front of a nice chair for me to rest in. I found the new modern art, the new new modern art and then finally, near collapse (I am so dramatic I know) I found a short talk gathering in seats around the painting of the month. It wasn’t particularly interesting until I heard the story and although the room itself was intriguing I returned to a reading corner I had seen in passing. I slept for a while, again no idea how long (I have no watch and regrettably no map what a good traveler I am…) and forced myself to get up and check out what I have just realized is the kind of paintings I like: those from the 1500’s to 1950’s. Massive, realistic and often religious portaits. I still was kind of running through and left before I had seen it all. Luckily the shop had postcards of my favorites, so I can examine them further from the comfort of my bed. I debated long and hard about going to what I thought might be a market and buying a cardigan or going home to get my winter jacket. I was feeling a bit deflated at my performance throughout the day and I decided to do the easy thing and grab my jacket. I had gotten directions to the concert (of Rhi’s dad’s girlfriend’ friend, a sound interaction artist, something I did a few projects in, so right up my alley) so I headed out after putting on jeans under my skirt and a jacket over my tank top (which of course made me too hot). At the station change I noticed a people change too. The area was in South East London, which made me think it might not be the best area, but that was just speculation. When I got to my final destination I realized it was a good hunch. And I realized I didn’t have directions. Just a street name and this was defiantly not the area where the show would be. I really just panicked. It was strange. Partially I think because I was tired and had been lost all day (week, month, year, etc) and partially due to the utterly unfamiliar culture. It was little Africa. Of all the continents I am the most distant from the African people although I listen to a huge variety of their music, more than any other than our own. Using my bus map & internal compass technique I went to the right, towards Peckham. All I knew is that it was Peckham City, Hill Street. Well every street was something hill. I figured I’d walk around until dusk and then split. I rationally knew that I could hop on a bus at nearly any minute, but I would panick again when there wasn’t a stop in sight. Sometimes I would just hop on the bus I walked up next to (my subway pass works for busses too) and hop off again at the next stop. I did this until it just got too dusky and too, well, scary. I continued to look for Hill Street, but forgot when I just sat and watched the people. It was really my favorite place I’ve been so far although I was afraid to walk in it. I took the bus tour I guess, although it made me really sad to be so fearful. I saw beauty parlors with adjacent barber shops, both just full of kids and parents and grandparents and teens and babies. There was so much energy and so much connectedness. There were African flags everywhere and everyone seemed to so clearly belong. I guess that’s why I felt so weird, but not that there wasn’t any young white girls around. There just weren’t any young white girls alone. I think now that it was a good idea to do the bus tour, but it was really depressing. I realized my task for my time in LA, to get comfortable in the city, any part that held what I needed. I think it can be okay in teams, but I guess that is one part of the world you can’t explore so much when alone.
I rode the bus all the way up to Paddington Station. Past all of the sights I had seen that day and into the posh part of town. I got off in Little Lebonon (which is what just before Paddington is like). God I don’t know why I did, it was just as uncomfortable, but well lit and with lots of people walking around like they didn’t belong. I had decided a few days earlier that I wanted to try Lebonese food and that I wanted to wear an outfit that breezed around my whole body in one big piece of fabric like the women from there did. Seeing the women in full veil was my favorite, and I wanted on almost despereatly. Still do. I ate at a restaurant with a veiled lady sitting out front on a date. I imagined eating and talking and dating under complete shrowd while I ate and drank the best mint tea I could have ever dreamed of (they put fresh leaves in with the tea – try it I think its one of my greatest discoveries on this trip). I again couldn’t finish my meal, I guess my stomach has finally become the size its supposed to be and my eyes haven’t adjusted yet. I headed home to finally sleep. I was just exhausted and had big plans for the morning.
I bought some old records and an amazing 1790’s map which I at first refused to buy when I found out was 5pounds. The guy was totally offended and told me it was over 200 years old under his breath. I was caught off-guard, I had thought it was a copy, and after much though eventually bought it. It was very unique looking.
I will mention another thing I have forgotten all this time: THIS PLACE IS FREAKING EXPENSIVE. Ugh it’s terrible. Everything is priced about the same as at home, but our money is worth half as much. It is impossible to get a decent meal for less than ten bucks and a sale seemed to mean absolutely nothing. I usually don’t buy much when I travel til maybe the very end, but I am nearing the end here and I still have no desire to buy anything (sorry guys…don’t have much to bring back) as everything cool is ridiculously overpriced (to my poor American eyes hehe). It’s really added a lot of anxiety to the trip, and its crazy to think I would have spent at least twice as much if I hadn’t been fed and housed by the conference and Rhiannon and her family. To give you a clue, I still spent the entire $500 bursary, $100 I got out at the airport, $60 from Rhiannon’s mom to pay for shipping Rhi’s books from La Jolla and a few credit card charges in the two weeks I was here. And almost all of it just on food and train/bus tickets.
I talked to a slightly creepy West African guy while I had sausages and mash (veggie sausages, I haven’t been too into meat lately) and in my haste to leave, forgot my bag of purchases until I had wandered around for about 15 minutes, parusing vintage dresses and boots (Hannah, you would have gone NUTS). It was still there when I got back, amazingly, and I headed back to the hostel. I dropped off my things and grabbed a book, then walked down the street just a bit to Hyde Park and laid in the grass reading til dark.
The book, my mood before leaving home of general craziness, the intensity of the conference, staying with so many different people and traveling has made me very introspective and quiet, I was unsure of what to do with myself for the evening. I had been planning a trip to the brewery of my latest favorite beer, but upon inspection of the map I discovered it was really far out of town, and the show Iris recommended was the next night. I was at a loss for what to do with myself so I put on a jazzy outfit – blue and yellow paisley suspenders included – and packed all the things for an introspective night out (book, paper & pen, bottle of gratefruit juice) and asked the front desk for something to do. It was a good plan, because with my funny outfit they had a sense for what I wanted to do, rather than if I had been wearing my usually plain clothes they probably would have sent me some place usually plain. The bar they recommended wasn’t the best match for my mood, but I got a glass of my favorite scotch and sat outside looking in at the rugby match between France and Argentina. People came out periodically and chatted and eventually I retired to warmer quarters and read my book. In a loud bar playing techno. Yes. It was funny, but I really didn’t know anywhere else to go (I asked for a coffee shop or something but no ideas). I got bored and left to try out a dim sum restaurant (too loud and restauranty), coffee shop (too awkward and filled with men) and a fish and chips shop (too expensive and stark) to finally return to the coffee shop. I ordered a pot of tea and jacket potatoe with cheese (aka baked). Ate a bit of potato and found a hair so even though it was very good, I gave it back. I wasn’t very hungry and it was around 11 anyways so too late for eating much. It was actually very relieving to find that hair because the silly thing cost like ten bucks.
I made it home by 2 or so: I had an evening. Strange, but an evening. I still felt that need to be creative, so I wrote for a long time (some of the fruits you all may be seeing in the mail…depending on who is reading this…although not the really good parts of course. Hard to write anything substantial on a postcard). I wanted to get a bit of sleep so I didn’t set my alarm. As I thought I couldn’t get up in time for breakfast but the seven other people in my room woke me up before I missed too much of the day. I had showered the night before, so I just got dressed and headed out to find the Tate Modern (the museum of art part of the name is implied I guess…oh so modern). I finally decided to give into the weather I had found rather than the weather I had anticipated and wore a tank top and skirt. I packed tights in case I got cold and planned to buy a cardigan because they seem to be all the rage with the hipsters here (the boy ones that is) and I wanted one.
The hostel was so hot all the time, poor circulation and lots of people, so I was happy to be less dressed, layered and umbrellaed than normal. When I stepped out I was optimistic that the clouds would burn off…you say this isn’t California oh do you? Yeah I had forgotten I guess. I had gotten rather crappy directions, but figured it wouldn’t be that hard to find, as nothing in London had been so far (nothing like Glasgow…ohhh Glasgow how you got me lost!). To my surprise the subway station I had planned to get off at was closed so I had to get off one earlier at Victoria. This turned out alright, as I stumbled upon Buckingham Palace, Wesminster Abby and London Eye, all things I hadn’t even thought about existing in the world I was in. These big famous names and cold wind had my pace quickened and I wandered more than a few miles. I stopped at another museum and asked for more directions, stopped in a hotel and put on my tights behind a staircase (no human eyes could see me, but who knows about digital ones, oh well.), stopped at a cart to get a flake (ice cream cone, it was second to last on my list of must-have British food, leaving only fish and chips.) and hurried on as directed by the girl in the museum. I walked by everything I had already before, through St. James’s park (that’s how they spell it, and say it strangly enough.) and across Victoria station again. At this point I was getting really tired, not just of walking but of being hungry and cold. I still hadn’t found a suitable place for breakfast (other than the soft serve of course). Finally, in the distance I saw a red neon fish and chips sign. Sadly it wasn’t a sit down place (which was almost all I wanted) but my desire for f&c and a change of pace won. It was the most reasonable price I had found in the city ($10) so I was at least pleased with that. I found a little park and sat down to eat and drink my ginger ale.Some police men mumbled that they wanted to do the same thing and sat at the next bench and had lunch. One threw a little crumb and an entire flock of pidgeons came down from the heavens. Well actually there had been a few crippled ones meandering around before. Much to my surprise, those with missing feet stayed earth-bound, never flying. Cruel world it is. The copper encouraged me to throw some of my excess fries to the little crippled birdies, as I had Mary Poppin’s feed the birds endlessly looping in my head at the ‘young ones are hungry, the nests are so bare’ part and I couldn’t help it. The only thing I had read on the enterence sign (oddly enough) was fine print about not feeding the pidgeons, but if the man himself is doing it….I left my tray with spare fries right on the bench. I didn’t look back to see them devour it.
I had asked the police how to get to the museum too and although they gave me a few different answers, I had a feeling I was going the right way. I recognized a street name I had seen on the map as a leg of the road I was looking for (raods tend to change names along their length) and between bus maps, small signs and my previously thought to be excellent sense of direction (I was called a homing pidgeon just last week) I found it finally. Finally finally. I had the feeling that it was close to closing time and worried if I would make it to the show at 6 in time, but I went to the bathroom and asked the information desk for a map anyways. I had to ask the hour three times I honestly didn’t believe the girl until she showed me a map on the screen and I glanced down at the clock in the corner (scares me where my trust lies sometimes). It was only 2pm. I thought it was 5. I couldn’t believe how much ground I had traveled in such a short amount of time. I added and readded. I had left the hostel at 11am. I have recovered, but I truly thought the world had stopped while I was lost. There was just no way I had walked that much, been that lost, seen that many things in that little time span.
I hurridly paced the museum looking for a nice piece of art located in front of a nice chair for me to rest in. I found the new modern art, the new new modern art and then finally, near collapse (I am so dramatic I know) I found a short talk gathering in seats around the painting of the month. It wasn’t particularly interesting until I heard the story and although the room itself was intriguing I returned to a reading corner I had seen in passing. I slept for a while, again no idea how long (I have no watch and regrettably no map what a good traveler I am…) and forced myself to get up and check out what I have just realized is the kind of paintings I like: those from the 1500’s to 1950’s. Massive, realistic and often religious portaits. I still was kind of running through and left before I had seen it all. Luckily the shop had postcards of my favorites, so I can examine them further from the comfort of my bed. I debated long and hard about going to what I thought might be a market and buying a cardigan or going home to get my winter jacket. I was feeling a bit deflated at my performance throughout the day and I decided to do the easy thing and grab my jacket. I had gotten directions to the concert (of Rhi’s dad’s girlfriend’ friend, a sound interaction artist, something I did a few projects in, so right up my alley) so I headed out after putting on jeans under my skirt and a jacket over my tank top (which of course made me too hot). At the station change I noticed a people change too. The area was in South East London, which made me think it might not be the best area, but that was just speculation. When I got to my final destination I realized it was a good hunch. And I realized I didn’t have directions. Just a street name and this was defiantly not the area where the show would be. I really just panicked. It was strange. Partially I think because I was tired and had been lost all day (week, month, year, etc) and partially due to the utterly unfamiliar culture. It was little Africa. Of all the continents I am the most distant from the African people although I listen to a huge variety of their music, more than any other than our own. Using my bus map & internal compass technique I went to the right, towards Peckham. All I knew is that it was Peckham City, Hill Street. Well every street was something hill. I figured I’d walk around until dusk and then split. I rationally knew that I could hop on a bus at nearly any minute, but I would panick again when there wasn’t a stop in sight. Sometimes I would just hop on the bus I walked up next to (my subway pass works for busses too) and hop off again at the next stop. I did this until it just got too dusky and too, well, scary. I continued to look for Hill Street, but forgot when I just sat and watched the people. It was really my favorite place I’ve been so far although I was afraid to walk in it. I took the bus tour I guess, although it made me really sad to be so fearful. I saw beauty parlors with adjacent barber shops, both just full of kids and parents and grandparents and teens and babies. There was so much energy and so much connectedness. There were African flags everywhere and everyone seemed to so clearly belong. I guess that’s why I felt so weird, but not that there wasn’t any young white girls around. There just weren’t any young white girls alone. I think now that it was a good idea to do the bus tour, but it was really depressing. I realized my task for my time in LA, to get comfortable in the city, any part that held what I needed. I think it can be okay in teams, but I guess that is one part of the world you can’t explore so much when alone.
I rode the bus all the way up to Paddington Station. Past all of the sights I had seen that day and into the posh part of town. I got off in Little Lebonon (which is what just before Paddington is like). God I don’t know why I did, it was just as uncomfortable, but well lit and with lots of people walking around like they didn’t belong. I had decided a few days earlier that I wanted to try Lebonese food and that I wanted to wear an outfit that breezed around my whole body in one big piece of fabric like the women from there did. Seeing the women in full veil was my favorite, and I wanted on almost despereatly. Still do. I ate at a restaurant with a veiled lady sitting out front on a date. I imagined eating and talking and dating under complete shrowd while I ate and drank the best mint tea I could have ever dreamed of (they put fresh leaves in with the tea – try it I think its one of my greatest discoveries on this trip). I again couldn’t finish my meal, I guess my stomach has finally become the size its supposed to be and my eyes haven’t adjusted yet. I headed home to finally sleep. I was just exhausted and had big plans for the morning.
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