Very rarely will you find me jamming as much as I can into a day...I like to linger and lurk. I like to people-watch and sit in parks, ride the underground as far as it will go to see who gets on and off, walk gardens, spend the day in museums. Garrulous behavior is a fair-weather friend. But in doing these things, I get to listen, to watch, to absorb....to hear what people are talking about, to see how people are reacting to each other and the world around them. Dashing around like a crazy person trying to fit in the innumerable tourist attractions would drive me bonkers.
So what were people saying? Everyone was very worried about the economy...lots of dark laughter about money, scowls and frowning amongst businessmen wearing the same 3/4 coat (that one coat seems to be quite the phenom in London). Some idle and fun chatter one night amongst friends about being gay and some lowgrade but charming humor about the station named Cockfosters. Racist banter in Kew Gardens between a posh couple wheeling their baby (definitely of the "illegal immigrant rant" sort so popular here). Much talk in languages I couldn't understand which I heartily enjoyed...is it wrong to enjoy incomprehension? At one of the hotels I stayed in the first visit, there were people (mainly men) from all over the world...I fancy the men above me were Russian, not really sure...but they sure did drink one evening, and started singing out the windows into the night and the angry yells from other tenants joined the din (an Italian man stormed the stairs and starting yelling, but at the very end, for some reason, switched to english and yelled "Shut...the fuck...up!!!!"). I hung out on Edgware a goodly portion of my first visit, and didn't understand much of anything I heard there. Edgware has an interesting mix of people, you can spot Lebanese restaurants and hookah lounges, travel agencies for West Africa...one night while sitting in a Starbucks (yes, I did that quite a bit) there was a family drama unfolding next to me as one brother appeared to be talking with a much less responsible/respectable brother who had lost some money...I have no idea what language was being spoken, but an irritating female relative with a nice English accent said "Sorry?" about every five seconds. I felt like clocking her after a while. They were getting riled up and I left. No need to join the scuffle at the local SBs.
What were people doing? Well, the first time I went for two weeks. It was gloriously sunny and warm nearly the entire time. People were blinking like moles and soaking it in, everyone draped about the nearest available sunny spot while on their breaks. In Kew Gardens, the grass was covered with people in long heavy clothes pulled up to expose midriffs or arms, pantlegs pulled up, any spare patch of skin to soak in the light. Couples were walking in Hyde Park, and dogs romped. I personally went to a bench inside Notting Hill Gate and sat in the sun and phoned my mother on my birthday. I sighted a pretty spiderweb on one piece of wrought iron fence. Then, just sat there and basked for a while. So (from what I hear) I was getting a rather lighthearted and pleasant disposition from everyone due to the unexpected spate of good weather. People sat down to chat with me, approached me and asked me about the upcoming election, asked what it was like to live in LA. Thoroughly enjoyable. Not quite so enjoyable were the first trip's pubs. I went to the Shaston Arms off Oxford...and there was a rather large crowd of besuited and puffed up people standing around out front. Once inside at the bar, two of these same types walked up and I watched while one said to the other, "Now that you're promoted, your first order of business is to get us all drinks." So the young man pushed in front of me and did just that. The cider was quite good though.
On another note, I have rarely seen such consistently terrible treatment of waitstaff. No diner was ever pleased, no matter where I went. Tips seem to be unheard of, and when I did tip, while gratified, the server would sometimes say "Oh, you're an American" and smile. Frustrating. The tipping thing I can understand. It's considered decent here to leave 15-20% if the server is good, 10% if the server wasn't so attentive. We've become accustomed to it and include it in our mental tally when we're going out. But not so in London. The impecunious part of me says "Great! More money for me!" but still I tipped. I wonder if the wage scale is different for London waitstaff? But find it unlikely. I also suspect that some of these people aren't working on the up and up (I would work under the table - or is it called in the black? - if I lived there), which means they make even less. In the aforementioned Edgware Starbucks, a very pretty barista dealt with a particularly unpleasant piece of work in line ahead of me. I was stunned and asked if many people treated her that way, and her reply was, "You don't"...and smiled. For what it's worth, I did see many random acts of politeness committed as well...just not in a restaurant, not on the first trip.
To move on, there were many excellent art shows on at the time, including the Rothko exhibit at Tate Modern, the Francis Bacon retro at Tate Britain and the "Warhol: Other Voices, Other Rooms" exhibit (which is apparently also still available at its only US location at Wexner Center for the Arts in Columbus, OH).
I also went on a general museum crawl; the Natural History Museum was filled to the gills with people and the area displaying the dinosaurs was like Disneyland on New Year's Eve. I've never seen a museum so packed, and it's nearly a shame they don't charge anything. The exhibits are there to engage you, and engage they do...although I still find taxidermy incredibly creepy and couldn't find the rocks and minerals no matter how many times I pushed through the same crowd. The British Museum was unfortunately lost on me after the first few hours as my feet were bleeding in my unwise choice of footwear (don't wear high-heeled latex boots if you're planning on getting deeply lost in London in the rain). But I will go back soon. The collection, as always, raises questions about morality and colonialism and all that nifty stuff...but much like going to the zoo and catching my first glimpse of the prowling jaguar in its cage (guilt guilt guilt), part of me is thrilled to see these artifacts, to be so close, to study them...but neural overload and pain set in, and things went downhill from there.
On a friend's recommendation, I went to the Leighton House. Firstly, it was an absolutely charming jaunt just to get there, sunny and bright, with fall leaves swirling through the air, almost contrived, as though Pixar had taken over my backdrop. Fresh clean air and good walk. The house itself was lovely...filled with gorgeous tiles, and while I could appreciate Lord Leighton's paintings, I enjoyed his small sketches from the road the best. They were very impressionistic and fast, daubs and smears of paint trying to quickly inform or remind one of a particular landscape. There were thick lovely rugs on the floor that made me feel guilty (again) for walking on them. Statuary, cozy period furniture...places like this always make me want to sit down with a cup of tea and read.
Anyhoo, I'll go on more about London another time, more indepth on a number of things, the walks I took, more people I encountered, places to go...this has been rather slapdash, but oops! I'm out of time.
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