The British Museum, 10.04.2008.

Segment II, Day II: the British Museum. I was quite methodical about my time in London...I won't really go through it day by day, hour by hour, but I tried to do one major event each day. The rest of the day was spent noodling in Starbucks, wandering the streets, hitting various pubs with a friend....or being sick in the hotel (I caught a cold 7 days in).

A little background story to my British Museum trip: it was cold and rainy that day. Not unusual for London by any means, but unusual for this trip. As mentioned before, I was getting used to the sun. Rain doesn't suit me. Living in Los Angeles for 11 years will do funny things to a person, like make them forget that socks exist, forget that hair products don't hold up in mist, and forget that high heeled boots are a BAD idea when considering inclement weather. I looked at a map and it seemed close enough to the Tottenham Court Rd. station, so I thought, "Well, why not...I feel all skirty and boots-ish today." Not counting on getting terribly, terribly lost. After my pride was wounded enough, I stopped at a vendor and purchased the map I'm referring to right now to write this entry. My mistake was thinking I could spot the museum from a distance, despite not having any idea what it looked like in the first place. Silly. I would have crossed paths with Bugs and ended up at Pismo Beach at the rate I was messing up. The map vendor pointed me in the right direction. Unfortunately, by this point my boots had eaten away at my ankles enough to draw blood. So my memories of the British Museum are a bit patchy as I limped my way through for a few hours. Needless to say, nought was done the rest of the night...other than tending wounded feet.

The museum itself? Imposing. It was cold, wet and crowded. It felt quite good to get inside after navigating the iron gates, wobbling up the wet steps and shaking my umbrella in unison with 50 other people. The interior? Daunting. Huge. I just followed my nose, and thus probably missed some excellent exhibits from massive and now-extinct cultures. I was most impressed by the Egyptian, Indian and Chinese collections. The Assyrians always impress - their tendency toward zoomorphism is exciting to me. Lion and hawk-headed deities wielding sickles and daggers...very threatening, and there's a slight fear of the completely unknown as well. Why I feel I understand the ancient Egyptians better is anyone's guess. Everything seemed massive and desperately imposing...huge granite busts and sphinxes (plural also being sphinges, which I may like better), lions, wolves; renditions of serene and/or exceptionally vexed rulers...huge tablets of unknown scrawl from this empire and that. Made one feel quite small and insignificant. Heck, I thought we needed the cosmos for that. I wonder who made these items...who modeled for them (and, naughty me, quite interested in finding out who modeled for that fallen soldier in the Greek collection), what they were like, what their lives were like. It leads me to a slight melancholy most times, and sadness at mortality.

The Indian and Chinese exhibits, however, make me think about life and love and sex, and the joys we have in front of us each day. So things started looking up. Pottery dishes to eat good food out of, statuary teaching us grace and divine peace, vases to extend the life of that flower or twig just a bit longer...and the death gods: even them dancing and rampantly jolly whilst treading on their victims. And my favorite god of all, Ganesha, dancing with trunk slightly lifted; stomach jutting in front of him. There is a statue of Ganesha in LACMA's collection whose belly is dark and of a high polish from all the hands that rubbed it for good luck over the centuries. By the time I'd wound my way to the end of the Chinese collection (and those amazing life-sized ceramic statues), I was knackered. And my feet hurt abysmally. Almost time to go.

I made one more stop on my way out....into the library area. Oh, the books of it all! I was jealous. There. I admit it. The Club Dumas by Arturo Pérez-Reverte is kind of a wet dream fantasy for me; if I collect anything, it is books. So the library was difficult. But beautiful. Many, many objet d'arte mini-collections behind glass - I can't possibly do it any sort of justice; no notes, tired, and good golly, nearly four months have flown by! But at least the photos below can give you a glimmer :)

It was time for me to leave then...as it is time for me to leave now. More soon!

Natural History Museum, 10.03.2008.

I'd mentioned I might go more indepth on the London trip, so hold onto yer hats. Going to be a long ride.

May as well take it day by day. First day in, after a surprisingly comfy-womfy flight on Air New Zealand - highly recommended!, and checking into the Kensington Marriott, I trotted off to the Natural History Museum down the street. It is almost skipping distance from the Gloucester Road tube station.

I was flummoxed from the get-go, because, as you other Americans are well aware, you have to empty your pockets at the door of any museum. But I couldn't find the desk where I might pay, and saw no lines (despite tons of people). Suffered a surfeit of guilt as I walked in...and laugh now that I should feel guilty about learning for free. A friend tipped me off that there is no admission fee...but they heartily enjoy donations.

The dinos held the greatest allure, and as soon as you walk in you're battered with huge skeletons - picking their largest and most visually impressive 'saurs to draw you in. A diplodocus stretched from snout to tip-of-tail by way of a post-mortem greeting...beautiful. And I always find myself wondering what they really looked like. Glad that archeologists and such have been finding organs and skin imprints to fill in our rather huge knowledge gaps.

The museum was PACKED. I know I've said this repeatedly, but I don't think I've ever been so pressed against my fellow man anywhere. At least fellow humanity I don't know. It was a bit claustrophobic, and unfortunately, the way the paleo area is arranged, it's much like a cattle run to the slaughterhouse. Once you're on the path, there's no going back. I think this is excellent information for those who 1) can't stand crowds, and 2) may not be able to stand for long periods of time. I thought of my overweight friends a lot on this trip.

After a while, I felt like bolting, but eased into a focus on getting photos and lessening my fixation on the people around me. The family ahead of me were horrified by the amount the dinosaur exhibit cost...odd concern, that. And of course you could hear everything anyone was saying, because everyone is up your nose.

Having said that, it is an amazing collection. I was enchanted with the way they had set up the walkway - the dinos are on two levels and you get to see most specimens from two perspectives. Space-saving and interesting - very clever. The top level allows you to be face-to-face with the bulk of the dino skellies, lots of predators up there...the grouping of raptors is posed quite well, making it easy to imagine them coming after you (Jurassic Park may have assisted with that visualization).

The lower level is more the "Have fun with learning!" level...lots of little informative plaques and games/exercises. But you can still look up and see the skeletons above you (as they're placed on clear plexi; again, quite clever thinking).

The shadows are amazing. I wish I wasn't constantly being prodded forward by the crowd. Could have stayed and snapped shots for a very long time. But they had to be on-the-fly. Too bad, but got what I could.

The rest of the museum is much like any natural history museum, with impressive bits and not-so impressive bits. I dislike taxidermy and don't much care that it was the only way for people to learn at one time. Looking at musty and motheaten dead animals does not impress me. A particularly horrifying display of hundreds of dead hummingbirds left a deep impression.

It seemed as though I was always walking in the wrong direction...the walkways are teensy-tiny and once again force you into intimate contact with perfect strangers. I became quite worn out after three hours or so, and decided to call it a day even though I hadn't seen the mineral room yet. And heck, I'll be back.

Beautiful museum, and an excellent first stop when you head to London. Afterward, if you walk west down Cromwell, there's a very tasty little Indian restaurant near the Holiday Inn and Marriott, across the street. Tiny place (and for the life of me I can't remember the name), but quite worth it. One waiter is very sweet and the other is quite rude. Good luck to you on which one you get ;)



"Full screen" mode (the little button on the bottom right of the frame) is advised for the above slideshow...I like to think it's more impressive that way.

London, rainy or not.

After visiting London twice now in a very short span of time, I can say that I've been allowed to know the city itself a little better...we haven't become chums and I can't say I approve of its behavior all the time, but I keep going back for more.

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.

The third...in twenty-four hours.

So, let's get some actual travel reporting in and solidify this sucker!

I've been on Santa Catalina Island since Friday afternoon. If you aren't quite sure where that is (and honestly, they are quite modest about their popularity, self-describing themselves as a "lesser-known island"), here is an illuminating link: Santa Catalina Island, California

Am presently staying at the Glenmore Plaza Hotel. Firstly, let me be clear here: I booked the hotel through hotels.com, which is usually pretty good for cheap rates and didn't disappoint this time. It is the oldest hotel on the island, and also the least expensive. An old Victorian style building, yellow, hard to miss - in fact, I'd forgotten to print out my confirmation and indeed had forgotten the hotel's name with nothing other than a vague recollection of where it was, and I still found it. Leading me to mention that Catalina's town of Avalon is not very large. The rooms in the hotel are quite cozy in a sort of non-Euclidian way.

Avalon itself is hyper-tourism incarnate, at least near the docks. I've heard that it costs $10K a year to have a private boat mooring here. Hm-mmm. Just investigated, and mooring fees cost $20 to $80 per night based on boat length...so watch out, all you size queens! If you had a yacht (and the likelihood is great, of course) and were moored for a year, it would be a little over $29K. Gosh. Lucky you. The town is jam-packed with restaurants and specialty shops, although this time of year they open and close rather whimsically. Tonight I went to a place called The Landing, which was nice enough...salads and steaks, a full bar, nothing exotic. The best part of the room (to me) was the fireplace, which I sat so close to my eyes began to water. Has been a cold day.

Out on boats all day. I'd wanted to rent a bike and explore the island, unwittingly assuming you could ride out and around the coast. However, for those who may have the same ambition, the bikes are relegated to Avalon Proper. So I nixed that idea, and went in search of other fare. Was surprised to discover that whales are already migrating - the gray whales are passing by. And so are orcas, since they like to eat the grey whale calves...a bit of info I'm less than pleased with. The gent in the whale watch booth insisted that the orcas only eat the gray whales' tongues. I have not been able to verify this grisly piece of information, nor am I sure I want to. Signed up for a trip (with a small prayer that no orcas would show up). I've been on a few whale-watching sojourns, and they always go out on large ferry-style boats. The set-up here is a little different. I arrived at the assigned meeting place and was told to head to Gate 5 and "look for the yellow dinghy". And sure enough, it was a tiny yellow dinghy. Thrilling really - I like more personal adventures, so this was a good sign. 5 other people arrived, and off we went. I wore four layers, plus a hat and scarf, which was far too hot for the general weather, but once out on the water, damn! Freezing!!! We went to the south and west around the lower tip of the island past "Lover's Cove", past the quarry...eyebrows raised a little at the sight of a quarry on what seems like a very finite amount of land. "Iron and silver used to be mined here, but now only granite is exported." (we asked)

As for fauna, there were many sea lions (discovery: the Catalina sea lion is smarter than the average bear and is the specific animal used in circus shows and the like); one very fidgety bald eagle (whose eggs are finally hatching on their own after a very long recovery from exposure to DDT); a mass of pelicans on poo-splattered rocks; and finally, the show-stopper(s).

We bounced and jounced our way toward sea a bit to locate sea mammals of any stripe or color...seemed pretty barren until one little white wake appeared in the distance. The captain announced, "We might have a dolphin!"; as it got closer, it looked to be more. But when they arrived, oh my god. Hundreds and hundreds of dolphins!! Who decided they might like to play for a bit. Lots of flipping, jumping and slapping, and riding the boat's wake. Wonderful! The trip was more than worth it before, but this event kind of made the entire New Year feel right. These were Common dolphins. And so many of them! ^^ While enjoying many (perceived as) benificent playful aquatic mammals, we also had the slightly less fun experience of seeing a waterspout form. But a unique trip, that I'll grant! Was great fun and just what I was looking for. Got back to land soaked through (the boat bounced and splashed quite a bit once we headed away from the coast), my glasses spotted with saltwater, and my camera lens (protected by a filter) as well. Didn't realize how numb my extremities were until I tried to write. Entertaining results. But, not being able to give up on a good thing, I dashed off and signed up for a "nighttime underwater tour" of the coast.

The nighttime tour was a bit of a letdown - was hoping for sharks, rays, octopus, something terribly dramatic...the underwater tours at night are to find predators and scavengers, and they tend to hide. The company had gone out and placed 75 pounds of bait on the ocean floor. By the time we started making the rounds, the bait was covered with hundreds of lobsters. These were different from east coast lobsters, no giant claws. And lobsters would be almost all there was to see, other than the occasional garibaldi glaring out flourescently from its domain; also a few bass and sardines. And the kelp forest. Giant strands of bladder kelp, so thick in the water they covered the front of the boat. Amazing. I fancy I saw an eel as well. The best part of the trip for me was when all lights were shut off and we watched the bioluminescence (its light activating because it is scared, supposedly), millions of little particles streaming by. The crew informed us that since the island's plumbing is 75% salt water, we might want to shut off our lights and flush the toilet if we wished to see more of the bioluminescent organisms...! Poor little guys.

And so the night ended. After that, was frozen to the bone...no more adventures. Went to the aforementioned Landing, had a coffee with a shot of amaretto and a salad, then called it a night. There have been more exciting endings to a day, but it will do :)



Addendum: found this YouTube vid and it is nigh-exactly what I saw (was looking for my captain's video, didn't find it). "My" dolphins were more frisky though, leaping in the air and flipping outrageously. Give it a minute. All those little white wakes in the distance? Watch as they catch up to the boat :)

The second...bluegrass tingles.

May as well begin with the beginning, no?

My younger life was somewhat transitory. It is only recently, as my brother pointed out one night in a rather pompous wine bar (redundant), that I realized when my parents said we were "going camping" it might well mean something else! The fact that I never noticed nor cared is a loving wave to my folks. But it must be admitted that we were fairly gypsy-ish. From this early lifestyle I gained a love for travel, a fear of settling down, a tendency to cut ties and a lack of responsibility. There were flush times and hard times...times when we were so broke other poor people were stealing food for us, and times when all seemed dandy. Again, as a kid, it's hard to relate....I was very intuitive in some ways, noticing every degree of fluctuation in my parents' emotional relationship, and yet not understanding the ramifications of having Spam for Thanksgiving.

We traveled from home to home...I have also gained a very selective memory. Part of the "cutting ties" bit, I think. I couldn't begin to describe most of the houses I lived in. There was one that had a late 60's motif in the bathroom with purple floral wallpaper and bright green shag carpeting....I remember the "haunted house" in Whitesboro, which deserves a blog entry all its own....the various terrible college apartments, but then we're past the beginning and into the middle.

I lived with my grandparents quite often, and now assume this was during times of separation between my parents, or when we simply could not afford to live elsewhere. I still have bad dreams about my grandparents' home, which is a shame. I loved that house, and remember it down to nearly every detail. Another segment that deserves its own telling.

But mainly what it comes down to is an early life that formed the later; a need to keep on the move, to feel slightly displaced, and to easily meet others and just as easily lose them again. It has been a marvel to me that many old friends have recently reinstated contact of a sort.

So now you have the building blocks, the Lincoln Log framework - and we can move forward.

Before I forget, here are two songs that I must have heard 5000 times as a kid. One terrified me as I lay at night under the covers while my parents were in the living room smoking pot with friends....the other remains a fond memory of many bluegrass concerts with the smell of cut grass and beer on the air, blankets on the ground and gnats hanging around our heads. They've stuck with me all these years and still send shivers up my spine. Perhaps no one else's...but mine.

"Country and Eastern Music" by Jerry Goodman and Jan Hammer

"Please Don't Bury Me" by John Prine

The first.

So. It is the year 2009. I already have a sickly blog out there, blindly groping its way around the internet, occasionally entering my friends' homes and begging for attention...and for some reason I've decided to begin another, perhaps hoping it will be a heartier waif than the last.

I adore music, but there are so many glorious music-filled blogs out there already...I can (and will) certainly point them out to you. This batch of typed folderol may include music, but what it really will be (supposedly) is a travelogue. Not of the usual kind, maybe, but hopefully informative and entertaining...and if my navel-gazing once in a while assists you in some way, do let me know! Am always keen to help.

Meandering has been a part of my life for, well...forever, really. If by "forever" we understand it to mean "since my birth". But recently it has hit a fever pitch, and it occurs to me that someone else doesn't need to make the same mistakes if I've made them already! These mistakes could relate to any facet of life. This may be about traveling, but will incorporate all things (i.e., I get to write about whatever the hell I like and you will have to cope). And this exercise won't be entirely about mistakes; it will be about choices and experience, life-love-laughter-tears, all that jazz. So in two paragraphs we've gone from music to travel to mistakes to life. Some of my favorite things! Wondering if Julie Andrews would sing that song?

Finally, the blog's title comes from my favorite decadent snack I usually enjoy when writing romantic notes about where I've been and what I've been doing...so expect a plum wine flavored kiss to be blown on the air to you shortly.