Today’s walk to the East End was a new and different experience for me. Having grown up in a middle class, white, rural area it was wonderful to actually see the complete opposite of the area in which I grew up. As much as I love ethnic street fairs and pan-asian food I had never really seen an area so completely different from the one I am used to.
When I read Salaam, Brick Lane I had problems envisioning the actual street. As much as I enjoyed the book I still was picturing more of a slum than a habitable living area (Jack London’s quotes about murder and refuse didn’t help). Indeed, when the book was written things were much worse in that area than they are now, but it was still quite helpful for me to actually see the setting.
What struck me most was that even though the Gherkin could still be seen over the tops of the buildings, it actually felt like we were in a completely different city. Sadly most of the shops were closed due to Ramadan, but it is definitely a place I want to explore further.
However, it was surprising to see just how much it had changed since Mr. Hall wrote his book. From what he described I assumed Brick Lane to be little more than a slum. While not exactly the nicest neighborhood it was far from unpleasant. From the number of people in their mid-twenties that I saw wandering around it seems as though the area is an up-and-coming place. This is just another example of the ever changing demographic in this section of London. Instead of a new group of immigrants it seems to me that perhaps the next tenants will be young adults looking for their first apartment. From what I saw today I wouldn’t mind living there myself.
In contrast, this afternoon we took a tour of St. Paul’s Cathedral. It was quite a stark difference going from the rather poorer East End to the opulence of Christopher Wren’s masterpiece. While the entire tour was interesting, the highlight was definitely the trek up the dome. The view from the top was breathtaking. We were treated to a view of the whole of London spread out beneath us, and as segregated as parts of London are on the ground, from up that high there are no boundaries drawn between sections of the city. It is all just one big sprawling mass and there are no distinctions. It was a nice change from the racism we have been discussing during class.
It was a good day and I’d love to explore the East End further.
Author’s Note: This post was written and live by yesterday at 2:45 PM. Due to systems maintenance back at Dickinson where the servers are, it was mysteriously deleted and all traces ceased to exist on the Internet. Fortunately I managed to find a partial backup of the post with Firefox’s super clutch about:cache utility. Panic attack over.
Okay, so I was the only one who opted out of going to the backstage tour of the National Theatre. Bad call Andrew, bad call. So while I depressively sit in my room waiting for the group to return, I might as well write one big über-post reflecting on the last week or so here in Britain.
To go back a few days, after Stonehenge, we schlepped out to Bath. I experienced some major mixed fellings on the way there. A knowledgeable friend told me that if there is one place to see in the UK, it is Bath. However, it’s a city whose economy is completely reliant on tourism, and I hate tourist traps. The city itself is a sight to be seen. The architecture stands out most clearly, as almost every building within the city limits is built in the Georgian style of the 18th and 19th Centuries.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bath,_Somerset
The first landmark we encountered was Bath Abbey, a picturesque Gothic cathedral from the 7th Century. I stood outside and stared at the exterior for a good ten minutes before entering. It is enchanting, imposing, captivating, and just about any other adjective of the sore fathomable. With that in mind, I was thrilled to go inside. The interior was the mixed feelings I had earlier incarnate. The nave itself is gorgeous, featuring high, vaulted ceilings and intricate stained glass windows reminiscent of Westminster. Juxtaposing the ancient architecture, however, were LCD monitors, postcard stands, and any other touristy accoutrement you can imagine. That made me physically sick to the stomach. It is one thing to have a gift shop attached to historical sites, as long as they are distinctly separated. There is nothing wrong with a tourism economy. But just as the Church and the State should be mutually exclusive, so should the site and the shop. A message to the tourism bureau of Bath: NEVER SHIT WHERE YOU EAT. It is not only offensive to the historical purity of the building, but downright sacrilegious to so blatantly mix shopping with as place as important as Bath abbey.
On a related note, The Tower of London wasn’t any better. Maybe we just chose the worst possible time to visit, but it was absolutely stuffed to the gills with sightseers. We forewent seeing the illustrious crown jewels because the queue was longer than the line for Splash Mountain in Disney World. And I’m sure the main attraction isn’t nearly as exciting. To be entirely honest, I didn’t learn much during my time at the Tower. I know that it is very rich historically, serving as a fortress, a prison, a headquarters, and most recently, a kitschy tourist trap. The most best aspect were the enormous ravens hanging out all over the grounds. They made entertaining noises. Not worth the money. (I took the following photographs.)
CAWWW!
Phew. Ranting is cathartic.
Also, I am attempting to embed a slideshow of Bath Abbey into this post, but am failing miserably. I am giving up and posting a link to a slide.com slideshow instead. Click here to view.
Moving on, yesterday was the world famous Notting Hill Carnival, the second largest street festival on the planet. To give the reader a perspective, imagine a crowded rock concert, complete with all the four essential, ubiquitous smells: food, beer, body odor, and ganja. Now take that crowd and spread it out over a twenty square mile radius, but don’t bother thinning out the population density. This year’s attendance figures aren’t live yet, but in past years the event has attracted an upwards of 1.5 million people split over two days, most on Monday, the main event. Since everything else is closed due to the national bank holiday, about an eighth of London’s population has nothing better to do, so why not get a taste of Afro-Caribbean culture and go to Carnival? (When reading, make sure to roll the R in Carnival for dramatic effect). Everywhere I went was in earshot of calypso, reggae, soca, or any other Caribbean-centric music played at rock concert decibel levels. There were more jerk chicken booths than Starbucks in Manhattan. Red Stripe and Corona quenched the throats of everyone, from the lavishly dressed parade people to the pasty white 20-somethings who can’t dance, in attendance just to escape the vanilla routine of Western life (i.e. me). It is definitely worth seeing, but make sure you arrive in the afternoon. We made the mistake of getting there at 10 AM, and were bored for about two hours.
On a completely unrelated note, I have been listening to a lot of jazz lately, namely good hard-bop from the early 70s. I listen to a lot of music and it is by far one of my favorite genres, especially when seen live. As a result, I’ve been craving some raw, live jazz, and what better place to experience it than in the cultural center of the UK. I’ve also been considering writing my research paper on the London jazz scene, so it’s probably a good idea to get out there and experience it first hand. My rabid Googling has pointed me to a place called the 606 Club (click the link to see where the club got it’s name). The reviews are pretty glamorous (“London’s best music venue”), so I’m very excited to go in for a cocktail and listen to some great improvisational jazz, or whatever they have playing that evening. If you have never seen good jazz played in person, trust me on this one and come along to see the show. It is truly the best kind of live music around. Skilled musicians can emanate such powerful emotion from their horns, basses, drums, or voices unheard of in rock, hip-hop, or anything else kids today listen to. Definitely worth the £10 or so cover.
That about does it for now. I’m gonna get back to drinking wine alone in my underwear.
When I was first told about the Notting Hill Carnival, I have to say I was quite excited about getting the opportunity to attend. However, I really had no idea what to expect. I was told it was the second biggest street festival in Europe, so naturally I thought it would be intense. When we arrived in the morning it seemed pretty dead. The rubbish in the streets told me the prior day must have been quite a good time. I am glad that one of my first discoveries was a 2 litre bottle of Strongbow cider; something I did not expect to see at all. Nonetheless, my initial reaction was one of disappointment. We just walked about looking for a place to sit in order to watch the inevitable parades.
Despite the disappointing morning, the carnival came to life as noon approached. The first thing we saw was a very diverse parade. The participants ranged from a person dressed in what appeared to be a wedding dress with attached skeletons and machine guns to dinosaurs, a snake/bird creature and Corona girls. It appeared like everyone was having a good time, but I was still expecting more people. Luckily, the crowds did begin to grow once we started walking around the neighborhood.
One aspect of the carnival which really interested me was the political graffiti. It seemed that almost all of it, from what I saw, was “leftist” in nature. Two in particular caught my eye. One was a banner of sorts with Che Guevara in the middle. Spray painted on the red background was “Who the f*ck is this” with the response “Surely not Che?” I thought this was very interesting and entertaining. The other piece of graffiti I enjoyed was just a quote spray painted on wood which said “In a democracy dissent is an act of faith.” Overall, I am glad I was able to spot the graffiti I did see and be able to capture it through a lens before it was washed away.
In the end, I really liked what I saw of the carnival. The food was simply amazing and very numerous. It was hard not to walk five feet and not spell something delicious being cooked. The parades were also fun to watch, especially the Jamaican one. Nevertheless, I still did expect more people. Though the crowds were pretty big, for the second largest street festival in Europe, I was disappointed at the amount of people. Of course, that does not mean I would not come back because it was an amazing experience and one I do not regret.
I’m not one for long, verbose titles; I prefer to let my artwork (if a blog post could be considered such) stand on its own. I suppose that’s why The British Museum and The National Gallery appealed to me, because these museums are arranged in such a way that the art and artifacts are privileged over their context and allowed to speak for themselves. Information is available at both museums for those who want to learn more about an individual piece, but signage is simple and audioguides are discreet.
I devoted most of my time spent at The National Gallery to the 18th-20th centuries exhibit, which featured works by Monet, Manet, Picasso, van Gogh and Degas. The piece which affected me most viscerally was Vincert van Gogh’s “Sunflowers,” a painting which I had seen many times on postcards, coasters, prints hanging on water-damaged walls or in the only remains of my mother’s abandoned art degree – in her art books. Seeing this work in person was an incredible experience. Having the opportunity to experience the thoughts, emotions and perceptions of one of the world’s most renown artists though one of the world’s most renown pieces of artwork affected me very deeply. What struck me about works in both museums, but “Sunflowers” in particular, was the work’s enduring relevance diachronically. Though styles and historical contexts are particular to a piece of art and remain fixed, its meaning is mutable. This, I feel, is the true beauty of art.
At The British Museum, I had a similar reaction to seeing and touching part of a column which came from the Parthenon. It is amazing how these artifacts have managed to remain in tact and meaningful for thousands of years. One sign that caught my attention was one which told the story of how Lord Elgin brought pieces of the Parthenon back to England in 1806. The signage, as well as other historians and archaeologists, claims that Elgin essentially saved the artifacts from further destruction and preserved them by bringing them to England. However, now that Greece has the means to afford an appropriate Acropolis Museum, there is much debate regarding the British Museum’s collection of artifacts, uncluding a number of friezes.
Both The National Gallery and The British Museum seem to honor artwork and artifacts over their historical context. Though considering where these pieces came from is crucial in understanding their meaning, perhaps where they are going, such as the friezes and sections of column of the Parthenon, and their relevance to our culture in the present and future is what should be more important.
I do not enjoy crowds, and so I will not attempt to describe what it felt like to be surrounded by hundreds of people, either somewhat intoxicated or just super excited to be there. The Notting Hill Festival was a Brazilian party extending as far as the eye could see. The dancers, moving to the beats, the fast pacing Samba steps making every inch of their very exposed bodies jitter with excitement. I could tell they were exhausted, but they kept moving and smiling even though their feet were giving up in those 4-inch silver glitter heels… I wished I was wearing them too. As they passed me, I wanted to join them, to Samba with them and to sing their vivacious songs (I don’t speak Portuguese but I guessed my fluency in Spanish would get me by). I pictured myself in Rio De Janeiro, Brazil at the biggest street festival in the world, dancing. Immersing with a culture not so different from my own, I would probably feel right at home. This was a good feeling, until I was pushed around by the crowd a bit and realized that it was probably time for me to head out, an hour was enough… but now all I want to do is Samba!
Digital Camera: $300
Flight to Rio De Janeiro: $650
Standing with millions of people at Carnaval: PRICELESS.
Tonight I went to the play All’s Well That Ends Well which was preformed at the on the Olivier stage at the National Theater. Though I greatly enjoyed the performance of the play, I question Shakespeare’s choice for the title.
(spoiler alert) The play began with the main character, Helena (who loves Bertram), cures the King of France of his illness and is therefore granted the choice of any man she desires for her husband. So naturally she chooses Bertram, whom does not like Helena (mostly on account of her social standing) and is appalled by the thought of taking her hand in marriage. However, he cannot turn down Helena’s marriage proposal by the King’s decree, so instead he decides to become a soldier and leaves Helena before he beds her. After leaving he sends Helena a letter saying that he will have no wife in France until Helen is impregnated with his child and possesses his family ring. After reading this Helena leaves France in search of her husband. When she arrives in Florence (where the war is) she decides to stay with an old widow and her daughter, Diana (with whom Bertram is in infatuated). She then convinces Diana to seduce Bertram and to blind fold him before Helena comes in and makes love to him (Bertram still believing that he is with Diana). So, through Diana Helena comes to possess Bertram’s ring and becomes pregnant with his child. At the end of the play she confesses what she has done and Bertram vows to always love her, yeah right!
All is not well at the end, for Bertram is still a jerk and Helena is still married to him. This is the classic story of many present day teen pregnancies: boy does not like girl so girl decides to trap boy by forgetting to take her pill (opps!) and boy is stuck putting up with girl until the child is raised. In All’s Well That Ends Well is Shakespeare trying to suggest that this method of entrapment actually effective? Or is he poking fun at those who believe it to be effective? Neither of these options make the play contingent with the play’s fairytale motif. Also, both options make this comedy funny only in a very twisted way.
I can see why this play is considered one of Shakespeare’s problem plays. Like Troilus and Cressida, it seems to confuse and confound the audience. Why did Shakespeare choose to make a mockery of the Greek and Trojan heroes in Troilus and Cressida? And why did he choose to name a tale about a teen pregnancy All’s Well That Ends Well?
However, I can see the value in All’s Well That Ends Well as a social commentary. Though the King assures Bertram that he will personally boost Helena’s position in society, Bertram still does not want to marry her because she is the daughter of a poor physician and he is a count. This reflects the English society’s belief at the time that a person’s class is permanent and does not change from the day they are born to the day that they die. The fact that Bertram finally accepts Helena once she is pregnant also reflects the norm of the time: that if a man impregnates a woman then he is forever after responsible for her well-being. In All’s Well That Ends Well Shakespeare uses these two social to show the disjointed nature of the British upper-class’ social rules. In this way I feel that Shakespeare is trying to critique the contradictory nature of these social guidelines. I am very interested in how other people read this play.
Although they all act as places of rest for the public, the parks of London all seem to have unique identities, stemming from where they are geographically. Take St. James park for instance: Located between the Prime Minister’s house and Buckingham Palace, the park highlights elaborate flower formations and the vast amount of birds that live in the pond that runs through the park. Because of the high volume of tourists that are running through the park, a sizeable cafe is located right in the middle of it all, offering overpriced espressos and a view of the ducks for all that are interested. In turn, all of the paths lead in the park point right to tourist attractions, like the Churchill Museum, Buckingham Palace, and Westminster Abbey.
Regent’s Park on the other hand is much more low-key. Surrounded completely by houses, the park acts more as an area for relaxation than a way to direct foot-traffic. With long and circular paths, the park is a great area for both exercise and recreation. While there is a cafe in the park, it is small in size and offers more reasonably priced food and drink.
Even more inconspicuous are the numerous parks around the Bloomsbury area. The same concept as Regent’s Park but on a smaller scale, most of the parks just have sitting areas surrounded by a single path. Those parks that special will even have a plaque or two to famous figures.
It is staggering to think how something so simple as a park can be transformed to fit the specific needs of the area it is in. However, given the fact that London survives on the tourist dollar, it should come as no surprise that something as simple as a park would be transformed to streamline the tourist industry.
Recently the Dickinson gang (including those Sciences weirdoes) took a trip to the picturesque town of Bath. Originally a resort town for the nobles of England, the town has thankfully spread out to let us mere mortals in. Situated between two hills with a river running through the center of town, it all seems too good to be true, and in a way is. The commercial center of the town is filled with shops of all variety, from stores like Tesco and Boots, to expensive boutique stores. Additionally, the town market was centered towards serving functional goods rather than souvenirs. After all of the obvious tourist traps in London, I was admittedly a little miffed at not being able to find too many places to criticize (That being said, it was pretty inexcusable to charge 1 pound just to enter the park. I guess I’m just spoiled from the fee-less parks of London… and everywhere else). Of course there were things like the street performers and tourist spots like the Roman Baths, but after hiking to the top of one of the hills through a purely residential area, all of that seemed to slip away. Perhaps this is the actual aim of Bath, to make it a place of recognition but at the same time be able to exist outside of its tourist identity (If only most parts of London could take a note).
It has been awhile since I have actually stepped back and appreciated how much work and effort goes into a theatrical production. My last personal experience with a theatrical production was playing in the pit orchestra in a high school production of “How to Succeed in Business without Really Trying” during my sophomore year. The last time I had performed in a play or helped with costumes and set was in fifth grade. Needless to say, I had allowed myself to forget the hard work and dedication required to put on a successful theatrical production. Obviously I have attended numerous plays, musicals and operas since then, but I only viewed it as an audience member paying attention to the final product. I had forgotten to appreciate the intricacies of sets, costumes, rehearsals, props, and production staff. This held true even up until last night when we saw Arcadia. I loved the play and found the script to be beautifully written in order to convey a powerful message concerning time and how it passes. Yet the details of the lighting, set, props and backstage work escaped me.
It was not until this morning’s discussion with Rick Fisher that I began to understand the intricacies of lighting, sets, and other backstage work. I wish we could have talked with him before seeing Arcadia. Looking back, I can understand the importance of lighting beyond the obvious cues it provides. Truly, it made me more appreciative of the lighting design we experienced with Arcadia. It was simple but artistic in that it successfully conveyed not only the time of day but the difference in the time periods. At that time I had decided to appreciate the lighting and other backstage works of the plays we would be seeing in the rest of our time in London. I thought that would be the end of it. Yet, I found that our backstage tour at the National Theatre really drove home that point. Not only did it further my newfound appreciation for the collaborative effort required to produce a theatrical even, but it also revitalized my excitement for the theater. A few years had passed since I had been truly excited to see, experience and appreciate a theatrical production. But, with this new appreciation and insight about the production of a play I find myself with a new found passion for the theater. This is something I did not expect from our time in London. I thought I would find myself discovering passions for the city, its architecture, parks, museums, et cetera; not for theater. It is a wonderful discovery and one that will be far too easy to indulge in while we are here and in Norwich. Hopefully, I can take this with me when we return in June but for now I am more than content to take this new knowledge and explore the theaters and plays of London and Norwich.
I am a law-abiding citizen. Sure, I tend to drive five miles per hour or so over the speed limit and I’ll sometimes go through a light that might be more orange than yellow but, overall, I like to think of myself as one who is in good standing with the law. Apparently, I have a lot to learn if this good relationship is going to be kept up in London. Well, my relationship with the police force here is still as strong as ever but the same cannot be said for the mall security personnel here. At the Notting Hill Carnival this weekend, Constable Bird and I chatted for a good amount of time in a very pleasant manner while waiting for the parade to start. Today at a busy Forever 21-like store, I was unable to have a similar pleasant exchange with a grumpy security man who was an active participant in the elbow throwing that was required to get through the hustle and bustle there rather than a guide in helping calm said hustle and bustle. Again, I am a law-abiding citizen. My familiarity with authority figures is pretty low. These radically different run-ins with such figures in the middle of our stay in London coincides beautifully with our reading of Caldwell’s “After Londonistan”. Well-planned, Professor Qualls. But truly, these situations and the reading together make me wonder about the law-enforcement in London. Constable Bird said something that keeps ringing in my ears: “Do people hate the police in America as much as they do here? Everyone likes to jump to conclusions about us without hearing the whole story or understanding the situation.” Well, I still might not know exactly why the security man was so angered by my misplacing a sweater on the wrong rack, but allow me to try to reason through how that situation might tie in to the relationship between civilian and authority figure that is present in London.
Just a part of the swarm of police coming down the hill
Notting Hill Carnival was packed. There were truly hundreds of people swarming in every direction around the community. A parade full of loud and vibrantly dressed people didn’t help in bringing any sense of order to the streets. I’ve never before witnessed such life and excitement in one area. I loved it. That vibrancy would have been tainted immensely if any unruliness (at a level above shrieking whistles being blown repeatedly for hours) broke out. To ensure this didn’t happen, the London police made sure to come down in full uniform, some on horseback. My first impression of them was one of intimidation. A mass of black and white, the police came down to the parade from on top of a hill, spread out in a way that made sure they took up the entire width of the street. Impressive and something that sent the message: don’t mess with us. After taking a few pictures, I mentally noted the message and continued to anxiously wait for the parade to begin. The police took their places as the barrier between the crowd and the parade; yes, the police were the barrier rather than a fence-like object. It was in this moment that Constable Bird and I met. We chatted about his rather snazzy uniform (the hats are particularly wonderful) and then settled on a more important matter. He complained that the police in London have a reputation of being the hot-headed, rash, and sometimes cruel enforcer figure that the press just loves to slam for any seeming mishap. This was not my experience with London’s finest at all. An officer on horseback allowed a curious and hopeful young boy to pet his horse while Constable Bird chatted about his hat, retirement preferences, and favorite spots in Notting Hill with a curious tourist. He even took a picture with us. A cruel or ticket-hungry description could not be further from the one I would give to Constable Bird and the police force that day. Intimidating, yes; unjust, no.
The store I visited today was packed as well. With sweaters for two pounds, it’s not a mystery why. Again, I was a bit intimidated by the security personnel there. They wore all black and were positioned at almost every clothing rack. Searching for your size while someone is scrutinizing your every move is less than calming (and size is also a very personal matter so not only are you not calm, you’re also a bit embarrassed and/or annoyed. Unfortunately, I was all three- not calm, annoyed, and trying to avoid embarrassment). I put down one of the sweaters on top of a clothing rack when I found a rain jacket I wanted to try on. I had literally just sat the sweater down when this man very harshly demanded to know if that was my item. When he found out that it was, he informed me that I was not allowed to place my item up there. Let’s set up the mental image here. I have a huge purse in between my legs, I’m wobbling as to not run into people, and I’m trying to figure out the size conversion in my head. I’m a bit of a mess. In one of my not-so-bright moments, I look around the store and ask the man where he suggests I put the item in question. He didn’t appreciate that question. Rather than answer me and try to make the situation better, he proceeded to stare me down. He just stared at me. Taking the hint, I hung the jacket back in its proper place, gathered my things, and went on my way (only after running into a person in my efforts). Yes, the situation was a tense one and I was less than polite but I don’t think my reaction deserved such a harsh reaction. While the police at the carnival actually did what they were meant to do (keep the carnival calm and running smoothly), the security man did just the opposite in scrutinizing something incredibly trivial and then refusing to offer any solution to the problem he created in the first place. What is interesting to me is the fact that of these two men, if they walked into a pub in their work attire, Londoners would probably prefer the security man’s presence over the officer’s (at least based on my understanding of the police/citizen relationship here).
Caldwell seems to make the point that London’s law-enforcement is often times rash, not well-thought out, and sometimes quite unjust. Now, Caldwell isn’t focusing on how the law treats college-aged tourists, I understand. Still, my limited exposure to the police in the area makes me believe that the law here strives towards not only fairness and equality but also ensuring the safety of the community. Balancing these is an incredibly difficult task especially in more intense situations than a street fair. But does the security man’s attitude not tell us something of the everyday person’s dealings with authority? In my totally biased opinion, it seems that those who are trying to keep the peace in London are truly trying to do just that. Still, clearly there are those who nitpick at things for reasons of lesser credibility than the greater good (I’m sorry but my sweater was truly not in anyone’s way!). I’m interested which authority figure type is more prevalent in the city: Constable Bird or angry security man. Is London a city under the protection of those who are hoping to keep the peace or under the rule enforcement of those who follow the letter of the law rather than its spirit? I’m not sure but I’m interested in figuring it out…
