Dickinson College Humanities Program in Norwich

I have been to many pubs in London, though probably not as much as some of my group members. The fact is, I don’t really like them. Before I came to England, I had the idea that pubs would be low-key and intimate places. I thought they would be places where I could relax. It turns out to be the opposite. I can’t relax at these places. I get extremely anxious. Pubs are where I actually have to act British, and I am not too sure yet what that means. I have read Fox and she has helped, but the times I actually experienced the pub scene for myself I’ve been confused. In the moment, I have a hard time thinking about what Fox has told me to do, and I just do what David always does… and it’s not always pretty.
One experience that I had was when Sean and I went to the Rising Sun. We made our way to the bar and, after probably five minutes of waiting, the bartender came and asked what we wanted. I ordered a pint of London Pride, and the guy asked if that was all and I said yes. But, then Sean said he wanted one too so I said, “Wait actually my friend wants one too.” Strike one. When you order, know what you want and order it all together. So the bartender gave me an attitude and then started to pour Sean’s drink. When he was finished, he gave us the price of the two drinks. We went fumbling through our pockets, full of random coins that we hadn’t yet learned by touch, so we could pay separately for the drinks we ordered. Strike two. Be ready with the money and pay together so the transaction can be fast, especially on a busy night like this one was. No need for a third strike, the bartender had no sympathy for the two confused Americans. When we eventually paid, we got our drinks and went to sit. We found a group of girls from the program, and I had to take Melissa with me when I wanted another drink because of how embarrassed I was. But experiences like this are not the only reason I don’t like pubs.

Pub food is garbage and the atmosphere is uncomfortable. I don’t care if its steak and ale pie, potato jackets, or a burger. The only thing that’s actually good is the fish and chips, but really how could anyone mess that up. This food is really missing all and any flavor that it could have. I really prefer to go to restaurants to eat and drink. The food is usually better and just as cheap. The drinks too are usually just as expensive. I like the slower pace of restaurants because I can eat and drink without people yelling and their elbows in my plate.

On a recent night, however, I was surprised to find a pub that I actually liked. It was small and quiet. When I looked in the window I hesitated before going in because it looked so low-key that I was worried it was a kind of a “regulars” spot. But when I walked in (with Sean) I found that it was exactly the kind of place I had been looking for! Sean and I were probably the youngest people there. There was no music. The place wasn’t full but the people there were actively engaged with who ever was across from them at their table. I felt relaxed, I felt comfortable, and I drank a lot. I think the pub’s name was the King’s Crown. It’s a little bit up Gower Street, on a street to the left. I recommend that before everyone leaves, they give this place a shot because I’m sure it’s different than any place you have been to so far. I will totally be going back before I leave.

I hope to find pubs, like the one I just spoke about, in Norwich. I know pub food is notoriously bad everywhere, but I just want a place I can relax and unwind. That’s it.

I went souvenir shopping recently on Oxford Street. Just like the streets of other major cities I’ve been to, there were shops and shops selling similar merch

andise boasting London’s places of interest and culture. The classic I <3 [enter city’s name here] shirts lined the walls of these stores. There were hats and sweatshirts, along with underwear and key chains. The shelves were lined with little figurines of London’s attractions. I bought my girlfriend a snow-globe with the London Eye, Tower Bridge, Big Ben, a red double-decker bus, and a red telephone booth inside of it. As I was in bed the other night, I looked over at it and I started to think…

What would New York have in it’s snow-globe? What about Chicago? Even cities like Athens, what would these places put inside to represent themselves? I could only think of the Statue of Liberty, the Empire State building, and a yellow taxi for New York. Chicago would have the Sears Tower of course, and Athens would include the Acropolis. The fact is, London has many more recognizable places of interest and cultural emblems than any other city I can think of. This snow-globe I gave to my girlfriend could included only a few of the spots.

Because of its long history, London has been able to accumulate these over its existence. Just looking at the snow-globe, there are different eras of London’s history right inside of it. Big Ben, though there was a tower on the site since 1288, was raised in 1834. Tower Bridge was opened in 1894 to satisfy the increase in commerce in the East End. The red telephone booth, actually called a telephone box, was first introduced to the city in 1920 and the red bus has been a stable to the city since the early 1950s. And then there is the London Eye, which is extremely modern, in 1999, when it becoming the tallest ferris wheel in the world until 2006. Though the figures inside the glob are random, it shows how the city embraces all of its cultural icons. I’m sure that if the Roman walls were still standing, they would be included inside.

So, what would you put in your snow-globe? I would put the Tower of London, Westminster Abby, the Millennium Bridge, and I’d probably keep Big Ben in there too. I’d probably throw in a royal guard with that large black hat as well. London doesn’t make it easy to choose, but we all have our favorites.

Last night, I had an experience that went completely against my understanding of one of the core pillars of Englishness as described by Kate Fox in Watching the English, namely the use of the word “Sorry.”  It all began when Stephenie and I decided to go the The One Tun to watch the Man U v. Rangers game, which they ended up not showing, favoring Tottenham v. Bremen.  We grabbed some fish and chips, and watched the game, while also playing pub trivia, which seems to be a weekly tradition there.  As we got up to leave, as often happens in any crowded place, a man bumped into me, and I automatically responded with a polite “Sorry,” just like Fox told me the English do.  This particular man was followed by a female, who I can only assume was the man’s girlfriend/wife.  This female character was the one that completely dismantled my understanding of English social interactions, because she said to me, and I quote, “We ran into you, you don’t need to say sorry.”  She was very polite about it (as is expected from an Englishperson), but it still was quite disconcerting.  What do you mean I don’t have to say “Sorry?”  This is England, for crying out loud!  “Sorry” is practically the national word!

After pondering this series of events over the last 24 hours or so, I have come up with several explanations for it.  The first of these is the fact that the woman seemed to be rather intoxicated, so maybe the depressive effects of the alcohol relaxed her normal English awkwardness so that she felt that “Sorry” wasn’t required.  However, I think it more likely had to do with the natural liminal properties of pubs.  Because the supposed English “social dis-ease” (which I haven’t experienced all that much in London), isn’t so severe in a pub setting, it might make sense that “Sorry” simply doesn’t apply as much, because the English are much less awkward around each other.  Even if this is true however, I am still terribly confused, and may not feel comfortable saying “Sorry” ever again.

Last summer, when I visited the Acropolis Museum in Greece with my family, I did not know much about the controversy surrounding the Elgin marbles.  It was probably the most remarkable museum that I have seen (including those in London), with a transparent glass floor at the bottom through which I could see the walls and streets of ancient Athens, revealed by an archeological dig.  As I moved up through the museum, I saw countless beautiful statues and painted vases.

However, the most strongly featured exhibit was that on the top floor: the pediments, metopes, and frieze from the Parthenon.  The collection was arranged in the exact size, shape and orientation of the Parthenon.  Pieces from each category of ornamentation  were conspicuously missing: full size models of them were interspersed with originals, mostly marked with plaques that said “BM,” for British museum  and a few that named other museums worldwide as the thieves in question.  One of Greece’s goals in building the new Acropolis Museum was to make its argument  for the returning of the marbles, and  the museum provided many not-so-subtle hints throughout its exhibitions that they should be returned, (such as an animated video in which the Elgin’s men, dressed in black, climb the Parthenon, pick up the statues and other artifacts, and walk away with them).  Indeed, it would add to the experience of seeing statues built to adorn the Parthenon, to see the Parthenon itself through the enormous glass windows that surround the top gallery in the Acropolis Museum.

Fast forward to the Parthenon exhibit in the British museum.  Here, there are no windows, and the only representation of the statues outside of the British museum’s collection is on a television screen in a side gallery.  Like at the Acropolis museum, the Parthenon display is set up in the shape of the Parthenon itself, with the frieze and the metopes along the perimeter, and the statues from the pediments at either end.  The statues (and especially the metopes, in which relief sculptures of battles with centaurs are carved),  are individually beautifully crafted and some are in excellent condition, probably both because Elgin removed the very best of the statues from the site of the Parthenon, and because some damage has come to the collection in Greece since.  Despite the high quality and obvious effort on the British Museum’s part to display the marbles so that visitors can picture what they would have looked like at the Parthenon, the effect is simply not the same.

The British Museum makes a pamphlet available to visitors that outlines their argument for keeping the marbles.  It explains that Elgin took the Marbles with the full permission of the Ottoman authorities in Greece at the time.  However, I see this as a case of interaction between two imperial forces, not between Elgin and “Greece” as the political and cultural entity that it is today.  However legal the transaction was considered by the few individuals involved, it is likely that the results would have been different if Elgin had negotiated with someone with a higher stake in Greece’s cultural identity than a foreign, occupying power.  The pamphlet also claims that the marbles should stay in London because they represent the cultural heritage of the entire western world, rather than only Greece.  However, what claim does Britain have to being the ideal place to display everything that makes up the cultural history of all of Europe?  If the debate centers around the well being of the statues themselves, it will go nowhere, because both the British Museum and the Acropolis Museum now have more than adequate facilities to preserve and display the Elgin Marbles.

This debate seems to have no logical conclusion.  However, after experiencing  seeing some of the statues (and through the plaster models, the entire set), at the location of their original home, I believe that Greece has a stronger cultural and historical claim.  I realize that beginning to return artifacts would not be in the British museum’s best interest.  However, returning some famous artifacts (and only to those countries that can care for them), would begin to send a message to the world that  Britain is willing to address the wrongs committed during its imperialist past.  It would probably also free up some exhibition space for some fantastic artifacts that are currently sitting in storage.

In my home I was raised to be unafraid to go to new places and try new foods, things, etc. Usually that has included going to places that are not necessarily in accordance with my social-economic class in the states. We just bring out our best clothes, proper manners, and the green and we are welcomed in. So I was completely astonished, and baffled in a sense when I experienced firsthand the clear cut class division in London. I particularly felt it when a couple of us went inside Harrod’s, which is perhaps the most expensive store in England.

Harrod’s, if you don’t know much about it, is currently owned by Qatar Investment Authority (QIA) a company whose worth is at $60 Billion. Harrod’s, however, was first founded in 1849 by Charles Henry Harrod making it the oldest and biggest high-end department store still in existence. ( For a more detailed history on Harrod’s visit http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/10103783)

A group of five from my program ventured into Harrod’s after making our way to Hyde Park. The stores geographic location is just a couple blocks away from a little place called Buckingham Palace, perhaps you have heard of it.  The exterior of the Harrod’s building is very palatial, I even wondered if it was a state palace or something of the sort because it flies about 35 flags from around the world on its roof. I was soon corrected by my friend Pat, that the building I was staring at was none other than one of the most exclusive shops in the world. As we walked into this so called Harrod’s it became immediately apparent that this shop was made of money and produces a lot of money. In a sense it reminded me of going into the Belagio and Mandalay Bay hotel’s in Las Vegas, therefore it didn’t impress me so much.  Unlike the Belagio or the Mandalay Bay what became increasingly apparent was the discrimination that occurred by the employees of Harrod’s to people/ customers within the store. I have never before in my life been blatantly ignored like I was last week. The employees literally took one look at me and my clothing and turned away as if I didn’t exist. It felt very odd, horrible, and vicious all rolled into one feeling.  I stopped by the men’s shoes section just to gage the prices within this exclusive store, and to my amazement the simple looking loafer I picked up cost £850, in American terms that’s roughly $1,270 for a pair of shoes. Now if your eyes popped out at that figure do you imagine mine when standing in a room full of those prices? I know I don’t understand the concept of being rich because I have never been rich, but it really sickens me to see such pretentiousness just to show your higher status amongst the community.

So after I had this horrible encounter with wealth I decided to look into just who exactly works in Harrod’s and why do they feel that they have the right to look past me? To my surprise these sales associates win the same exact salary as sales associates in Macy’s or Nordstrom from back home in the states. They win roughly about $24,000 a year.(http://www.harrodscareers.com/page/benefits_and_rewards)  It amazes me that even the people who clearly are not part of that social economic circle feel that they have a granted right to treat others the same way they are treated. If there is one conclusion from this entire experience it is that I will never understand how wealth is equated to respect and the right to abuse people. People who genuinely believe in these two traits have a completely wrong way of looking at life.

I can’t begin to imagine the amount of beer cans that were picked up off the streets of Notting Hill after that gigantic parade/fair that I visited at the beginning of the program. Everyone was drinking as they followed the floats (if you call reggae DJ’s riding on big buses floats) down the streets of the neighborhood, throwing their beers on the ground as they were receiving a joint from a generous hand or reaching into their pockets for two pounds to purchase a sketchy jello shot. The side walks were engulfed in the trash that overflowed behind the jerk chicken and Bob Marley tee shirt vendors. Though it sounds dirty, which I guess it was, it was a unique (not going to say fun) experience. First off, I don’t think I’d ever seen saw many people in one spot in my entire life. I was nearly crushed to death so many times. I also liked some of the costumes that the paraders were wearing. I didn’t really like the costumes themselves, women in feather decorated bikinis, but they represented the enthusiasm that so many people had for this event. I soon got tired of it all though, and after trying to get through the crowds of drunk and high people, the closed subway stations just got me even more frustrated.

But the Thames Festival! It was like a five year olds birthday party compared to what I went through at Notting Hill. Like the previous festival there were vendors, but here there were much more and they offered a lot of different foods and crafts. It wasn’t exclusive to one neighborhood, so people were selling everything from Greek food, to pizza and from Japanese, to sweet and tasty churos. Lots of vendors sold toys, like bubble makers and glow wands, while other offered paintings and clothing. As I walked along the shore of the Thames, under the London Eye, I moved through the foot traffic easily and listened to a concert that was off on the grass close by. The paths along the river were busy, but there were no traffic jams. There were people holding clear plastic cups of beer, but that was really the extent of the drinking. I didn’t notice anyone that I thought was wasted. Anyway, the big event of the night were the fireworks. I found a spot on the bridge next to the London Eye and waited half an hour for the fireworks to start. Sadly, I was on the wrong side, and blocking my view of the show were the steel supports for the train track that ran through the middle of the bridge. From what little I saw, but more from the “ohs” and “ahs” of the huge crowd watching, I assume the fireworks were incredible. The tube station and the bus stops were remarkably uncrowded, so the trip back home took as long as it would any other day.

Two different experiences, one a little more comfortable than the other, but both well worth attending. The Thames Festival, if it happened every weekend I would go. For the Notting Hill Festival, I think once every three to four years would be okay.

              I’ve always been a moderately healthy eater. I try to stay clear of junk and fast food as much as possible. However, leading a healthy lifestyle can put quite a dent in your pockets in the states, especially if you don’t have the time to cook. This is the exact reason why so many people in the U.S. don’t eat as healthy as they should, especially in big cities and urban communities. In a fast pace environment, convenience plays a big role in deciding what to eat for lunch; basically whatever is prepared to grab and go. For example, this summer I worked on Fifth Avenue in New York City, which is always bustling with people no matter what day of the week it is. The allotted time for my lunch period ranged from thirty to forty five minutes, which sounds like a decent amount of time but by the time I made my way through the swarms of people on the streets, waited in line and ordered my food, and then hustled back to the break room, I barely had fifteen minutes left to actually eat my lunch. For the first couple of weeks, I would get lunch from PAX Wholesome Foods, which serves healthy sandwiches, drinks and other snacks. A small sandwich would run me about seven to eight dollars, and then I would have to buy a drink and sometimes fruit. I would end up spending around thirteen to fourteen dollars and would end up being not being completely satisfied taste-wise and hungry again in an hour or two. Once I began to calculate how much money I was spending on food, plus transportation to work all week, I realized I was spending almost half of a weeks’ paycheck. Unfortunately, I couldn’t do anything about the price of transportation, so I had to cut down on how much I was spending on food, which led to the occasional trips to McDonalds (yuck!).

              Once in England, it wasn’t as difficult to eat healthy on the go. I have never consumed so many sandwiches in the course of two weeks. There are a number of healthy outlets scattered throughout London. A couple of us have designated the chain EAT: The Real Food Company, as our favorite lunch spot. EAT would be the slight equivalent to the PAX chain that I mentioned before, except richer in variety and quality, and more accessible with locations everywhere! Dedicated to fresh food, all of EAT’s sandwiches are handmade daily and baguettes are baked every morning, which PAX didn’t do.  The sandwiches vary between 3 to 5 pounds, depending on content, and taste really good! It would be impossible to find a place in NYC that freshly prepared food daily and was this affordable.  Planet Organic is also another venue that has captured my heart and taste buds. It’s quick, affordable and sooo delicious (it deserves the extra o’s). My favorite lunch, which is a filling serving of their mixed vegetable soup with complementary bread and butter and a 1.5L of water and sometimes a blueberry muffin, runs me less than five pounds. I’ve never been supermarket shopping, but from what I’ve heard there are also healthy and reasonably priced items as well. I feel that here in London the money that I spend on food goes a much longer way than it does back in New York. I am able to eat right and still have money left for dessert!

As most of the group made their plans to attend Notting Hill Carnival, I was feeling a little tired of crowds. I like cities, but in moderation, and after about a week in London I did not feel up to spending an afternoon shoulder to shoulder with complete strangers. So I decided to go over to the Tate Modern, which I had been curious about since our arrival.

The Tate was a mixed experience. I enjoy certain modern art, but usually only when it portrays something relatively concrete, and when I can still see the artist’s method.  I love looking at post-impressionist art from the beginning of the twentieth century, but I feel less inspired when it comes to newer “modern” art. So I had trouble connecting with the majority of what the Tate had on display, which fell into a more abstract category.  Still, the museum managed to hold my attention throughout, partially, I think, because of the layout: I never knew what I would find in the next room.

When I was nearly ready to leave the museum, I walked out into the hallway between the exhibits, in which big glass windows overlook a central lobby area.  Visitors were gathered around the windows, looking down at something.  I found an opening between the masses of onlookers, and down through the window myself.  I saw that the floor of an enormous space in the lobby that had been empty earlier in the afternoon was now covered in black and white shapes, arranged like an abstract painting.

I went downstairs and made my way through the crowd to get a better view.  I discovered that the installation was actually an enormous stage for a modern dance performance, and I was lucky enough to find a seat near the perimeter.   Upwards of fifty dancers moved across the stage dressed in black and white, to expertly blended electronic and rock music.  I noticed however that while the dancers who were featured were clearly professionally trained, and mesmerizing to watch (one stood on her head with only one hand on a ballet barre for support while moving her feet through the air perfectly in time to the music), others who moved in large groups performed only simple dance steps.

I later looked up the performance on the Tate Modern’s website to learn more.  I found out that Michael Clark, the choreographer included seventy-five non-dancers in the performance (while also including his dance company- responsible for the acrobatics).  This explained the disparity in skill level within the performance, but I still marvel at how small an impression that disparity made on me at the time.  The parts of the dance that included the non-dancers were beautiful because of the sheer number of individuals moving in unison, so I was able to gloss over (I guess as Clark intended) any roughness in the individual dancers’ movement.

I still question however, why Clark would make the effort to train non-dancers, when more dancers (who I assume he could find) could have performed the same piece with greater grace and fewer rehearsals.  I guess the aims of modern art and explains how the dance performance fits with the Tate Modern’s collection.  Modern art consistently challenges whatever conventions come before.  When we look at works of art in the Tate Modern, we ask ourselves (among other questions like, what’s a black square on a canvas doing in a museum?)  whether the ideas behind them are original.  So following a long tradition of ‘challenging,’ Clark challenged the convention that only highly trained dancers should perform in a large scale, professional level performance.  There’s nothing more modern than that.

Dance Performance (personal photo)

Yes- I guess we unanimously agree that the National Portrait Gallery was filled with portraits of the white and wealthy. There were no representations of middle or lower class, or any people of color, which didn’t come as a surprise to me. If you weren’t royalty or didn’t have a consistent money flow, you most definitely had no chance of getting your portrait done; hence no people of color. I was however pleasantly surprised with the amount of portraits of women- I expected it to be much less. There were a number of beautifully depicted portraits of women in intricately designed gowns that probably made every woman wonder what it would be like to have been in their shoes. As I began to take a closer look at each woman’s face, I noticed a similar characteristic; a majority of them were extremely pale and emotionless. After a while, I began to realize they all had to same face and the only things that differed were the color of the background, hairstyle, and attire.
As I was just about getting fed up with seeing identical miserable portraits, I came across a portrait of Mary Moser by George Romney in 1770  

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(Taken from the National Portrait Gallery)

Mary was an English painter and one of the most celebrated women artists. Very popular in the 18h century, Mary was known for her depictions of flowers and had been recognized as an artist since the young age of 14. I was thrilled to see a woman who was an individual and tapped into her own talent to make a living, instead of sitting upon hereditary wealth. Romney did an excellent job in captivating Mary doing what she loved while expressing the happy look upon her face. So in the end, I didn’t walk out of the National Portrait Gallery completely disappointed as I envisioned.

When going to the Victoria and Albert Museum the first rule is: do not get a map.  It is completely useless.  It will only make you more confused (if that is at all possible).  The Victoria and Albert is like no other museum I’ve ever been to.  Instead of the sparse but well cataloged rooms of the British Museum or the abstract instillation art of the Tate Modern, there is just “stuff.”  It feels as if one has stumbled into a very eccentric, very wealthy old man’s closet.  There is a vague sense of organization, but the curator has not stuck to a strict order.  Instead one is assaulted with a variety of priceless artifacts.  To top the disorganization of the rooms is the disorganization of the building itself.  The rooms flow into one another like a maze.  From the moment I walked in I should have known that it was going to be a completely new experience — immediately outside of the tube station there was an exhibit filled with treasures that would have been centerpiece at many smaller museums.  I then continued into the fashion exhibit which was filled with a barrage priceless vintage clothing from across the world.  From there we went through the sculpture hall to the one piece that I felt summed up the museum as a whole:  a book tower.  It was a multi-storied wooden structure just filled with a random assortment of books — everything from romance novels to Chaucer to Russian literature.  This disorganization and jumble of priceless and random books should have been an indicator that my day was about to get a lot more impressive.

(courtesy of http://www.vam.ac.uk/things-to-do/blogs/11-architects-build-small-spaces)

The madness of the Victoria and Albert reached its pinnacle in the Medieval and Renaissance section where upon a cursory browsing I stumbled upon a little journal tucked away behind a wall.  This journal was not accompanied with any great display or paired with a painting or some other artifact — it stood on its own.  This unassuming little book turned out to be a Da Vinci journal.  If it had not been for the presence of a gold plaque indicating that it was something special I would not have even read the explanation.  However, it was a room full or gold plaques and priceless artifacts and it was a completely fluke that I stopped and looked.  From this point on, I just gave up.  I was too incredulous to take the Victoria and Albert seriously.  In a world where small local museums are starving for artifacts the Victoria and Albert have so many that they just cannot display them to their full potential.  I personally wish that the Victoria and Albert would loan out items to eliminate the clutter and share their wealth.  This would make the museum less overwhelming and it would allow more people to view more fascinating treasures.