Lucky Post #27

The fat L on the forehead of England is London, our host this weekend for a series of program-organized events and shameless tourism. I had far the easiest weekend among the St. Catz representatives, since I succumbed to fatigue both nights instead of fighting on into the early morn through the club scene. So I mostly have straightforward place-to-place recollections instead of the stories I’ve been hearing all of today during the debriefings (which are wild stories sans the -to- between places, in a few cases, of debriefings). Some of you (my parents, grandparents) are no doubt glad for this fact; some friends might be disappointed.

Friday was “Mexican” food. They just don’t get it over here (or they don’t get Mexicans). One might call their attempt ‘wack’: They had some meat, plenty of beans and rice, some salsa, no sour cream, no onions, and, WORST of the WORST, no cilantro. And they barely had tortillas. We had to wait for tortillas. What? I felt like I had no silverware. But I ate it anyway, and once I had my tortillas, I put ice cream in one, which turned out to be delicious.

That night, a group of us went to the London Eye, which is a very tall Ferris wheel on the Thames (“tems”). I was brought there unwilling, but it was worth it. The ride is really long, and the wheel is quite tall, affording riders an excellent view of the city lights. Thankfully it was a clear night. In several places in the city, fireworks were happening, probably just for our benefit. Comparison: The London Eye is way, way, way better than that thing on Navy Pier, mostly because it doesn’t look like McDonald’s fries containers.

Saturday was our full day, and our London Eye crew (perhaps the London Oglers?) met up bright and early. We hit Westminster, the big church with stuff in it. A Shakespeare note: They put up a little monument to the author in the room that commemorates many other writers, among them Samuel Johnson. That’s Dr. Johnson, prolific reader of Shakespeare whom I disagree with most of the time, and he’s right in front of the S’peare nook. That moralizing SOB would love it.

But actually, Westminster was pretty neat. Over the Great West Door, they had a series of statues erected in 1998 celebrating modern Christian leaders, featuring among others MLK and Oscar Romero. Some of you may be interested to learn that. I learned a bunch of stuff that I forgot some of.

Next, we went to see the famous Changing of the Guard at the Queen’s house. For those who are unfamiliar with this, you may wonder why it’s famous if all they do is change the guard. Well, it left me wondering the same thing.

Then we went to the Churchill War Museum at the War Rooms, the actual center of strategy during WWII. Churchill and his generals used the bunker under some other building for six years, and then when the war ended, they turned off the lights and went home. The museum turned the lights back on, and tacked on a deceptively large exhibit about Winston C himself. He was a powerful character to be sure, and the War Rooms are a fascinating relic from WWII. Their walls of maps are still hanging, pocked by pinholes.

I should point out that, so far in the day, we had done nothing that I wanted to do. I was a good sport nevertheless, and I’m glad for it, because two of those three things were really cool.
Whatever, though, because the last thing on the list was MY thing, the Globe Theater. By this time, the weather had gone from just gray (what I like to call ‘the English sun’) to raining hard. But I wasn’t about to call this on account of rain, and like Lear on the heath (but with a raincoat), I stuck it out. I guess the rest of the group, like Fools, followed me.

Once there, the heart within me was divided. I couldn’t decide whether to be moved as in a near-religious experience, or to see through this tourist nonsense to the truth: This Globe is a reconstruction, a block or two off the original site. A high fidelity reconstruction, to be sure, but built on top of a museum. A stage just like Shakespeare’s, but host to some high school kids prancing around reading very non-Shakespearean scripts.

I still had a good time. I’m glad I saw the stage, regardless of the rabble running rampant on it. I have a place to imagine (an image, if you will) when I read the plays. I’ve now been to that bend of the river which the theater rests in, where Shakespeare walked to work. But the building itself and the people that work there—and good God, the gift shop—all represent the aspects of Shakespeare’s legacy that are no good, but were bound to grow up around the plays as time went on and his idol grew. I’ll leave them to it.

After that, we fought once again through the pouring rain to the nearest Tube station. By then and now, I was and am very good at taking the London Underground. It’s just a (very efficient, timely, clean) subway. I stand on it the same way I do on the El, i.e. a little aside from the group of loud Americans sharing it with me.

Saturday night was the boat cruise on the Thames with all the students studying in England through the same program. It was alright, but by that time I was tired and not ready to dance or anything else.

Then Sunday I came back, and heard about everyone else’s crazy time. I took a few pictures, which are sitting with the rest of my pictures, which, I know, are not yet posted. Sigh.