UK diary

Sept. 8

Laundromats and conspiracies go together. I believed that before, and I believe it now more than ever. The guys who put us in a room – an apartment building, really, operate out of the office (1ft*1ft square booth with a phone) that’s located in a laundromat. And that’s actually considered normal. What’s absolutely not normal is the way these people drive – first of all, the whole "look right before crossing the street, then look left" mantra is making me completely insane, second of all, no one even knows how to drive and no one will EVER let the pedestrian cross the street, not even in the place where they’re supposed to do so. There are simply not enough traffic cops in this damn city.

But, the tube (a rather cool name for a subway system) works quite well, even though it’s overcrowded and overpriced. Here is an advice that’s impossible to follow: don’t go into the tube during rush hour. The rush hour lasts from 7 AM till 12 midnight. It’s that simple. Then the tube closes down, and god help you if you’re closed in there with the little mice.

After sleeping off the hangover, pardon my French, the jetlag, I was up at 4 AM this day and had to read Dune for 4 hours, finally finishing it off and waiting for Julia to wake up J I’m almost on this time already – one more day and I will get there. The key is sleeping as much as possible, which wasn’t hard considering how exhausted I was.

A little trip (a hike across our neighborhood, plus a bus, plus two trains wherein I was squeezed between way too many people), and I was outside the Tower Hill metro station, looking at the Tower of London in all its glory. Oh my, this is why I came to London, must not forget that. This is exactly how I pictured the old castles from Robin Hood times. Another trot underground, and we are walking outside the moat (a real moat!!! Only without water – I’m not sure why I’m so excited but I am) and trying to figure out which of the white towers is THE White Tower). All right, the best things about Tower are, in order of importance, the crows (very violent birds – the two were having a family squabble while we watched, and I had an uncomfortable feeling that we might be much safer far away from there), the Wall Walk (where you can walk over the ancient wall like the guards did), and the Crown Jewels which the bad British people stole from Africa and put into their crowns. The crowns look absolutely amazing, however – there is no describing just how beautiful these things are. Some are quite cheesy, and too many stones in one place really don’t belong, but each one of them is exceptional.

Also, another thought to ponder: how does such a pretty woman as Queen Elizabeth II (and she was very pretty, as seen in her coronation ceremony) give birth to such an ugly child? Jesus!! Inbreeding – very bad for you. Don’t try this at home.

I still barely understand British accent. These people don’t know how to speak English, this is obvious! I mean, they don’t even know how to pronounce the word "party."

Tate Gallery from outside gives an impression of a prison – something from 1984, or post-colonization fic story. But it’s still a very beautiful prison, and it holds an incredible amount of modern art, all of which can be seen for free – donations are encouraged. The first thing you see as you walk in is a giant – 3 floors – spider by Louis Bourgeois. Wow. I lay on the floor underneath and tried to make a picture of the eggs in his little sack. Disgusting – I’m afraid of spiders – but this is very very cool. Also, beneath us are three shaky looking towers by the same artist where people can climb up. We left it for later – seeing as each had a sizable line in front of it.

The museum has an excellent array of works starting from impressionists and finishing by the most bizarre items from beyond the modern era. It’s the first time I’m seeing "The Kiss" of Rodin. Oh god… oh god… I can’t possibly give it justice in words, again. This can only be experienced – not read about. Rodin was a genius, and each one of us can only dream about a kiss like this one.

We climbed the towers, finally, and it was an unsettling experience – they’re each filled with his smaller works of art, and they’re… disturbing. One is a picture of a woman with milk splurging out of her breast and a child standing next to her. Stuff like that.

The Tower Bridge is grandiose. This is the one I really wanted to see – two huge towers are erected in the middle of the bridge, and people can climb up and look at the city from above. However, this day is very rainy – and it fits the mood, so no sense in doing this, we won’t see anything. London has a lot of tourists… but they mostly don’t know what’s good for them. They’re climbing aboard.

Indian food in London is sensational. These people can’t cook anything but fish and chips, but Indians are thankfully there to rescue them. So are French, Italian, and about every other nation of the world that actually cares about the quality of food that they digest. English simply can’t bother, however. They just drink very good tea with very badly prepared scones. Indian restaurants in USA are shit in comparison, truly. Don’t even try Indian food here. Go to London. You will see what I mean.

My feet absolutely cannot move, my back is in a permanently scrunched up position, and I think my pants are starting to fall off me.

Great day on vacation.

Sept. 9^th

Julia had a brilliant idea this morning – go to the museum about London. It’s called the Museum of London – isn’t this perfect? So to find it, we went to Barbican metro station and then futilely circled a round building with a huge "Museum of London" written on it in vain, looking for entrance. After the fifth circle and still no door, we were ready to quit, and then we saw a tiny little door across the street that said, "museum of London" in very small script. Do these people even want anyone to find them and come in and pay money for the visit??? Probably not. But we saw though their dirty tactics and found the bastards.

So this museum is quite boring, to tell you the truth, but it had a few good points: an almost live production of the Roman life (my impression is that Romans didn’t like London… they came, they left, they came back, reluctantly) – and a beautiful nursery. And then we were stuck in the Victorian Age and couldn’t get out. Frightening. But, I’m impressed with what Londoners did – they actually put down a building in the middle of downtown and did an archeological search while building this museum. A lot of the things on display are from that great big hole they made in this very spot in the ground.

Off to the Shakespeare’s Globe Theater. We’re coming back here in a few days for Antipodes production. We wanted to avoid Hamlet, seeing as it’s way too long, and we’ve seen Tempest too many times. Antipodes is our only choice, really. A few words about a very short but sweet exhibition: it may not be worth the money we paid, since we only got a short lecture and didn’t see very much, but I got to hear a great story about the gates on the theater. There are plants and animals made by different artists from different countries on the gates, each one of them mentioned in some context in one of the Shakespearean plays – a mouse in Hamlet, for example. These gates are something – if you truly want to figure out where each symbol came from, you would spend A LOT of time with an edition of complete plays looking them up. But I got a little book that explains everything. I am very impressed.

More on the theater later… for now, we’re going to the London Eye. This is a huge observation wheel towering above London – the best place to see the city from above, no doubt. But… the tickets for today are sold out and the amount of people in line is mind-boggling. This is in a very tourist-y place, by the river, right next to the S. Dali collection and the London Aquarium. Both are closing down for the day already, and there is nothing to do except maybe walk back over the bridge and try to find a restaurant for the dinner. However, I absolutely cannot walk – bad shoes today, stupid Anya – and so Julia has another brilliant idea, to go on a river cruise. I find the idea of sitting down and still seeing the city very attractive, so we’re doing it.

The tour guide gives us the violent story of London – on this bridge, someone hanged himself, on another, the KGB agent killed some Bulgarian spy with an umbrella, and in the Tower of London, beheadings, executions, disappearances… I am loving this city. The original London bridge got demolished somehow and was shipped to Arizona. Such merriment at these words – the guys in front of us, obviously from US, obviously gay and obviously taking the cruise for the same reason as ourselves, got perked up at the news and gave each other a hi-five, grinning merrily at everyone – we got the bridge!! Yey!

OK, I sort of felt a surge of patriotism too, so I’m not that different from them.

We stayed for two cruises for the price of one – all the better for me, since I still was in way too much pain (this is like a refrain for the diary, pain is the theme, my apologies) – and the second one was much better – fewer people and the dusky light made Thames all the more lovely. London is a great city. Thames walk along is worth the whole trip – this is the best of Europe, easily.

Can’t even remember where we had dinner – just relief that the day is over and I can get out of these fucking shoes.

P.S.: Don’t order Caesar salad in English restaurants – Julia had one for lunch and almost choked – they put a blob of mayonnaise and a bunch of anchovies on it, then about a pound of cheese, and apologized that they ran out of croutons. Poor Julia. I had a Greek salad which they surprisingly didn’t fuck up. Actually, the theme for the food in London is that you won’t get what you think you’re ordering, even if you’re pretty sure of how this food is supposed to taste and appear. It’s all very unexpected and thrilling – like a Jack in a box. But I’d still rather have American restaurants. There will be a big aside later on about why I prefer the American restaurants to the European ones!

Sept. 10^th

Penny Lane Market is a complete disappointment. The strongest impression is one of the flea market in Miami – heat, dirt, bad products for cheap prices that are still too high for the stuff they sell. We quickly decided we were in the place that didn’t interest us at all and left– back to the tube and off to Salvador Dali permanent exhibition. I love the man, truly – and this is the exhibition of things I have never seen before (I’ve been to the one in Metropolitan Museum, and those were mostly clocks and dismembered people) – this one is mostly sculptures and illustrations for novels, movies, and literary series. The strongest impressions are from his work for Hitchcock movies, as well as for Marquis de Sade memoirs (morbid as that seems, but I believe he was truly inspired while painting this series). Also, a sculpture of the Space Elephant on his stick-like spider legs is truly unforgettable, and Alice in Wonderland, with her head and hands sprouting flowers is the loveliest thing I’ve seen on this trip. My heart does a pirouette and I am circling the statue for a few minutes. Dali is a master, though a very crazy one.

We are finally going to see the Parliament building and the Westminster Abbey. This is THE most tourist-y place in London – it’s impossible to actually walk, nevermind see anything. But, the Big Ben sounds very musical and pretty – and the tower on which this bell is put is a marvel of architecture. The entire building of Parliament is a marvel – probably the most beautiful in the city and easily the most well-guarded. Tourists can only photograph it from outside, and can’t go inside. All the better, I’m really not that interested in politics and I am not burning with desire to see anything inside. Westminster Abbey across the street is a collection of churches – this is the place where Elizabeth II was crowned the queen and of course, tourists can’t get enough of it either. But despite my best intentions to go in and look at the churches in more detail, they were closing for the day.

A brief aside on English timing: they close everything at about 5 PM and then leave for the day. There are no stores open past 9 PM, and that would be lucky – and some restaurants close at 7 PM. Do these people even eat dinner? Probably not. I miss the American 24-hrness. British people don’t want to sell things. They just want to go home to their families and drink good tea and watch bad TV.

Needless to say that all the museums and other interesting places close at some ungodly hour of 4 PM.

Well, if we will feel like it, maybe, we will come back to Westminster Abbey. For now, we’re off to the Hyde Park – and this place is not closed!!! Woohoo!!! We found something where we can actually walk around until the terrible hour of midnight. And even that is impossible, since we have to be in the subway by 11 PM, lest it close down. In the appropriately named "Speaker’s Corner," strange people talk about their beliefs and fears and even stranger people crowd around and listen to them. One hugs an alien that’s juts like mine, only purple, not blue, and tells of how he spent 20 years somewhere in space, and another has a sign posted on his chest "It will get worse." Yeah, for him, definitely. I can see a mental institution looming not too far ahead in the future. The biggest crowd is in front of the Marxist – it figures, so many disasters of socialism and communism and still people can’t get enough of it.

Hyde Park is simply a big park in the middle of the city. There are no gardens, really, only long walks under the shade of the trees. That works for me seeing as I’m actually on Vicodin now (kindly offered to me by Julia since I couldn’t move – bad back problems), and I think walking is the coolest thing in the world. We find the place across the park to have sort of lunch/dinner and split a cheesecake – very different here, in a sort of Italian/British restaurant, it has a citrus flavor and a texture that resembles Ricotta more than cream cheese.

We are going to see Nurse Betty. It’s sad, but we don’t want to see an English or any other European movie at all – we’re afraid of them. They show us 15 mins of commercials for water and cars and then an extremely painful commercial for Dancer in the Dark that inspires me enough never to see this movie, and then finally present us with the American movie of the week. "The Europe" line, while watching this in Europe was priceless. But British people didn’t see the humor.

We barely make it to the train in the subway before it closes. What a rush. Wow, I wouldn’t have liked to walk from there to our house. Though maybe on Vicodin, anything is possible.

Sept. 11^th

We’re going to Oxford today! Being in England, I’m reminded that this is the country where the railroad was invented – the entire place is covered in them, and getting from anywhere to anywhere is very easy without a car. The trains to Oxford leave every half hour or so, and it’s only 1 hr to get there, although it takes us 2 – the train stops at every tree, like a dog. This little city is absolutely charming! The observation tower from which we can see the city is closed for this day, figures, and so, instead, we look at it sadly for a few minutes, then go and find the little place to have lunch. Then, we’re off to see the colleges. The college I want to see the most is closed to visitors and I cannot see Shelley monument, and I’m very pissed off. But we go inside anyway, pretend to be students, and avoid the security cameras. On the way I snap a few pictures of the yard – it’s very Jane Eyre-sque – and if we only knew where to look for the damn statue, we would be able to see it, but we don’t and so we leave, somewhat vindicated since we managed to sneak our way in.

Magdalena College, where O. Wilde studied, is open – and so we go in and investigate, this time not hiding. Half the fun is gone! There is a place with a few sculptures and a garden – the impression is one of complete desolation and winter, which I think is what they aimed for, but it does depress you more than uplift you. Poor students. Beside every college is a church – it’s clear that Oxford University is a very religious establishment. Ah, Shelley, you were destined to die because of these ignorant fools…

Then we proceed to find the botanical garden. We go over the picturesque bridge and completely miss the sign for the garden – again – because they don’t want it to be found. The garden is magical, however – it’s not small but not big, either, and a surprise awaits visitors at every turn – a huge pond with lilies, a small stream for the ducks to swim in, a tropical plants house with flowers hanging off the ceiling and grottos made of plants. There is a fountain in the beginning, right next to the rose garden, and we left a penny in there, though I don’t think I’m coming back.

Then we’re going to find the Eagle and the Child – the pub where L. Carrol and J.R.R. Tolkien used to come and sit with their friends. It’s known around the town as the Bird and the Baby, and there is a little picture to illustrate it. The place is deserted, save for a couple of students drinking beer. They don’t serve food anymore, which is what we’re interested in, so we’re off to find a place that does. Julia is tired so we settle for the pretend-American restaurant called Old Orleans that serves Cajun food. It’s not bad at all though it’s far from Cajun food. I doubt we could find something better, anyway!

Back to the train station and then off to London. We stop at Starbucks on the way home – and I feel all gooey and happy and glad to be drinking frappuccino – you can take a girl out of Seattle but you can’t take Seattle out of the girl.

Sept. 12^th

Buckingham palace is a disappointment, again. After seeing the majestic royal palaces of Saint-Petersburg, this one falls short. But it is in the center of the city, and it serves its function. The tourists watch from the distance as the guards change in front of it. It’s a funny ceremony but too far away to really see it – all those commercials and pictures that portray them as being accessible to the public are a lie. We decide that we’re not paying our common money to see the royal residence from inside and after taking a few pictures of the fountain and of the palace itself, walk down The Mall, a wide processional, leading to the Trafalgar Square through the Admiralty Arch. The square is rather strange: the statues were erected to celebrate victory over Napoleon, but Napoleon’s statue is the one that towers over the square proudly. I should be thankful they didn’t put a statue of Hitler anywhere, just to celebrate victory over him!

The collection of statues is very grandiose, however. We decide to fulfill the duty and drop into the National Gallery, also free and equivalent to Metropolitan in NY. The place has not much of interest save for Van Gohg’s Sunflowers and a few impressionistic pictures. But it’s only a few, really, and we depart quickly, unable to stomach the old paintings.

Then, we’re going to Sherlock Holmes Museum! Yey!!!!!!!!!!! I’m so excited, it’s unbelievable. It’s located in 221b Baker St. There is a statue of Holmes outside the metro station, and a policeman standing in front of the building. They employ several very young Mrs. Hudson’s – one girl was very cute and said she didn’t like looking Dr. Watson’s suitcase because of very strange apparatuses found in there!! Oh, come on, I looked in… there is a very interesting bedroom of Holmes, and a living room with two armchairs and a fireplace. I took a picture of myself in a hat and holding a magnifying lens, sitting in the chair. Everything is very authentic here – including the books and casefiles. The house is filled with statues representing different cases, and I decided I have to see Madam Tussaud’s museum now.

We buy tea with a picture of Sherlock on it and then go to Covent Garden. It’s a place in the Theaterland, and we have dinner in the French restaurant, where Julia has an incredibly delicious éclair – the taste is too much to believe – and I have ice-cream with fruit. God, I love traveling and doing what I want, including eating ice-cream for dinner. Not that I can’t do it at home, but still.

From there, we walk to Piccadilly Circus, a place that looks disturbingly like Times Square, and then to Victoria embankment for a nightly stroll. It’s a very long walk and I sort of expire half way through. But it’s time to go home anyway, the big bad subway is about to close.

Sept. 13^th

Hampton Court, the palace where Henry VIII had honeymoon over and over and over again. Once again, we’re not paying our common money for the royal apartments, because that would be too much work, to go and see it all from the inside! Outside is plenty. We spend an hour going through the maze – it’s very small but tightly coiled, and though I have a system, it still takes me awhile to go through it. People were getting lost and panicking – one screamed for help once we were already outside, and I told him my secret (hold on to the right wall all the while as you’re walking through) but I don’t think he followed it. There are 200 acres of gardens, ponds, and general loveliness around the palace, and we spend a better part of the day walking around. English people KNOW how to make gardens. They take care of them, and they take pride in this art – and the plants respond accordingly, blooming and being obedient.

Then we’re going to see Fosse, the famous Broadway musical. Since we’re not going to NY any time soon, might as well! It doesn’t disappoint – the boys (and girls) are very cute and addictive to watch. There is really no plot – it’s all a series of disjointed dances and sometimes songs. The most memorable moments are the cabaret number and the bordello number – with one girl saying very tiredly, "let’s have fun." Great fun. "Life is just a bowl of cherries…" hey, I thought it was a box of chocolates!

Sept. 14^th

Madam Tussaud’s is the cheesiest, goriest, most frightening place in all of UK. Cheesiest because, obviously, everything is flashy and sparkly. Goriest because of the horror chamber they have in the basement – with guillotines, a sculpture of Hitler (these people DID go that far), and people hung and dismembered. And frightening because you come face to face with all the famous political leaders, including Lenin, Stalin, Mao, Castro, etc. Lenin and Stalin and Hitler are all very short – why is it always the little guys? And why are they always portrayed as monumental giants after their death (and even during their life)?

This is unmissable – I think we had to do this and see "the spirit of London." It’s like a weird Disneyland ride on acid.

St. Paul’s Cathedral – the most famous one in UK but I think it doesn’t measure up. I am feeling church-weary. It looks very grand from outside but inside there isn’t much. The Whispering Gallery is very nice, though – the sound effects here are very curious. Not sure how to describe them, either. This trip leaves something to be desired. We have a lunch under the rain outside in a café across the street and there are many pigeons who want to steal our blueberries. I think they’re afraid of us, but only a little.

Then we take some time to walk on the King’s Road in Chelsea – I’m in love with the ice tea and cappuccino that Whittard makes. I’m buying it in horrible quantities and sending it home, I think I can’t live without it now. And it’s just in general a very lovely shopping place. After that, we drop in McDonald’s due to Julia’s strange tradition of going to the place in every country she visits. It’s an easy tradition to fulfill. Apparently, there is a ketchup deficit in England… and everything is smaller. Fries aren’t as good. Diet Coke tastes better.

Then, it’s off to the Shakespeare’s Globe Theater and seeing Antipodes! The theater itself is wonderful – imagine the place that’s very close to what you saw in Shakespeare in Love only the real thing. People sit around the circle and watch the actors perform. It’s VERY hard to understand them – accent and the old English both work against us – but we get the general drift of the story. They’re best when doing the funny parts. The snacks sold during the break sound exotic and inedible: a string of raisins, a bacon and egg sandwich with mayonnaise… GOD almighty! What do they want people to do with it? And there is a line in front of that snack bar… I’m never eating in UK again.

God, what a nice day. And I’m not just saying that because of Vicodin, either.

Sept. 15^th

Ah, what a girl will not do to find a little town by the sea, with the rolling green hills and gray waves lapping at the shore? We went as far as Portsmouth, but we didn’t find this little town. To add to the disappointment, it rained buckets of water on my poor head, as I limped, sadly, from the train station to the shipyard, behind Julia. Maybe we should find a tourist guide who will match the picture in our head to the real place? Or maybe, we should go to Ireland because I think the picture is disturbingly like the commercials for Irish Spring soap?

Portsmouth is not a complete disappointment however, seeing as it’s a big city by the sea. It holds the corpses of ships who died nearby, such as Mary Rose, the love of Henry VIII – it died as he watched. Just keeled over and drowned! They have pulled the carcass up – there is only half of it left, and they’re pouring ethanol on it 24/7 to keep it in the condition where it doesn’t fall apart. Apparently, this was Prince Charles’ personal project, and it was worth going to Portsmouth just to see him in scuba gear! "Charlie brought up the ship! Royal Joy!" We were dying! But the ship itself, just this corpse of it, looks heartbreaking… why didn’t they just let it die…

Then we’re going to the guided tour of the Victory, the ship that participated in many wars… it’s a beauty from outside – a weapon, nothing soft about it. Inside, our tour guide describes the living conditions of the sailors in the previous century. Frankly, it’s painful to hear – they made friends with their food, they had barely any water to drink (beer instead), and they slept in places that would hardly hold a child, nevermind a grown man! And they were punished by the medieval methods. This was a highly graphic tour, definitely worth the money, but still leaving you with a feeling of freedom once you emerged from the ship!

And by the time that happened, it was sunny. We looked around the museums where the most entertaining things were children’s computer games! Then, we decided to go and find fish and chips, which wasn’t hard to do, about every place on the block had that. They also have a strange tendency to add peas to every dish they serve, but I decided they actually know how to cook that. If I could only like beer, the meal would be complete, but I have to do with Diet Pepsi (at least they had that, many places don’t carry diet sodas at all…)

And then, after an unsuccessful attempt to find a waterfront besides the one we’re seeing right now, we went back to London. Stopped by the French restaurant of the few days before and bought eclairs for breakfast next morning… and the one after that. I think I’m glad we don’t live in London!

Sept. 16^th

Kensington Palace. I have no idea what’s up with that but Julia actually was excited to see the late Diana’s residence. She even wanted to take a picture in front of the black gates next to the flowers left by someone. I have no such love for royalty or people married to them. However, I must admit that Diana was a woman of taste except when she married Charles. The palace is not so much a palace as a small mansion in the middle of the centrally located park. Next to it is one of the most beautiful gardens (called "Sunken Garden") that I’ve seen yet. But apparently you must be a member of the family to enter… heck, for that, I’d marry Charles too… maybe she wanted the garden, it would explain so much.

We don’t go inside again! I love this tradition of ignoring royal palaces – and it saves money. I suppose I should be thankful that this tradition is more important to Julia than the dead princess. Good.

I’m obsessing with the advertisement for Manon Lescaut. Not to mention that I always wanted to see the opera, but the advertisement itself looks perfect – a bunch of overdressed ghouls with black eyes and lips, laughing at someone’s misfortune. I’m incensed with the desire to see this, but not sure it will work out.

After walking in rather unexciting places, such as Bloomsbury, and almost losing our sanity and bodies in the tangle of Oxford St. (don’t do this at home! This is like a giant mall only outside, and the amount of people walking around is insane), we decide to go back to the Indian restaurant we’ve liked so much, but first we get lost in the subway and circle round and round for about an hour. Finally, we emerge, non the worse for the wear, back on the Tower Hill and proceed to our destination. It’s good to be back…

Sept. 17^th

Kew Gardens is the best idea we’ve had the whole trip! These are the Royal Botanical Gardens (I admit, royalty is good for something), and I’ve never seen yet anything like it. Roses, as far as the eye can see. We go straight into the palm house, where the moisture is enough to take your breath away and it’s hot like in tropics. This IS a palm house – all kinds of them, everywhere, and I feel like I’m in the jungle. Only difference is no snakes and nasty insects. I try to make pictures of whatever I see but I am afraid that the effect will be lost. It’s just not the same unless you’re inside, seeing all this beauty. From outside, it’s obvious home some plants just push to get out, through the glass. They wouldn’t like it here, it’s cold, but they don’t know that.

We find a garden of rhododendrons, azaleas, a Japanese garden (in which we cannot walk, pity), and a huge Chinese something – not sure what the hell this is – but it looks really cool. I spend, afterward, a couple of hours looking through the stuff in the gift shop – I really want to find something that will remind me of this particular trip, and finally find a little pocket diary. That will help! I’m generally disappointed with gift shops from England.

Then we trot back to King’s Rd and have disgusting pizza at Pizza Express… really… how hard is it to cook pizza?? Italians have been doing it for years! So we decide to leave quickly and go to Notting Hill Gate – hoping to see something more fun, like a coffee shop that would still be open. But of course, everything is closed. This is a lovely place, however, and I’d love to walk here during the day.

Sept. 18^th

We’re going to Windsor and Eton by train. We went to the tourist bureau and there listened for a few minutes how some tourists were asking the guide whether they can go to Ireland. "It’s ok," she told them hesitantly, "it’s really beautiful. You will enjoy it." "But is it safe?" they insisted. "It’s getting better," she said doubtfully. They were not reassured. But anyway, the picture in our heads was most closely matched by Windsor, and I don’t think the girl was wrong. Following the tradition, we didn’t go to the castle, though it was the most castle-worthy castle yet! It was up on the hill, it was seen from everywhere in town, and it was old and nicely-built. We went, instead, to look around the town.

Julia’s attention was immediately attracted by something called "Long Walk," and there we went. It was a long walk! And there was nothing there except the horizon! I wanted to leave, seeing as we can walk for a long time inside the city, looking at the views. And the city was charming – little, very old, full of cute shops and cafes and picturesque stuff. A heaven for photographers. And for me!!

So we drank very good tea with very good strawberries in a little place by the bridge leading to Eton. Two towns for the price of one! Eton, of course, is the city housing the famous college. Didn’t see much of the college, but saw the students – poor poor boys! They make them wear smokes as a uniform! I’m not kidding, either. It’s entirely too old-fashioned. But the uniform for playing soccer is cute. I think we were seeing freshmen or below, they were all so young.

Then, after a brief stop in the cat store that I loved – they had a T-shirt that said, "If God wanted us to diet, he would given us the willpower," and I almost bought one for mom, then decided she would like jewelry from Paris more – we went back to the bridge, walked some more, and got on the train.

Julia, seeing as I was still obsessing about Manon Lescaut, decided we have to go see if there are still tickets left. For the premiere of the season, I hardly expected such luck but there were! We got to see great opera for about $15 each, and I’m thankful for my fortune. My favorite character was the Choir! They were the evil guys, going "ha-ha-ha" at everything! Music was awesome – Puccini is my love, even if opera as a whole isn’t. He was the best when it came to this genre. And the story is heart-breaking… many scenes were wondrous, especially the ending when Manon died, almost alone. She didn’t deserve much pity but I liked the singer who played her. I also liked her brother who was too cute for an opera singer… um… (trying to get out of the hormonal hole)…

I like the slogan of ENO: "Italian opera in English." Sums most of what I love about them.

This was a perfect ending to London. Onto Paris, tomorrow.

Sept. 19^th

We should have taken Eurostar! It would have been faster, even if more expensive… we did want to see the English Channel, but there was little of interest there. Sad to say. Instead we spent our time dragging the bags from train to boat to train to another train…

Paris, finally. Oh, if I could only enjoy this at the moment but I’m too tired! And all the people speak French… what’s wrong with them, anyway? J

After we find our hotel, that’s in a lovely residential neighborhood, we decide to find a restaurant and have something. The waiters here talk to you in French and you talk to them in English, and somehow it all works out. If they see that they have to say something in English to make you understand them they do so with great reluctance. Don’t these people want to make money, again??

French food deserves to be written about, so I will try to describe it… I hope this doesn’t prompt any hunger pains in anyone, this simply has to be done. I had a salmon salad and a dessert that I didn’t like but that really was unusual – yogurt with raspberries. The waitress thought we were insane while not ordering the main entrée but we decided to take it slow. We have trouble enough choosing the salad and the dessert! I feel sometimes that simply pointing to things at random would have been the best strategy.

Then, Julia has an idea to go and look at the Eiffel Tower. I think she is insane but I really do want to see it myself, so, tired, dirty, and sleepy, we trudge to the metro and go to see the tower. I bitch the whole way there but once she points my stupid head in the direction of the Tower, my bitching stops because my breath just lets out in a great whoosh from my lungs!

Eeeee! This is great! I love it. The tower is lovely at night – it’s all lit up, golden, from inside and outside. This is a monster of a tower, too. It’s HUGE. I have not yet seen anything like this before. Poor little Space Needle, the cute tiny puppy, that will never grow up to be this mother of heavy artillery.

At 10 PM and 11 PM, for about 15 minutes, the Tower celebrates a little, doing cute silvery stars all over it. It’s like Eiffel on drugs. I can identify, truly.

Sept. 20^th

First stop, Cathedral of Notre-Dame. I don’t know who would still come here for religious purposes, because the place is overcrowded, noisy, and dangerous because of pickpockets. And yet, at regular intervals, "shhhhhhh!" sound is echoed through the high-ceilinged building, to call everyone to silence. Useless. There are simply too many people, it’s impossible not to make noise. This is a lovely church. I like the gargoyles and windows the most – unlike St. Paul’s Cathedral in London, this one stands my close scrutiny and leaves me with awe.

We decide not to take the tour simply because we would have to break our necks to see and hear the tour guide. Instead, we depart to Museum d’Orsay. Imagine… imagine a giant room filled with Monet. Then one with Degas. Then one with Gaugen and one with van Gohg. And then imagine more rooms with more and more breathtaking loveliness! I saw more Renoir on this trip than at any time in my entire life. And we discovered someone we haven’t heard of before, Eugene Carriere – I absolutely fell in love with the guy. There is this picture, called "Intimacy," that portrays an older woman holding a small girl who, in a completely ecstatic moment of affection, leans forward to kiss the face of her older sister, sitting nearby. Perhaps because I could identify with this emotion (my little sister used to do the same to kiss me when she was younger!), or perhaps due to the skill of the artist, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from it for close to 30 minutes. Considering that it had the same effect on Julia, I think I’m not the only one!

There are actually tears in my eyes… but when I ask at the shop if they have any cards or posters of him, they don’t. How stupid can these people be? Now I have more reason to cry.

We walk a little further down the Sienna shore and see the Louvre. It’s not very impressive, at this time of the day, and very bare from the inside. I do stop short a few times, first when I see the Gallery of Richelet (the great Cardinal described so evilly and wonderfully in Three Musketeers) and then when we come across the entrance to the museum. Not to mention that there is a huge line… but it’s located underground, under half-cubes, made of transparent glass and situated among the fountains. It’s a marvel of architecture, this structure. We leave money in the fountain, of course.

We don’t go to the museum, but this time simply due to our aversion to long lines. I honestly didn’t come on vacation to endure this!

We stop and have a Tutti-Frutti (a-la gell-o made of cream cheese with fruit) and fromage before continuing our journey through Champs Elysses to the Triumphant Arch. The boulevard is full of people but there is no impression of overcrowding, for once. It’s a wide processional… at one side of it, an observation wheel is visible (it’s but a poor copy of the London Eye), and at the other, there is the arch. French are very much into arches! Don’t feed them bread but let them build an arch. They will be happy. There is a copy of that arch on every corner. Gets very confusing for the tourists who are already confused enough.

Then, it gets dark, and we find a place for dinner. Most memorable, of course, is the dessert – called Floating Island. It’s a piece of soft meringue floating in some kind of cream, but for all that it’s very light. On the way there, we come to a very seedy neighborhood – apparently, it’s only seedy at night, and I think we had better get out of there, just when it changes to general safety and loveliness again. And then we proceed to walk down the Sienna shore again, watching the lights of this fabulous city. It’s alive 24/7. On the way, we stop in the Louvre, and during the night, it’s completely different. I pay a couple of franks to the guy playing the flute because he has spectacular taste and skill and the music fits the mood wonderfully.

All this is like dessert after a good meal.

Sept. 21^st

Musee Rodin garden and Italian grapes. We decide to bury what’s left of them in the garden so that they grow here! I have little hope but I like the idea, so we dig a small hole and put the grapes in. Screw the people who look at us strangely. Did I mention that there are way too many Russians in Paris? They’re easily visible – and it’s easy to hear them, too! And they always think that they’re completely alone, and have privacy, and no one else understands what they’re saying… but we do. Sadly, I wish I didn’t. Of course there is a big delegation of Russians in the garden at this very moment.

The garden filled with Rodin – it’s a concept. There is Thinker, and Balsak, and about a dozen other works I don’t recognize. I’m so glad we came here. The museum itself is excellent – it’s small but sweet and you could sit in any one room for hours and gaze at the stuff he created, without getting tired. Once again, another copy of the Kiss… there is also Romeo and Juliet, and a portrait of progression from Youth till Death, and various depictions of human hands, etc. And we find more Carriere! He is a symbolist, and he painted a wealth of lovely, gothic portraits and scenes… I must find more of him on the Internet. I’m absolutely enchanted. He alone was worth coming to Europe for. Not to mention Rodin and Monet and Renoir…

Then we proceed to Monmartre. This is a fitting place for beginning artists, alive, cheap, and picturesque. It’s very long – and by the time it’s done, we’re both panting from walking uphill. Then we’re about to climb the Basilique de Sacre-Cceur, the highest place in Paris, and we feel very relieved when we find a little metro driving people from bottom to the top of the hill on which it stands right next to the formidable-looking staircase! We’re not safe from staircases, however, since we’re about to climb to the very top of the church. We pay very little and begin the climb. It’s steep, about a 100 m over the circular, claustrophobic staircase. At one point, we’re walking on the roof, and then we come to another staircase, and repeat. My knees are shaking by the time we get there, but the view is truly worth it! Paris is beautiful, but it’s easy to see how overcrowded it is from up here. There are simply no more places for new buildings and new influx of people.

We climb down and sit there for a while, on the stairs with all the other tourists. Did I mention that about half the population of Paris is comprised of tourists? Every second person speaks only English, and every fifth only Russian. It’s very disturbing, and I do realize that I differ little from them all, but how can this tiny city STAND this?

We go to Opera district (Opera building was built in place of the old Bastille prison), for shopping. I don’t know who the clerks in the hotel think we are, but this is not the place to shop for us – it’s the collection of most expensive stores, as well as improvised flea markets in between, which is too cheap. So this is a complete failure, not to mention that we pay $5 each for a drink in the Café de Paris. Er… bad bad place. We run away from there and go to get food at Montparnasse Boulevard. This is actually very similar looking to the district that we have just left and I have an unpleasant impression that Paris is starting to repeat itself. We think that maybe we should stick to pizza but then we discover a cute French creperie, and decide to have crepes instead. I have one with crème de marron (I think the word crème figured heavily in my decision to have this as a topping) and then look in the dictionary only to discover that marron means chestnuts. Nevertheless, I like it very much, though the taste is unexpected. Julia sticks to something safe. No adventure spirit at all.

I am never ordering coffee in Paris again. When we order coffee and expect a cup of something brown with caffeine in it, they bring us a tiny espresso cup after which you become like a human rocket. Apparently there is some trick to ordering coffee but we’re not destined to discover it. I’m afraid that if we ask the waiter to bring us a different coffee, he will crash like a computer. "But this is coffee, you crazy American people!"

The weather changes in this city are spectacular – from sunny and cold to sunny and hot to cold and wet. My teeth are chattering, and we go home.

Sept. 22^nd

Julia’s friend is coming today from Germany, and she won’t have much time to walk around the city. So we buy something from the boulangerie on the corner (there are bakeries and other things on every corner, and in between, and I still can’t figure out how do French people stay so thin), in my case a raspberry cookie, and in Julia’s an éclair (no fantasy!), and go to eat it on the square across from Centre G. de Pompidour.

It is a post-modern building with plumbing and heating pipes outside, made entirely of glass and metal. This is a modern art museum and currently, sculptures of Picasso are exhibited. The line has to be seen to be believed. We decide not to attempt it and just stare at the building, then walk along the street on which it is located to the metro. Julia goes home to wait for her guest, and I go shopping, back to Champs Elysses. I find gifts for mommy and Nastic, thank God, and then feel very proud of myself and ready to go home. Julia is still waiting, so I go to the post office and mail some stuff home (it takes forever, since the clerk honestly doesn’t speak English and I honestly don’t speak French). Still, I meet some nice French people and decide that not all of them are assholes. After another trip home and bringing poor Julia lunch, her friend finally arrives and we all go to Pantheon.

This building deserves special attention. Its architecture, for what essentially is a mausoleum, is very interesting. It looks, from outside, like any 19^th century European building, with columns in front and a huge dome above. But from inside, it’s quite unusual – from the center of dome, a huge pendulum is suspended, measuring the time. Around the dome, 80 EKGs shine in the blue light, for 80 renowned people who were buried here underground, among them Hugo, M. and P. Curie, Zola, an others. I feel happy just to see the burial place of Hugo, when we finally go downstairs. It’s a solemn place, not frequented by too many tourists. At the end of it, is some light: a collection of objects that signify the importance of the Little Prince to French culture – there are editions in just about every language and I feel all warm and gooey inside. I loved that book.

Then we walk down the Blvd. St. Germaine des Pre to Blvd. St. Michelle, past Le Sorbonne (nothing special from outside, to be honest), to Place St. Michelle where a huge fountain greets us. It erupts from under St. Michelle’s feet, so I think it’s less ordinary than the rest of fountains.

And finally we proceed to Eiffel Tower! We think since we saw Paris from top during the day, now we have to see it from top during the night. The lines are smaller, but once again I’m reminded of how little I want to be standing in them. This is the only one that’s worth it, however. This trip consists of two parts – first go to 2^nd floor, then to the 3^rd. From 2^nd floor, the view is already very nice. From 3^rd, however, it’s less fun since we’re enclosed in glass. But I find it amazing anyway… I can identify most things that are lit up, and I have fun taking pictures. The amount of people is truly staggering, here.

Julia has a dream about spitting on some Frenchman from up top, but she has doubts whether from this height she can determine with any certainty whether this will be a Frenchman or a fellow American, so she doesn’t attempt it. I support her in this decision. Her other dream, to write something down on the wall of the public restroom in Paris, wasn’t fulfilled either since there are no public restrooms in Paris. Don’t ask why she wanted to do that, it’s a very long story and you have to know Russian to understand.

My dreams, that of walking down Monmartre and Champs Elysses were fulfilled, however. I couldn’t ask for more. But we still have a day in Paris.

I think I will need a vacation after this.

Sept. 23^rd

We found one place in Paris that doesn’t have tourists. This is more like it. Musee de Art Moderne de la ville de Paris has to be the longest name for a museum that is not very large. Their collection doesn’t have many renowned names besides one work of Picasso, The Jester (a sculpture that makes me want to see the rest of his sculptures), and Dancers of Matisse. I’m more impressed by people who were not that famous. One picture is called Marx, Freud, and Mao, and I stare at it for a few minutes, loving every second of it! This is a good one – to show to fans of any one of these people. Then there are a couple of "moments in revolution" paintings by Erro, and I consider looking for postcards and sending them to Frankie (the only revolutionary I know who’d appreciate this). But I don’t find any such postcards. Pity.

We find two collections of modern art films that are just going on all the time, in a loop, and sit there for an hour and watch them. We find another big spider, not as spectacular as the one in Tate, however, and then we make a stop in a market on the street across from the museum and buy red currants which, in all their freshness, I haven’t seen from Russia. I’m enjoying every one of them, with Julia and Marina (her friend). This market is on Rue de la Presidente, for any one who will be in Paris soon and is interested. I think it’s the best of the ones they have, not overcrowded, small, and sweet.

Then we go to Les Catacombes where there is a line, once again. People really do want to get down and dirty in Paris, tourists especially! Inside, we go down 132 steps and then start a long journey through the world of catacombs. This is where the underground of French Revolution lived a long time ago. At first, it’s all very mysterious and dark and wet, and nothing is happening. And then, boom, we come to a place full of bones and skulls – MOUNTAINS of them, all arranged in an ornament! Frenchmen are savages! Don’t they know that all these poor 5-6 million people deserve a decent burial? You don’t arrange skulls in a cute little triangle!

I’m shuddering but taking pictures because no one will believe this. I’m not even on Vicodin at this point, I swear. We finally emerge after an equally long climb to the top, somewhere on Rue de Alesia and feel very relieved. We go for a small nap at the hotel, to be ready for the night trip, and then depart to see Moulin Rouge, the famous cabaret where Toulose-Lautrec spent so much time. But we get out at the wrong station, Pigalle, and emerge in the red-light district. Among the "Rated XXX!" signs I see McDonald’s – only here, I swear. This wouldn’t happen in USA. So we walk along this promenade, until we see the Moulin Rouge. To get in, we’d have to pay at least $90, and for naked women, I find that price a little too high. Now if these were naked men, I’d give it another thought.

Given that we’re not too far from Sacre Cceur, we decide to walk there and look at it during the night. On the way there, we see about a hudred restaurants and nightclubs which all look very inviting but we decide that looking and not partaking is enough and keep our eyes on the goal. Tourists don’t think that this beautiful church is sacred in any way, and leave all their garbage on the stairs leading up to it. I’m an atheist but even I have more respect for religion. I’m disgusted but we clean up a little place on the stairs and sit there and watch the night Paris. We’re not given much respite however, since an Italian guy wants to be friends with us and he spends a long time asking us our names in what he thinks is Russian but really isn’t.

This is a lovely conclusion to the trip, however. Tomorrow, back to London.

Sept. 24^th

We spend a long time getting back and by the time we stand in the Charing Cross tube station, we’re exhausted. However, it seems I still have enough strength to run like crazy and scream girlie screams when I see little mice playing on the platform. The taxis are not there, and there is a line for them anyway. So Julia has a great idea: "Let’s go home tomorrow!" I wholeheartedly agree.

We discover, too late, that King’s Cross station is closed and barely get out of the metro one station before. We walk not too long to the hotel. There, we find a tiny room with two twin beds and a shower en suite. Now, there are closets in rooms, and then there are showers in rooms. I mean imagine a room… and then a shower right in it. Needless to say we don’t use it. The bathroom has a little fountain picture on it, to help you pee, and a light that has to be turned on with using a drawstring.

We decide that our determination to go home has been strengthened and try to get some sleep.

Sept. 25^th

We go to the tube and discover that we lack the crucial 20 pence to pay for the tickets so the rather kind woman gives us tickets anyway after taking my US quarter. At any other time, I’d feel uncomfortable, but at the moment I couldn’t care less. From there we take the Gatwick Express to the airport and it gets there late. Julia is lucky, she is in this terminal. I’m, however, in a different terminal and to get there would normally take a little train. Trains aren’t working, however, and they are sticking people inside buses and driving them there. I have time and I would have gladly simply walked but I don’t even know where to go, or whether there is a pedestrian walkway. Instead, I stand in the line of irate people waving suitcases. It’s pandemonium. I haven’t seen things like that since Russia and lines to buy eggs! (remember I did leave Russia 9 years ago…)

I finally get into the 12^th bus and get to my terminal, where I happily surrender my suitcase and go have breakfast, fruit salad, since I think English won’t fuck it up. They don’t, it’s very good. I stop by the duty-free shops and think they’re the best in the world. I’ve seen some others, and they weren’t nearly as versatile and cheap. So I buy perfume for half price and then it’s time to get on the plane. I think I’m very glad to be going home.

The first stop in US is Atlanta and I nearly kiss and hug the customs officers. My first stop afterward is the W.H. Smith bookstore where I try to catch up with all the news I’ve missed. There isn’t much but I’m glad to be in a US bookstore in the US airport! So I pay $6 for mags that I swallow in under an hour and wait for my delayed Seattle plane.

Yes, my friends, I’m now truly home.

General thoughts and asides: