LondonTown: Day One, Part One, in which I upset the locals, take pictures of clocks (some melting), get real high, and mock the service of soldiers...

In London, as it is in all former (and current) British lands, everybody drives on the wrong side of the road. Like me, you probably already knew that. Oh, and along the curb in the streets here they’ve painted “Look Right” and “Look Left” depending on which side of the street you’re standing on. Plus, the direction of traffic is visibly obvious everywhere you go. Somehow, none of this helped me cross Pall Mall today today without nearly being run down by a cyclist. He smiled at my American ignorance, but the lorry driver behind him was less pleased.

It’s like this whole other country. As I entered St. James Park, I stopped to read the sign and check the map. Upon clearing my throat, I absentmindedly spat out the dislodged mucus, which sailed a little quicker and therefore at a smaller incline, landing not on the ground as I had intended, but on the bottom corner of the sign.

“That’s nawys, innit?” Came a voice from behind me. Assuming it was British pride of her loverly green spaces and not British condescending sarcasm, I replied, “Uh…yes.” Turns out it was both. Ugly Americanism #2. “There’s spit all over it, now. Cahn’t you wipe it up?” “Sure, right away, sorry.” And I did. And I wasn’t even sore about it. Because I’m constantly trying to make people follow the decent rules of society (walk left stand right, first one getting off the elevator should get on last, for god’s sake use your turn signal, etc.) and in America you get a whole bunch of “Mind your own business.” and “What are you, the escalator monitor?” so I respect it when someone enforces the social contract.

Anyways St. James Park is lovely,
part of a swath of green surrounding Buckingham palace that includes Green Park and Hyde Park.
From Fore to Back you can see the Foreign Office, Scotland Yard, and the London Eye.
This one has a little bit of Whitehall Court.

Wait a minute, who’s that peeking out over there?

What, are you kidding? We got ourselves London here!
Look kids, Big Ben, Parliament!

Yeah, so I hope you like giant clock towers and buildings that house legislative bodies, because this might go on for a bit.


Shall we head over to Westminster Abbey?
Nice external vaults, eh? They don't allow cameras inside Westminster Abbey, but it is worth a visit to see Elizabeth I's tomb (as well as Bloody Mary's gaudy Catholic tomb the mamma's boy James I had put in) and all the others. It's beautiful and just oozes history, being one of the earliest places established in London. They also have a number of tombs and monuments to British Colonial soldiers all over the world. (By the way, Mom, if you're reading this, you might want to skip this bit, it's going to cover similar ground of the "Notre-Dame-de-Paris Christmas Eve Midnight Mass"acre) With inscriptions like, "To commemorate the work of men and women of our race who laboured to serve the people of India" and "to all those who loyally served the crown in the American Colonies." It's funny to see at what point the phrase "served the crown" starts to be replaced by "defended freedom" because I'm not sure they were doing that all along. I scoff at all that, but somehow I can forgive the brutal monarchs of the middle ages. I guess because I associate them more with Shakespeare and drama than actual oppression and death. It was in here that I realized one of the benefits of traveling alone. If I've decided I'm done with Westminster Abbey, I can hightail it out of Poet's Corner without even seeing Jim Morrison's plaque if I want. Conversely, if I decide to spend all afternoon gawking, gasping, and giggling at every single work in the Dalì museum, I can do that as well. More on that later.
At the west exit they have statues to 20th Century martyrs, and there are some heavy hitters there, like Dr. King and Oscar Romero (where's Gandhi?) but I also noticed that on the wall of martyrs are statues of Truth, Justice, and Mercy. Maybe they were sacrificed as well?

Two giant faces:
Look kids, Big Ben, Parliament!
Actually, on the far left is the Treasury, and the black building is called the Portico House, and it houses the offices of Parliament. Evidently it was an incredibly expensive endeavor entirely funded by taxpayers, and the MPs don't even spend much time in there.
I'm sorry, it's so photogenic. Incidentally, there was another bit of fish-out-of-water physical comedy as I tried to cross the street.I headed over the river (on Westminster Bridge) to ride the London Eye, a four hundred foot tall structure that the guide makes a very good argument is not a ferris wheel (cars on the outside of the ring, only supported on one side, closed cabins). Incidentally, if you go to this, don't wait in line. Go to the end to buy a Discovery Flight. It's only 2 pounds 50 more, it comes with a guide, you don't have to wait in line (at all), and it's less crowded in the cabin. As soon as this gets out, they'll probably change it, so take advantage.

While waiting for my "flight," I stopped and had my lunch. Check this out:


hee-hee. So this might be as good a time as any to talk about English food. I like it. It may lack the subtlety of Asian cuisine, the creaminess and sweetness of French sauces and pastries, and the spiciness of Latin flavor, but it makes up for all of them in savoriness. These blokes aren't fooling around. Meat, cheese, bread. Sausage pies, fish and chips, what's not to like? Anyways, on to the Eye.
The cars don't stop moving, so you kind of have to leap on.
8,000 miles from home and my tourguide is an American. Amber Bliss from, of all places, Atlanta, filled us in on all the buildings you can see. Which is many.
This is Charing Cross Station, I expect you've heard of it.

Don't worry, I won't.

That phallic-shaped building in the distance is the Swiss RE Headquarters, but is more affectionately known as The Gherkin by locals. It is the most environmentally friendly building in London, because its panels are loosely set, so air can just pass right through, and somehow it regulates temperature.

OK, just one more.


Right next to the Eye in County Hall is the Dalì Universe, with some 300 works. I was like a kid in a candied fish. I didn't even know he did illustrations of Don Quixote! Magical magical times. I went a little loopy in the Gift Shop, too, buying children's books about little Salvi and memory games with his art. And I had to get that book of mustache interviews. Have you ever seen those?


In his own words: "The famous soft watches are nothing else than the tender, extravagant, solitary, paranoiac-critical Camembert of time and space." This guy writes like I do!

As opposed to what we have in the U.S., specific lying in hospitals. "Yeah, I, uh, fell down. Again. Just give me some morphine."

Exhausted yet exhilarated, I took the tube to Leicester Square. Check out this composite I put together! I'm going to get theatre tickets tomorrow, so there'll be more of Leicester Square then.

This picture is off-center and out of focus, but I had to take it on the sly because I didn't want my face smashed in.

Then it was off to Tesco for some groceries and dinner before heading to Islington for the footie. I really hope I can keep myself from making fun of this slogan.
I'm about to be kicked out of this hotel bar, so I will continue Day One sometime tomorrow.

For now, I leave you with this.
I can't argue with that slogan.