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A Vagabond Immersion in London
I have been resigned to the idea that I am cursed with an exasperatingly poor sense of direction. Even when armed with a GPS-referenced map, I always manage to get eventually, inevitably lost. So you can just imagine my trepidation upon stepping foot on the notoriously chaotic Heathrow Airport map-less, with a companion in tow whose sense of direction is far from impressive. And then, there were the other encumbrances to consider: Being born under the Taurean moon, I have always been inclined to travel in comfort. Having a certain amount of obsessive compulsiveness, I have the tendency to plan all the details of my trip. And being occasionally temperamental, I may get a little more than annoyed when creases and folds irreverently appear on my well-ironed plans. This particular trip put all of these things to a test, and I learned, not without difficulty, to finally recognize the romance in being a vagabond or at least something like it. We didn't even book a room ahead of time. We took the chance of putting ourselves at the mercy of the hotel booking service at the airport. As it was the peak of summer and the week of Wimbledon Finals, it was impossible to get into any of the bed and breakfast places. (B&Bs, compared to hotels, are usually cheaper and more homey. They also tend to offer a more distinct local flavor.) The thing about the Heathrow Airport is that there is an evident order in its chaos, and in less than an hour after getting off the plane, we were walking towards the train (or "tube", as the Brits call it), map in hand, luggage by our heels, our hearts beating with anticipation, and a certain amount of positive disbelief. We were officially in London. The 45-minute train ride took us to what was going to be our home for the next five days: the Buckingham Hotel. It sounds grand, but it's just one of the several small, unpretentious hotels housed in a restored Georgian townhouse along Bedford Place in Bloomsbury. The room is cozy and complete with both the usual and not-so-usual amenities, including an ironing board and a desk fan. (Given the usual London climate, the rooms aren't equipped with air-conditioners. There are heating ducts, though.) It is also remarkably tiny everything is within reach in three steps or less. A lot of private jokes spurred from the size of this room, and we spent numerous moments laughing our heads off. But what it lacks in space it makes up for in location. Aimless wanderings on foot made us discover that: the British Museum is in the next block; the shopping and financial districts, not to mention the London theaters, are all within walking distance; and that contrary to what the person at the booking service desk told us, we were actually closer to Holborn than to the Russell Square Underground station. Being the literature majors that we are, we also derived a certain degree of pride in the fact that we were staying in Bloomsbury, where brilliant writers like Virginia Woolf and E.M. Forster held informal discussions in the 20th century. I tried to identify and trace what it is about the place that inspires and sparks the genius in many, but found it difficult because up until my last minute in London, I could only partly believe that I was truly, physically there. In spite of the many and often clashing differences my travel companion and I shared, we were able to agree on our top three priorities in this trip: bookstores, museums, and theaters the second is more his than mine, the last is more mine than his, and the first is definitely a mutual choice. Being one of the oldest and most far-reaching empires, Britain has an impressive and bountiful stock of all three. We spent hour after hour going from one bookstore to another, weaving through shelves that held titles we have long been in search of, facing allergies from dust and putting ourselves through a series of frustrations over rare finds that we couldn't possibly afford with our laughable salaries. I cannot, for the life of me, recall the name of a single bookshop we went to. We were hapless sailors, lured into untimely stops at beckoning ports, and it no longer mattered where we were. Apart from the overwhelming abundance of titles, an interesting fact about the bookstores in London is that several of them have basements that cater to a more, ah, specific area of interest. These basements are completely legitimate adult sex stores that sell everything from soft porn magazines to statement condoms (although I'm not sure if the statement on the wrapper is also printed on the condom itself), to dildos that light up, and other sex toys. I ventured down one such basement once, dragging my unwilling friend along, just to satisfy my curiosity, and I was surprised to see that it wasn't as seedy as I expected. In fact, that part of the store was as clean as the rest of it, with the displays of videos and magazines of fornicating couples and naked women neatly organized (even quite possibly, in Dewey Decimal System). Tottenham Court Road and Charring Cross Road have several of these bookstores. Try walking along these roads and see if you can bear to just pass them by. I was told that London houses several of the world's best museums. We were able to see four of these the British Museum, the National Museum, the National Portrait Gallery, and Tate Modern. Britain's wealth enabled itself to acquire innumerable priceless art pieces (paintings and sculptures) and artifacts from its former colonies, as well as from less wealthy countries that happen to have more ancient roots. These acquisitions are now cherished residents of the museums of London, making Britain the repository of world history artifacts as well as of the visual arts. The museums that we visited are huge; I literally lost myself in them several times. Considering my spatial skills (or lack thereof), this doesn't come as a surprise. But these museums are really intimidatingly big you will need at least a couple of hours to see and substantially process everything inside. There were a few times when I suffered from visual overload, and I could no longer tell the difference of one painting from another. The most remarkable among all four is the Tate Modern Museum. In there, entire rooms are turned into works of art by contemporary artists. Small rooms in between galleries serve as mini-cinemas where you can watch art films by directors of different nationalities and sensibilities. Incidentally, the Tate Modern has a cameo role in the latest Harry Potter movie, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. It is the imposing tower-like structure, across the Millennium Bridge from St. Paul's Cathedral. In leaving Tate Modern, we walked across that bridge, and it felt surreal seeing it being destroyed by the evil forces in the movie. Nights in London must be reserved for the theaters and I am not referring to movie houses. West End is every musical lover's nirvana. This has been the trial by fire of all the major musicals if it has been or is being staged on West End, then it is worth watching. If I had my way, I would have spent all my nights in London cooped up in the theaters. But I was vagabond-ing, trying not to make any itinerary, going where my feet would take me, so I had to settle for two consecutive theater nights. There are always more than a dozen musicals showing at the same time in the numerous theaters of West End, so picking out which one to watch can put you in a conundrum. To make things more simple (although it may seem tedious to some), you can categorize the shows as "classic" or "contemporary" and pick at least one of each. For a classic musical, Les Miserables should be on top of your list. The show is three hours long, but you will hardly notice it. The entire production is exceptionally memorable I wouldn't mind seeing it many times over if I had the chance. Our very own Lea Salonga played Eponine in the 10th anniversary shows of Les Mis right there on West End. But if you don't wish to simply take my word for it, you may take comfort in the fact that it is the world's longest-running musical. They sure weren't exaggerating when they said that whenever you go to see Les Mis on West End, it's always like seeing it for the first time. For my contemporary pick, I chose to see Chicago. It so happened that Jerry Springer was trying his hand at musicals at the time. He was playing the part of Mr. Flynn (played by Richard Gere in the movie) for a couple of weeks, and surprisingly, he played it quite well. Apart from a thoroughly enjoyable show, I got the chance to see a different side of Jerry Springer, which is so much better than the man I see on that trashy show on TV. West End has given a new face to musicals and stage plays. Such shows used to be particularly highbrow, totally unreachable to the common folk. At West End, I was glad to see that: they sell tickets at budget prices (as low as GBP 13); people can watch the shows in jeans and sneakers; and they sell ice cream during the 15-minute intervals. I wanted to look nice when I went to see Les Mis, so I wore a simple dark blue dress and uncomfortable black shoes. But upon realizing the rare opportunity of watching a musical in casual clothes, I went to see Chicago in my sweater, jeans, and Chuck Taylors. It was hard for me to admit this, but London is actually quite perfect for aimless wanderings. Apart from the easy walks, one-day as well as one-week bus passes are sold at bus stops. We took advantage of the bus pass, and for a couple of days, we simply rode buses. Almost all of those red vehicles are double-deckers anyway, so we didn't see the point of paying so much for the tourist bus, when we can just do our own sightseeing at our own time at a much cheaper price. Our first bus adventure took us to Wimbledon, and we ended up watching tennis matches all day. We couldn't get center court tickets, but Wimbledon is still Wimbledon. There is something so regal about the tennis players in their spotless white apparel as they serve, smash and volley against their opponent on the tediously-tendered grass court. The next bus rides took us to the more clich้d parts of London such as Trafalgar Square where, apart from the National Museum, we went to say hello to Big Ben, the Westminster Abbey, the Houses of Parliament, the Buckingham Palace, and the London Eye. As part of being vagabonds, we weren't too keen on such commercial sites, but nevertheless, I personally felt awed to be so close to such historical landmarks that have endured for century after century. We thought of falling in line and going up the London Eye, but decided against it. After all, London is a city you shouldn't view from a safe distance. It's a place to be experienced up close. |
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