Nicholas and the Rosetta Stone

After our first visit to the British Museum, we realised we'd need to shuffle our schedule and make another trip there.  We planned to arrive bright and early so we could power through Greece & Rome, Assyria and Mesopotamia, and see a little more of the Age of Enlightenment room.  We did a tour there with a friendly old lady who told stories of King Henry III's collection of objects and antiquities which were donated to the museum by his son (who replaced his library of curiosities with a new kitchen).  We also had a feel and play with a few objects, including a calcite makeup pot from 3000BC in Egypt.  The even friendlier, even older volunteer who was showing them to us explained that it would have been part of a travelling set of makeup pots.

"For a very long journey," she insisted.  "The longest journey.  They wouldn't dare go to the afterlife without some makeup to doll up for the gods."

Craig joined us at the British Museum for a day of exploring and gallivanting!

Nicholas exploring objects from the Parthenon 

Making friends with 'unnamed Homeric figures'

Looking at all the representation of gods and monsters, particularly in the Greek and Assyrian art, made me feel really connected to these ancient civilisations.  It was like I was part of this long line of artists trying to depict and understand monsters, and the role of animals and people together. 

A hybrid deity/monster/protector from Assyrian art

That night we went to Forbidden Planet, a huge comic book and popular culture shop, before heading to a vegan cafe in Covent Garden.  We chatted for a really long time with Lena and Oliver, who are a really, really sweet couple.

The following day we had intended to go back to the British  Museum, but we didn't actually make it.  While we were demolishing raw vegan cheesecakes the night before, Oliver stressed the amazing-ness of the Hunterian Museum.  They house most of John Hunter's surgical specimens there, including many a foetus, a giant skeleton and heaps of other 'anomalies' including a two-headed sheep and conjoined baby skull.  Oliver insisted we would only spend an hour there.  We spent three.

Technically you can't take any pictures in the Hunterian... oops.

We had a few precious hours in London left and I was desperate to visit a little shop I had seen online called Hoxton Street Monster Supplies (why I wanted to go there should go without saying).  It was perfect.  Upon entry, you could hear the purrs and mews of an invisible cat and see collections of curious-looking wares.  They were almost all food products, with the actual ingredients listed underneath.  Many contained stories by professional or amateur horror writers, and all proceeds from the shop went to an afterschool creative writing program for local kids and teenagers.   It was pretty awesome.

Hoxton Street Monster Supplies

Nicholas had been expressing a pretty solid desire to go to a rave shop called Cyberdog (???) which was near Camden markets.  Everything was lit up under blacklight and glowed and they had the craziest clothes, but we couldn't take pictures.  Nicholas bought some socks and a t-shirt.  He wanted a lot of other (very impractical) clothing items because - and I quote - "They remind me of the future."

We said an extremely hurried goodbye to Lena, who performed some songs and a monologue for us that she had been preparing for her audition, and went to get the overnight bus to Edinburgh...

You mean I brought all my magic beans here for nothing?!

It's fudge, I promise.

We bought some 'Salt Made from Tears of Sorrow" because it was a mix of dried lavender and sea salts which could a) make a delicious roast veggie seasoning or b) be heated on a stove for incense properties.  The possibilities? Endless.

*Note: must use before attempting re-entry to Australia! (and keep the bottle)

"CAUTION: please take care when stroking Wells, our invisible cat.  He's a little temperamental and may scratch if provoked."  Nicholas wants to 'install' an 'invisible cat' at our house when we return.  I think Puck will hate it.

The Tower of London and London Bridge

As the title suggests, this was our epic tourist day.   We started off with the Tower of London when they opened at 10am and immediately joined in on a tour led by an ex-military man in full Yeoman Warder garb.  He was extremely animated, playfully racist, and told plenty of interesting stories.  We were led into St Paul's chapel, where Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard are commemorated.  He joked that we were suckers for paying for tickets into the Tower when you can get in for free if you come to mass on Sundays and they naively expect you to leave and not wander the Tower after visiting the church.  He said there's a possibility to get in for free on Saturdays too, after visiting the chapel, but that's usually after a wedding.  Apparently, almost every Saturday without fail, people join to proclaim their love on top of "two of the most famous adulterers in history" (his words).  Idiots.

I didn't want to be someone to take pictures of him, but he advised that we could look at him on Twitter.  His twitter is @billybeefeater.  His name was William.  I feel like every second person here is called William.

Before we entered the chapel, he warned us twice in a row of tripping over the step as you enter.  Before we left the chapel, he warned us again of tripping over the step.  As we exited, he stood at the door saying goodbye.  Guess who tripped over the step?  Pro-tip: it was me.

We continued to walk around and look at an exhibit that didn't actually advertise any of its merits, other than it was the longest running historical exhibit.  I think it was of horses or something.  

I'm the Ravenmaster.  Look at my gloves.  And my raven.

When we looked at the crowned jewels, my favourite was this staff that I obviously couldn't photograph.  It's an extremely fancy Sailor Moon sceptre. 

This lady looks incredibly unimpressed by the state of affairs.

We wandered along the Thames until we came to the Monument, which Nicholas and Craig climbed while I had a coffee downstairs because my arthritis was feeling really bad (pesky Ross River, coming along and punching me in the face right before my trip!!)

Afterwards we went down to the Globe, but my phone was out of battery by this point so we haven't got any pictures.  It didn't stick in my head as much as some other parts of the day, except I was shocked that they still use men sometimes for female parts, true Elizabethan style.  A few years ago they had a 37 languages in 37 plays, and even represented Maori and Bangladeshi.  It was pretty cool.  Also, you can still get standing tickets as a "groundling" for super cheap.  In Shakespeare's day it was 1p, but now it's 5 pounds, which is still pretty good I reckon.  The Globe season starts in about two weeks so we lucked out.

I've already told you that Lena is an incredibly sweet and lovely person.  She's letting us sleep (rent-free) in her flat, despite the fact that she commutes 1 hour each morning and evening between here and her boyfriend's apartment.  She had gone out of her way to organise and include us in her East London Sunday ritual, so we happily obliged.

Just our luck, there was scheduled maintenance on the District Line where our tube stop was so we needed to take the bus to Algate East.  This wasn't too bad though, because I really like the bus.  They don't take 3 hours to get anywhere (like in Melbourne) and they have a view, which the tube doesn't.  Also there are more seats.  On this particular bus, there was a young boy sitting behind us with his mother.  "That's where we go when we die," he told her, very matter-of-factly, as we drove past a cemetery.  Morbid kid.

At Algate East, which isn't dissimilar to Fitzroy in terms of its grunge:hipster ratio, we had The First Good Coffee (at a cafe run by an Aussie).  We met up with Lena and headed to a market held in a huge corrugated iron warehouse.  There were about a million different smells going on, all mingly together and making a spicy and warm kind of smell.  It was packed to bursting with twenty-somethings, all carrying big plates of food and clad in varying degrees of tartan.  Lena stood out amongst all the black and red, with her fairy floss hair and winged glasses and pastel checkered coat.  She explained that she'd tried everything on offer and we had no other option than to pay 6 quid for a plate loaded up with Ethiopian lentils and pancakes and olives.  She had a point, though.  It was delicious.

When Nicholas and I lived in Melbourne, we frequented a cafe called Mr Tulk, named after Australia's first librarian.  We got the same thing every time we went there: avocado and lime on toast, a pot of soy chai with honey, followed by a chocolate cheesecake brownie.  The brownie was basically a work of art.  It was rich and dense and had a swirly layer of baked cheesecake on top, which was chewy and savoury.  One day they discontinued it and replaced it with a hazelnut brownie. "The New Shit Brownie" Nicholas calls it.

The brownie story has a point.  Nicholas doesn't consider a meal a proper meal without dessert, so I sent him to a little stall I'd seen that sold mint brownies (his other favourite brownie).  They sold a brownie so similar to the famous Mr Tulk Chocolate Cheesecake Brownie hat Nicholas ended up spending far too much money on brownies and made himself a little bit sick.  He claims it was worth it.

Outside the food market, there was a regular market with jewellery and a milliner (I didn't manage to get a picture of myself in a bowler hat, but I really did pull it off.  I genuinely considered it.  a) it looked really amazing and didn't make my head look even bigger and rounder than it already is, b) I could've been the Monopoly Man at every fancy dress party for the rest of my life.  Or Charlie Chaplin) and coat shops and vintage glasses shops.  We spent a long time looking around and trying on silly glasses and debating how good I looked in various hats, before we stopped by a boutique tea shop (where you could purchase one pot of tea for 30 pounds) and then headed to Lena's boyfriend, Oliver's, place.  We played a game called Resistance and I illustrated what a poor liar I am and how quickly I crack under pressure (I could never work in any kind of government or military service, or as a secret agent or plan a surprise party or do anything that involves secrecy).  We had to get an extremely late tube home and I found out the hard way that tubes start to make me queasy after a while.

Prior to arriving in London, Nicholas and I had purchased a nifty little card called the London Pass.  On Monday, we picked it up and headed to Westminster Abbey.  While Nick and I wouldn't really call ourselves Anglophiles or are particularly into the royal family, we figured Westminster Abbey would have some sweet crypts.  It did.  The best part was that it was that the audio guide was narrated by Jeremy Irons, so it felt like Scar from The Lion King was introducing you to the dead monarchs you'd read about in Patricia Gregory novels.  Isaac Newton was buried there too and that was really cool.  

You can't take pictures inside Westminster Abbey, but I snapped this one because it looked like a scene from Harry Potter.  I actually think it is from Harry Potter.  

At the Westminster Abbey gift shop you can buy a photo album of the royal wedding.  I don't know how I feel about that.

After the Abbey, we hopped onto a bus and head down to the Beefeater Gin distillery.  We could get in for free and I really like gin, so why not?  There was a museum of gin's illicit history and its moonshine-y origins.  Nick enjoyed looking at the distilling machinery.  I enjoyed the part where we drank the gin.

Gin!

After some liquor, we head back to Bond St so that I could pick up some things from Lush for Lena as a thank-you for letting us stay with her.  This was particularly exciting because Lush UK has about a million things we don't have in Australia, like powdered sunscreen and a perfume called Death and Decay, which is supposed to smell like decaying lillies.  In theory, that has a very Alexander McQueen vibe and sounds very appealing.  It's better in theory than practice, so I only bought a tiny solid perfume.  I love Lush.

We also found ourselves in a Disney shop where everything was too expensive and the soundtrack was generic magical transformation sequence sounds.  We also went to Hamley's, which is a five storey high toy store with gender-specific storeys.  Mum will know how much this bothered me, because she's heard more than one rant about how much I dislike gendered toys.  The fourth floor featured licensed Harry Potter memorabilia, including everybody's wands.  Actually everybody, though.  I really liked all the Death Eater wands (typical).

The top floor was strictly for Lego, a milkshake bar (?) and a confectionary store (??).  It was extremely British in all aspects, but the lifesize Lego sculptures of waving Kate and Wills and the Lego Queen (complete with corgi), as well as red telephone boxes made of Lego really highlighted the British-ness of the whole experience.  I should add that this was at about 9pm on a Monday night.  London is a really weird city.

I went to London to visit the (lego) queen

There are a lot of lions in London, considering there are no wild lions in London.  Perhaps they should start erecting statues to pigeons.

This is me meeting the Rosetta Stone.  She was lovely, but surrounded by paparazzi. 

The British Museum is big.  Like, really big.  In high school when I studied Ancient History I was told that the British Museum was, you know, pretty big.  Nobody said that it was this big though.  We spent 5 hours there (on probably the only sunny day in London) and only looked at ¾ of the Ancient Egypt section and less than half of the Ancient and Medieval Europe section.  Needless to say, we didn’t budget enough time for this.  We need to do a whole lot of shuffling so that we can go back and see the Greece and the Assyria and the Mesopotamians and the Africa.  They had an exhibition on at the moment of Indigenous Australians, but we figured we’d seen quite enough of that back home.

Apart from being really, really big and filled with lots of stuff, has anyone ever told you how BIG the British Museum is?  The foyer? Big. The Harry Potter-esque stone stairwell down to the toilets? Gigantic.  The indoor picnic area? Huge.  It’s just big.  Everything’s so big.  Lucky though, otherwise they wouldn’t be able to casually put an Easter Island statue next to the café.

"This foyer is, like, really big."

Nicholas, rolling with his homie (Ramses II, I think)

After we’d finished marveling at the Rosetta Stone and the gigantism of everything (I’m pretty sure it was never in vogue to actually create a statue the same size as the model), we decided to head down to Tate Modern because they’re open late on Fridays.  We met up with some friends for ridiculously overpriced fries and curdled soy milk before having a walk through a really beautiful collection of works dealing with concepts of dreams and poetry.  It was cool to see some Jospeh Beuys and Bill Viola in person.  Nick liked a lot of the surrealist works.  We saw the one Sidney Nolan work (the Token Australian Artpiece) and it was all orange and angular and mountainous and reminded us a bit of home.

London from the Tate across the Thames.  There was a really professional guy taking photos from here, so we thought it must be a good spot to take pictures.

We were completely wrecked from having such a long day but decided that since we’d come all that way, we’d look at another show.  We browsed through a Louise Bourgeois retrospective, which Nicholas thought was silly, because it was a lot of her later work.  We made our way to a Cubism and Minimalism exhibition and – again, we were utterly exhausted – were reduced to giggling at the silliness of abstraction.  With the exception of one Hans Haacke work (am I biased? Maybe) the whole exhibit was on the silly side, even though I spent a good 40 minutes reprimanding Nicholas for laughing at art.

Nick admiring some Max Ernst.

"Square Tubes? This work is called 'Square Tubes'? It should be called Vent.  It's a vent."

The next morning was Saturday and we intended to go back to the Natural History Museum to see all of the weird and wonderful things that we missed out on seeing on Wednesday.  Hint: bad idea.  Don’t go to a museum in London on the weekend.  Just don’t do it.  It’s hell.  The line was past the gates, so we popped off to get some breakfast (in London they serve salt flavoured chips with their food which makes me uncomfortable) and then decided, against our better judgment, to brave the impending wind and cold to go for a ‘stroll’ through Hyde Park.  We went via the Royal Albert Hall, which is apparently important but I thought mostly racist, given the statues of nude African women amongst the fully clothed, noble white ones.  There were quite a lot of swans and one man taking selfies with his greyhound, but it was mostly a cold, wet experience.  There were no squirrels, which makes me think everything anybody ever told me about London is probably riddled with lies.

This is the Royal Albert Hall.  All the signs seemed to point to a cafe, but I wasn't interested in more packet chips with sandwiches, so we continued walking.

There was a gallery we stopped by, too, and they were selling some Gerhard Richter prints, just casually.  It was a bit mind-boggling.  There were lots of dogs around, which were more exciting than Richter, so we kept walking and I kept getting berated for trying to pat all the wet, muddy dogs.

When we approached the Marble Arch, Nick said, “Can you see the Marble Arch?”

I said, “Is it that big white arch?”

“Yes, it’s made of marble,” he said.

If London’s equivalent of Mx has an Overheard section, we’re pretty unlucky.

A man in a suit, blowing on a bubble pipe was making huge bubbles with a big metal wand.  We cleared our wallet of pennies and I chased bubbles with the other children until I dropped my phone and had a bubble-blowing man waggle his finger at me.  It was embarrassing, so we went for a small shop down Oxford St, then Regent St, then Bond St (effectively moving our way around the Monopoly board) until we went out for dinner with some friends Nick made on his Kilimanjaro climb. 

Note: don’t go looking for a pub the night that the football is on.  

Also note: in Mayfair there’s a shop where you can buy legitimate canopic jars.  They’re extremely expensive, but if you can afford to live in the blue section of the Monopoly board, you can probably afford one.

Chasing bubbles and being able to pop them all (because I was a good foot taller than everybody else chasing bubbles)