Back at the old grey school, you would win and I would lose
Because of Eve's impending marriage to Jesse and their already made promise of lodging to a very important friend I made my way from Stoke Newington to the London Bridge area to begin the Central London leg of my London vacation.
First, I did some errands.
Yuck. Yuck. And Yuck.
I stood in a melting hot post office purchasing stamps, all of my luggage strapped to my back, wandered up and down the halls of a Woolworths looking for a better compartment for my passport than a deteriorating envelope and took a few trains down to the southern bank of the Thames to find my current hostel, the St. Christopher. I can't really complain about it but I also have trouble expressing the enthusiasm I felt for the hostels in Iceland.
Which is, of course, the theme of the day: I like Iceland better than I like London.
At most moments today my thoughts were along the lines of: People in Iceland are nicer. People in Iceland are better looking. Iceland is prettier. Iceland is cleaner. Iceland is safer. It is easier to figure out where the good things are in Iceland and avoid the crap. Service is more efficient in Iceland. The weather is not muggy and disgusting in Iceland. But why complain? I DO feel a fondness for London and I would much prefer to be stuck in London for the rest of my life than Reykjavik.
Wanna know something I love about London?
Sainsbury's! Oh so good-good-good! Running low on low-blood-sugar food, I took a stop at the Sainsbury's in Angel, and found myself overwhelmed by the quality and quantity of the food (and the pleasant air conditioned atmosphere.) I almost regretted that I was not staying longer in London, for had I been planning to do so, I would have had an excuse to purchase some of the delicious cookable foods I found there. Instead I bought a bottle of delicious apple-blackberry juice, a box full of sugarcubes, some Kleenex (did I mention I was coming down with a mild cold?) and some delicious red and perfectly ripe cherry tomatoes. The cherry tomatoes were consumed over the next 6 hours, each with a smile and a hum of satisfaction.
So refreshment to consume both a fruit and a vegetable, after Iceland, where meat and bread are the only foods good enough to warrant the price.
After checking in at the hostel, I had lunch at a nearby curry shop. Lamb Vindaloo! First time in so long! Just as it had often been junior year, I was the only person in the restaurant and drank glass after glass of water in order to bear the spiciness of the sauce. While I remembered correctly the deliciousness of London Indian food, I had forgotten the subsequent stomach aches that were a regular part of my life. I spent next hours trying to avoid being overly nauseated. As I get older, I may not have the same tolerance for spicy food. Lamb Madras next time, then!
I took the tube and my feet to the Natural History Museum and admired some of the current exhibits, all of which inspired me both naturally and historically. "Face to Face" featured closeups of a number of apes that had been rescued mostly around Africa from poachers. With such close shots, one realizes that yes, all chimpanzees do not look alike. Nor do all bonobos. I also saw the dinosaur bones. Which I loved only slightly less than I would have loved had I seen them when I was 8. And I would have loved the mammalian exhibit only slightly more if I didn't have to use the restroom the entire time. Who knew that the blue whale was so large or that the polar bear was so scary looking?
Now sweaty, tired, and with a runny nose I took the tube up to Leicester Square. Not because it is so unmissable of a place, but because it is one of the few places in London that I remember from my semester abroad in Fall of 2000. I walked up Charing Cross Road and Tottenham Court Road, past the bookstores, past the tourist shops, past the drag queens and past the tourists with maps. I wondered how I could have been so unwilling to spend an unnecessary pound at age 20 that I regularly made this walk.
After a few false starts I found University College London, where I had once studied history. And despite confidence that nothing had changed, I felt only a vague recognition of my surroundings. How was this possible? I stumbled upon the campus bar I used to attend. I walked through the hall where I would have lunch. Why could I only barely remember these spots?
My memory sharpened when I entered the history department. I saw the photographs of Simon Corcoran (my Greek and Roman Slavery Professor) and Catherine Hall (my British history professor) on the walls and got lost on the astoundingly confusing halls and stairways of the department and memories started to come back of running through the rain and huddling outside with Little Laura after class. I walked past Gordon Square and felt the familiar deja vu of talking to Crispy. Now it seems right, I thought!
Some sort of graduation ceremony was going on on the stairs near the Slate School. I took a few pictures.
I could not be bothered to find Jeremy Bentham's embalmed body, nor the psychology classroom I regularly attended on Wednesdays.
I found my way to Euston Station (such a big mess!) and made my way finally to the hostel.
What happened to my memories of school? They seemed mostly fond, but in actuality I think my experience there was characterized by vagueness and confusion. I never really knew exactly where most things were. I usually walked so quickly as to not notice the details of most of my surroundings. I rarely explored. And most of my classes only met once a week. I half wished that I paid closer attention. For a city like London for which I have spent so much time, I should have a much sharper memory. I half suspect that if I returned to Reykjavik in 5 years I would have almost as helpful of a memory.
I took a shower in the hostel and remembered exactly why hostels don't cost as much as hotels. While simultaneously worrying that my "big bag" would be stolen from the dormitory room, my "small bag" with my valuables was made wet by the shower. Still, it felt good to be clean, to shave and to change my clothes.
I went downstairs to the hostel bar, drank two coronas and had a ham and cheese sandwich for dinner while I read a few pages of the interminable For Whom the Bell Tolls (I don't dislike it, it just moves much too slowly for me without offering me any insights that appeal). I don't know what the rest of tonight will bring. It appears that tonight will be a quiet night, as I am yet to eye anybody in the hostel in which I have much interest in talking, but no one knows. Tomorrow I take a train to Brighton for a day of relaxation at the beach.
Verily, to this I look forward.
First, I did some errands.
Yuck. Yuck. And Yuck.
I stood in a melting hot post office purchasing stamps, all of my luggage strapped to my back, wandered up and down the halls of a Woolworths looking for a better compartment for my passport than a deteriorating envelope and took a few trains down to the southern bank of the Thames to find my current hostel, the St. Christopher. I can't really complain about it but I also have trouble expressing the enthusiasm I felt for the hostels in Iceland.
Which is, of course, the theme of the day: I like Iceland better than I like London.
At most moments today my thoughts were along the lines of: People in Iceland are nicer. People in Iceland are better looking. Iceland is prettier. Iceland is cleaner. Iceland is safer. It is easier to figure out where the good things are in Iceland and avoid the crap. Service is more efficient in Iceland. The weather is not muggy and disgusting in Iceland. But why complain? I DO feel a fondness for London and I would much prefer to be stuck in London for the rest of my life than Reykjavik.
Wanna know something I love about London?
Sainsbury's! Oh so good-good-good! Running low on low-blood-sugar food, I took a stop at the Sainsbury's in Angel, and found myself overwhelmed by the quality and quantity of the food (and the pleasant air conditioned atmosphere.) I almost regretted that I was not staying longer in London, for had I been planning to do so, I would have had an excuse to purchase some of the delicious cookable foods I found there. Instead I bought a bottle of delicious apple-blackberry juice, a box full of sugarcubes, some Kleenex (did I mention I was coming down with a mild cold?) and some delicious red and perfectly ripe cherry tomatoes. The cherry tomatoes were consumed over the next 6 hours, each with a smile and a hum of satisfaction.
So refreshment to consume both a fruit and a vegetable, after Iceland, where meat and bread are the only foods good enough to warrant the price.
After checking in at the hostel, I had lunch at a nearby curry shop. Lamb Vindaloo! First time in so long! Just as it had often been junior year, I was the only person in the restaurant and drank glass after glass of water in order to bear the spiciness of the sauce. While I remembered correctly the deliciousness of London Indian food, I had forgotten the subsequent stomach aches that were a regular part of my life. I spent next hours trying to avoid being overly nauseated. As I get older, I may not have the same tolerance for spicy food. Lamb Madras next time, then!
I took the tube and my feet to the Natural History Museum and admired some of the current exhibits, all of which inspired me both naturally and historically. "Face to Face" featured closeups of a number of apes that had been rescued mostly around Africa from poachers. With such close shots, one realizes that yes, all chimpanzees do not look alike. Nor do all bonobos. I also saw the dinosaur bones. Which I loved only slightly less than I would have loved had I seen them when I was 8. And I would have loved the mammalian exhibit only slightly more if I didn't have to use the restroom the entire time. Who knew that the blue whale was so large or that the polar bear was so scary looking?
Now sweaty, tired, and with a runny nose I took the tube up to Leicester Square. Not because it is so unmissable of a place, but because it is one of the few places in London that I remember from my semester abroad in Fall of 2000. I walked up Charing Cross Road and Tottenham Court Road, past the bookstores, past the tourist shops, past the drag queens and past the tourists with maps. I wondered how I could have been so unwilling to spend an unnecessary pound at age 20 that I regularly made this walk.
After a few false starts I found University College London, where I had once studied history. And despite confidence that nothing had changed, I felt only a vague recognition of my surroundings. How was this possible? I stumbled upon the campus bar I used to attend. I walked through the hall where I would have lunch. Why could I only barely remember these spots?
My memory sharpened when I entered the history department. I saw the photographs of Simon Corcoran (my Greek and Roman Slavery Professor) and Catherine Hall (my British history professor) on the walls and got lost on the astoundingly confusing halls and stairways of the department and memories started to come back of running through the rain and huddling outside with Little Laura after class. I walked past Gordon Square and felt the familiar deja vu of talking to Crispy. Now it seems right, I thought!
Some sort of graduation ceremony was going on on the stairs near the Slate School. I took a few pictures.
I could not be bothered to find Jeremy Bentham's embalmed body, nor the psychology classroom I regularly attended on Wednesdays.
I found my way to Euston Station (such a big mess!) and made my way finally to the hostel.
What happened to my memories of school? They seemed mostly fond, but in actuality I think my experience there was characterized by vagueness and confusion. I never really knew exactly where most things were. I usually walked so quickly as to not notice the details of most of my surroundings. I rarely explored. And most of my classes only met once a week. I half wished that I paid closer attention. For a city like London for which I have spent so much time, I should have a much sharper memory. I half suspect that if I returned to Reykjavik in 5 years I would have almost as helpful of a memory.
I took a shower in the hostel and remembered exactly why hostels don't cost as much as hotels. While simultaneously worrying that my "big bag" would be stolen from the dormitory room, my "small bag" with my valuables was made wet by the shower. Still, it felt good to be clean, to shave and to change my clothes.
I went downstairs to the hostel bar, drank two coronas and had a ham and cheese sandwich for dinner while I read a few pages of the interminable For Whom the Bell Tolls (I don't dislike it, it just moves much too slowly for me without offering me any insights that appeal). I don't know what the rest of tonight will bring. It appears that tonight will be a quiet night, as I am yet to eye anybody in the hostel in which I have much interest in talking, but no one knows. Tomorrow I take a train to Brighton for a day of relaxation at the beach.
Verily, to this I look forward.
posted by Jed at 12:52 PM
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