Tag Archives: Tourists

Another Story From Being In London, England

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We were in the small, but prosperous part of London, as tourists who find everything is new, unusual, and frighteningly expensive.  We felt it was somehow familiar, yet, the crampness of the streets, and the way they would suddenly turn or just end at a roundabout made us fearful of becoming lost.  We held on tightly to our maps….  This was the time before GPS truly existed, let alone being able to log into one on a mobile phone.

It was day, and soon it was becoming evening and dinner time.  We were tired, but we felt safe enough to wander further from each other, and we almost became single, unattached tourists, wandering alone.  It was becoming increasingly crowded…. something that must be typical in London, in the part of the Entertainment District that is populated by theatres, clubs, restaurants of style rather than substance, and stores selling things that require second mortgages on your principal home.

I began to be drawn to shop windows filled with mannequins in chic and trendy dresses, the best colours, and made for those size zero petites.  In my mind I knew I would soon lose track of my friends, as they were drawn to the other side of the street, which, like many of the streets around there, would suddenly turn or end in a square where several streets would all intersect.  There were shops lining the square too, and we could easily not notice each other at all despite the proximity of each other.

As I wandered in random directions that my sense of direction suggested, I soon found myself on a street where steel railings lined the space between the broad sidewalks and the road the cars drive on.  People on the sidewalk were already pressing against the portable, temporary fences as they lined up three or four deep. The biggest and most pleasant surprise about the sight of this situation, was the fact that I was wandering down the middle of the two sides of fenced-in road.  It was startling.  The first thing that happened was that my face flared red in embarrassment, but despite the instantaneous dawning of understanding, nobody else seemed to notice.

All of a sudden, my friend’s voice was by my ear, in a tone slightly louder than normal human speech, he said, “I think we are on the red carpet!”

My head swivelled around in almost 360 degrees, and yes, it definitely looked like we were on a red carpet, despite the fact that it was only asphalt beneath our feet.

No one was cheering.  In fact more people were not even facing the centre road, where, with nothing there, they would have to gaze at the other side of people, also gazing back at them.  This incongruous situation with the fact that there were police officers on the inside of the railings in yellow reflective jackets and tall, bobby helmets, made me alarmed at first, but I soon re-awoke my senses and answered my friend.

“How did we get in here?!”  My friend looked at me in amazement.  Obviously, we both did not know how we had wandered into the centre of London, England where everyone would stare at us.

We did not spend any more time lingering on this “red carpet.”  We obviously could just walk back through the direction we came in…  which we did.  As we backed out, the people started thinning and my friend walked up to one side of the fences.  At first I had no idea what he wanted, but then I saw him ask a young woman what the fencing and red carpet was about.

“We’re waiting for Brad Pitt!”

We both came away completely awed by where we were.  It was opening night in London, England for Brad Pitt’s movie, “Snatch,” directed by Guy Ritchie.  My friend and I started debating the issue.  Should we stay and catch a glimpse of Brad Pitt and the rest of the cast, or should we go and satisfy our hunger and have a nice dinner?

I couldn’t resist, so I took a picture of two of the bobbies standing by the railings, and, by chance, a woman was walking through close by as well.  The photograph looks like a picture of the woman, in fact, although, in reality she is no one famous.

We left the centre of attraction quite quickly after this.  We found our other two friends, wandering close by.  Despite our surprising story about the red carpet, none of us were tempted enough to stand by and try our chances of getting close enough to Brad Pitt for a handshake, autograph signing, or even a picture.  We were fans, but, we were also very aware and conscious of not being in a circle in downtown London, England that hounds the royalty of Hollywood.

We walked away from the way we came, and soon found a trendy sushi restaurant on the second floor of a two story building.  We overate and over drank and stayed till closing.  At the time, I did not know, or give a lot of thought about this particular night of our travel.  It is surprising to me now, that this is one of the clearest memories I have of our time in London.Image

Where All the Best Things Are

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Image“The Tate Gallery of Modern Art in London, England, is a very large, and brand new, place to find some of the best art that the Western Civilization has created starting from the beginning of the twentieth century.  The building itself was built in the late twentieth century, when people were looking towards a bright future with big prospects and great returns on the interest in art.”

The docent continued her fluid speech about the gallery and was beginning to explain why some art was in the gallery and yet, others, were not.  My attention began to wonder towards the five storey high ceiling of the foyer that we were standing in to listen to the group talk.

We were very near to the first glimpse of the art inside.  There was a bronze cast spider standing on the ground floor, and it stood at full height up to three or four storeys up.  It was brilliantly beautiful.  And because of the firing that the bronze must have undergone, the dark, hard, brown bronze molded into thin ridges and cords throughout the spider’s body and legs, was the texture of a spider ready to jump, or spin, or bend fully, and land right on top of anyone walking under it.  I stepped away from the group, telling myself this would not be my final decision, so, I would quickly take the picture of this spider and run back to join the rest of the tour.

Getting close to it, I felt covered by the size and the body.  There was a bronze-molded bag underneath it, and inside were diaphanous balls that were the spider’s eggs.  It felt like being inside a tunnel, except the cement hardness was replaced with muscle, strength, and an organic beauty that lacks in grey and dim tunnels.  I was mesmerized, and took care to focus my camera and take the pictures.

When I turned around to look for the group, they had walked away and beyond.  I felt slightly let-down, but soon gave up on re-joining again.

I began to wander towards the stairs and the elevator, as obviously, some of the more beloved work were on the higher floors.  The triumph of the Tate is in its grandiosity.  It is large.  It is a monster.  And it is impressive.  Without purposely studying the directory, I decided to go up to the third floor.  The elevators were as impressive.  Shiny, mirror-like, and enclosing.

Off the elevator, there was just as much open concept space as there was downstairs.  I walked towards the centre of the building.  This high up, there were glass walls built around in a square, which was on the first storey.  I looked out and down, and saw the foyer and the many ant-sized people below.  Everything was on the inside, and yet, it was completely a self-sustaining eco-systerm.  The Tate Modern is a life-force in and of itself.

Turning to face some of the art, the first thing I saw was a Rodin sculpture.  A man, but not “The Thinker.”  Posed and sitting, but not of “The Kiss” fame.  It was a greeting before entering into one of the exhibition rooms.  It was large….  Which at the time I saw it, was not something I knew about Rodin sculptures.  The men, and the women, are taller, thicker, darker, and wiser than the average human being.  They see more, they think more, they feel more, and they look like they can say more too.  In any case, I found myself telling myself that this particular sculpture could not compare with what I had seen and knew of European Sculptures.  Those that adorn fountains and entrances to great palaces.  There is a very great physical movement in those copper and marble pieces.  But, now, as I understand, there is a lack of the wisdom that Rodin could bring forth in a Bronze.

As I turned yet again, there were paintings.  Bright, laughing, full of life paintings made of nothing but colour and the size of a brush.  This was also one of the first times I had seen something so beautiful that was not a drawing of something recognizable.  As I looked….  I am guessing that if a reporter were looking at me, he would say that I was staring, at these masterpieces that could fill two walls of space.  In any case, as I looked, I could not but overhear the voices of a couple becoming louder and louder as they were most obviously in a disagreement.  It was puzzling…  A relationship is difficult enough, but to come to a public place where people find enlightenment, to work out differences and irreconcilable questions about a partnership, is creating a bigger difficulty.  Probably one that the police and a judge would find in the favour of the Crown.

The woman could not understand why the man wouldn’t help her.  He countered that what she was pursuing was useless and of no help whatsoever.  They were centering on the issue of equality and whether anything that they had was fair and equal.  It was dizzying listening to the two of them counter and counter each other.  By this time, their voices were loud and carrying, and other patrons of the Tate were beginning to outwardly shush them.  I saw one of the security guards, in full uniform, approach them.  He put out his arm forcefully, and said sternly, and loudly, that they must keep their voices down and that if they wanted to continue, they would have to leave the Gallery.

Confronted by authority, and the agreement of the general public, the couple started walking, while in overly whispered voices they continued to address each other.  Soon, they were on the elevator, I gather, to go down, and the doors closed on them, forever taking them away from anyone here.

The rest of the Tate, of which I have seen only a small percentage, is absolutely just as beautiful and worth the cost of the building, of which the entrance fee is but the smallest infinitissimal price.  My thought, coming from that day, is to find life as attractive as the art, if not entirely to be as enraptured as the couple that so heatedly exchanged avowals with each other.