Part II: Welcome to Newark, I'm Sorry If the Firetrucks Alarmed You

[OK SAND DIEGO NOW I AM MAD AT YOU. Way to eff up the wifi and delete my entire post. Oh boy I am mad. THIS IS THE MADDEST I HAVE BEEN ALL DAY]


everyone take a nice break since the last post? i did. i ate some chex mix. yeah, that's right, somebody knows how to plan. also, want to point out that there is an abandoned book on a table in this airport called The Red Queen. my experience at the spy museum in DC leads me to believe this must be a spy drop point. maybe i should check it out and become a spy. i seem to have messed up my internal clock pretty good right now and am ready for another day...SPY


right. where were we? ah that's right.


OR IS IT??


about 30 minutes into the actual flight, the polite pilot comes on the PA (which is terrifying and loud when you have the headphones in. i jumped every time he announced anything. it was noticeable).
“So you may have noticed that we've turned around. We've uh..got a slight maintenance problem ..and uh ..we need to go back to Newark to check it out. This is not an emergency, we just uh want to make sure we take all safety precautions”
seemed like nothing was on fire, so I just shrugged, watched the ad on my tv telling me I should pay for the inflight tv, and ate my pretzels. But clearly the majority of the people on the plane starts freaking out and become convinced we are about to die a horrible fiery death.
Static “Welcome to Newark! I uh.. hope the firetrucks and emergency crews on either side of the plane didn't alarm you. It's just protocol. We uh .. didn't ask for them due to the MINOR nature of this problem..so uh, sorry about that”
people on the plane are murmuring through it all saying things like 'yeah, right. Not an emergency.' listen folks. I don't know how to tell you this, but if it was an emergency, the crews would actually be doing something and we wouldn't just be sitting there twiddling our thumbs. at least, I was twiddling.
Nothing was on fire, by the way, some sort of maintenance door got a bit flappy in the flight. They weren't sure if it was left open or came open during the flight. I should hope it just came open, or the guy in charge of closing that door needs to be backhanded. If my mom's car flips out every time I don't immediately put my seatbelt on, surely an airplane can have a flappy open door warning light.
Static “So uh, we've just found out that two of our flight attendants are illegal... (BIG pause here by the pilot, I thought for sure he was going to follow this with 'immigrants' and I just started laughing)... are illegal because they have been in the air too long (technically we havent really 'been in the air'..). So uh, we've got one flight attendant at the airport and we've got about 40 minutes before another one can arrive.”

another half hour or so of people rabble rousing and the pilot comes back on:

“uh yeah, so just a little more time before we can get that second flight attendant. If any of you wish to not continue flying, let us know. (Again, they are being very loose with this 'flying' nonsense.) for the rest of you, if you'd uh like to get off the plane and get some food, you may do so at this time. Unfortunately, we uh don't have any complimentary food on this flight (slight murmurs of outrage), but uh the direct tv will be free for everyone for the duration of the flight.

Everyone who was just mad now rejoices. AMERICA LOVES FREE TV. I just ate my pretzels and laughed every time the poor guy had to make an announcement. I was really running low on pretzels.

So we all get off the plane, which is a plan that could be disaster. I buy a protein bar and some chex mix (note: I hate chex mix now, I just ate about 3 servings of it. Vomit)

I sit down in the middle of the airport floor to charge my phone and decide to call anita, figuring she would try to check the status and would assume I died a horrible fiery death. Interestingly, several times when I tried to check the status of the flight I just got weird error messages. I would assume these error messages mean things like 'i'm terribly sorry but we have NO idea where this plane is or IF this plane is, please check back in a bit and hopefully no one will have died a horribly fiery death.' It is a bit sketchy, to be fair.

We somehow all make it back on the plane in a timely fashion and the poor pilot apologetically tells us that we have to watch the safety video again. The safety video includes an introduction by the CEO of continental. People were shaking their fists, muttering hateful things, mocking, and laughing. I wish I could have recorded this for a sound company's “disgruntled crowd murmurs before riot” track.

So we fly and we fly and we fly and we land.

The most unbelievable thing that happened today:

I WATCHED AN EPISODE OF SEINFELD I HAD NEVER SEEN BEFORE.

Part I: Welcome to Newark, I'm Sorry If the Firetrucks Alarmed You

Dont' worry San Diego, I am here. I know you were getting worried. I could tell by the way you set up some wifi for me and set aside a comfortable chair. the way you dropped the gate closing off the airport escaltor, thinking to yourself, 'i guess she's not coming after all...' WELL I AM HERE. do not fret. we will play together and i will enjoy your not disgusting weather and your famed zoo and your museums and your burritos and your fullagars.

what's that, San Diego? what took me so long? Well, funny you should ask. it has a little something to do with your good friend Continental Airlines. let's go back to the beginning, shall we?

i woke up as though i was going to be spending my day off doing nothing and then going back to work tomorrow. (note, that is not actually the case. i will not go to work until july 25th, if i ever do go back). around 11am when i was searching for travel size shampoo and trying to find a substitute for the bagel store that happened to be closed the one time i tried to go there, i realized 'oh hey, i am going on a plane today. maybe i should pack.'

so i walked somewhere else, got a bagel, and leisurely ate it.

ok really now, i should pack. so i do. then i think maybe i should repaint my toes. i mean really, San Deigo, i knew deep down you'd judge me. and i know my toes will be covered up most of the time while i rollerblade around town in a bikini (this is what happens everyday in every part of california, right?), but they will look nice when i try to surf and almost drown because i am so weak and then get saved by a seal only to be subsequently  eaten by a shark. plus the nail color was called Pacific Blue (thanks Katie Carroll).

i get to the airport with ample time. pay my 25 dollars to check a bag (that is poop, airlines. poop i tell you.) i obviously have ample time so i track down the jamba juice and get a delightful smoothie concoction that everyone at the gate is obviously jealous of. except for the two kids who were pretended to be cartoons and airplanes who RAN full speed around the whole waiting area. they weren't interested in my jamba juice.

so we get on the plane, i start watching the directtv (they charge you for THAT too! wtf kids. it's nearly a 6 hours flight.

OR IS IT???

foreshadowing.

is it just me?

Today i found myself in a quandary.

You see, i live to go to concerts. and i do not like the idea of concerts selling out before i have the time to find someone who wants to go. so i just buy two. today i had one extra and wasn't sure if i wanted to go it alone.

Only one time in my life have i purchased a sole, lonely ticket. that was for badly drawn boy in london, before i knew anyone well enough to convince them it would be a good time. or before i knew anyone well enough for them to just blindly trust my music judgement, as some have come to do. however, the week of that concert about 4 people told me they would have gone if i had only had another ticket. sigh. really?

so far my only experience with going to a concert alone involved everyone telling me it was socially unacceptable to do so, everyone telling me i would get murdered, not getting murdered, going into the venue and seeing that even though people waited outside no one went up to the front, going up to the front, moving cords that got stuck on speakers, seeing BDB singing and shaking hands with people, having sweaty hands since i was wearing several layers of clothes and it became very hot, thinking oh no i think he is going to try to shake my hand, having my hand kissed, thinking boy this is awkward, but enjoying myself nonetheless.

so. as you might ascertain, i was unsure about what going to Beirut alone might bring. the band, not the city. my friend wound up not being able to go and i didn't try very hard to convince anyone to go to Montclair NJ. why? because it was montclair and that is not nyc. people have a hard time with that.

1. i am about to get off the train and a man standing on the other side of the vestibule mumbles something to me. 'what's that?' i say, in a polite way, even though, when written, that sounds impolite or  like an old lady who wears her glasses on a chain and has to look up from her knitting to try to read your lips while you talk. the situation was not much different. i no knitting. but probably should get a chain...  he says ' nice pumas'. what? i was confused. i am wearing shoes that are at least 5 years old because i refuse to part with them, but the weird part is i really think he was sincere. that is all he says. then we leave the train.

2. i get to the venue and decide to check twitter. a fairly new band that i like very much (Pearl and the Beard), just tweeted that they are at the same show. literally as i am replying to the band's tweet, someone walks up next to me playing with their phone. i look over and think that looks like a whole lot like Jeremy from the band i am tweeting. i was intrigued by this new 21st century awkward situation that was born. i felt that tweeting ' i am standing right next to you' is a little too 'call someone on the phone, breathe heavily, then tell them what they are wearing and to look outside.' in other words, a little creepy murderer-y. i decided then that i should just say hi. luckily the minute i was going to do this, he moves forward to an open space further up. which is good because the only plan of action i could think up was poking him in the arm reluctantly, saying 'hi. so this is going to be weird unless the answer is yes, but are you in a band and is called pearl and the beard? if so you are awesome. and i like your beard.' see why it's good for me not to talk to people?

3. pretty sure a girl from high school came up right next to me two minutes later. this has yet to be confirmed because i was still trying to figure out if jeremy was really jeremy and i was starting to really question myself and my perceptions of who people really were.

4. wandering away from the concert (in the opposite direction from where i need to be), killing time because the next train wasn't for about 45 minutes. someone sort of skips up and taps me on the shoulder. oh hey kid from college that i havent seen or talked to in like 5 years; what's up? so we talk. then i go on my merry way because i was very paranoid about missing the only train left.

5. i get on the train. sit down and start to read Jane Eyre, which i am obsessed with right now, and a random girl comes over and says HI! in a very overenthusiastic manner. i look up in a very under-enthusiastic manner. 'so would you two mind sitting together so that my friend and i can sit together?'  'oh. uh. ok'. then me and the kid who picked a newspaper up off the ground unannounced, even though it was under the feet of someone he didn't know who was sitting across the way, had a quick battle about who would be moving. i lost. i move up to his seat and say hi, he barely glances up and feel like we are on some kind of blind train date that has already failed and that i didn't want to happen in the first place.

so i do all i can do. shove myself as far as i can to one side of the seat, hold my book like i have t-rex arms to minimize the risk of touching, and think do weird things like this happen to other people all the time, or is it just me?

afterword: beirut was absolutely fantastic. it WAS jeremy, as their twitter has since told me since i fessed up.

the public transportation diaries

i have a few minutes today so for those of you who havent heard this story in person, i shall do a quick one here.

i hope you all have experienced the various joys of public transportation as i have been lucky enough to witness. my twitter feed documents many of the things i have gone through, but i think there is one that stands out from the rest:

one time, a very large black lady sat on me. that's right. sat on me. she wasn't jostled. the train wasn't even that crowded. just. boom. large lady on my lap. i think i am just that not noticeable. there was an empty seat next to me, but i am almost positive that she didn't just miss the seat she was aiming for. the train hadn't even begun to move. there was no lurch forward that might explain why a stranger would sit directly on another stranger. no shoving that often happens when the path is having problems and people get a little nuts trying to squeeze in. nope. just a girl in a seat, and a lady who sat on her.

it was only for a brief moment. she noticed, and just went slip right into the seat next to me. i am not sure if she apologized. all i know is she was ok enough with what just happened that she continued to sit next to me for the entire  22 minute ride to newark (this was pre-hobo).

so here i am, sitting next to a lady who just sat on me, and trying not to laugh because of the ridiculousness of it all. everything of course is made worse because a friend from work was next to me and witnessed the whole thing. the chain reaction of laughing that happens when i try not to laugh yet see someone else laughing at the absurd situation we are in is quite dangerous.

let's just say it was awkward. to all the riders of the path, please peek before you plop

it's just snow, people

why hello boys and girls. perhaps you've noticed that i haven't posted anything in ohhh 9 months. maybe i had a baby? no. absolutely not. i did not have a baby. let's make that clear. but my friend did. and i could have. and that's what matters.

 actually, this hiatus lines up almost perfectly with the amount of time i have been at my new job. you figure out the rest. so i thought i'd start back up in a way that makes you not even miss this at all!  this post has photos! yay! lots of photos. but it also has words! boo! lots of words! read it if you dare.

backstory: i work in south street seaport and i live (sort of) in hoboken. my job may or may not make me dumber and less interesting. you be the judge. let's begin.

i wake up on the day after christmas (boxing day!) thinking of all the pancakes and candy i can eat, all the epic mickey i can play, and all the hours i can stare at my dog. (she sleeps a lot now.) i am told at 8am that the snow is going to start early and that if i need to go to work monday i need to go back to the hobo soon.

 i call hoboken 'the hobo' in hopes that one, just one, person may hear that and think i live in an actual homeless person.

after debating greatly whether i should go back to hobo or just screw it and stay home, i decide to make the journey.  i had some kitties to kittysit and i really like to hoard my PTO. plus my roommate had just called me up saying she had done the inevitable panicked grocery store run and bought loads of food. she didn't buy gallons of water (i asked) or fill the bathtub up with water (i assumed), so we didn't reach y2k crazy yet.

as my brother drives me to the train station we can tell it is clearly escalating in my home town. 

look at how that stick struggles! it knows what is to come.  i saved it from almost certain death and flung it on the lawn with its friends.

i get to the train station and try to wheel my wheely bag. this does not work well with snow, for the record. so i carried it with a lean like a peg-legger. it was heavy and i am weak. after a few chilly minutes standing next to a british person discussing his regrets over not asking for leftovers of the tasty ham (rookie mistake. even a veg knows that), the train arrives.

it was just nj transit, not the polar express.i looked for both santa and josh groban, but i only saw a guido and his lady friend. both of whom foolishly thought a tiny umbrella would help them in a blizzard..its a blizzard kids. i did not take a picture of these stereotypes in fear of someone calling me bro and trying to make me go to the gym. 

after a surprisingly efficient and undelayed ride, i get to the hobo  and drag my new draggy bag to my apartment. 

we spent the greater part of sunday evening watching the fools struggle up this hill. i mean really. where do you POSSIBLY have to go that you think its a good idea to slide your minivan all over the narrow hilly street?    the tires squealed like wildcats, and it made me come a-running to enjoy the show. i should note that no one was hurt and no parked cars were hit. though people did try to cross the street 1.5 feet in front of a car battling it out. we yelled things at those people.

then we went to sleep. 

i wake up and check my work email hoping they would close the office, like the normal people do, but alas, no such luck. we were given the offer to work from home, but since i was not set up for that, i decided i was going in. it's just snow. and i have snow boots and a dream. and a fancy camera phone.and by god, i will not use a PTO day.

 i make it down the stairs and stand in the vestibule that i once found a homeless man sleeping in (he made it very clear that he had no real intention of leaving when he moved aside to let me in). oh the memories.

and here is  what i see.

at this point in the story i get very indignant and slightly outraged. i let out an audible 'REALLY?!' and think REALLY?? HAS NO ONE LEFT BEFORE ME? HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE. i told this section of the story to a coworker who was quick to stop me and explain that i had it all wrong and that i was the crazy one. and she's right. i suppose i could not think others were crazy for not leaving, when nj had declared a state of emergency. (yes hoboken is nj, despite the people who live here who don't seem to understand that). 

but i have come this far! and i am not about to give up due some precipitation buildup! so after several hip checks to the door (which creaked a whoooolllee lot - but it's fine landords! don't you worry. ps SHOVEL MAH STOOP). i ninja kick my way out, despite a minor back injury and my dry-clean-only pants (whatever, i rolled them up). once out the door i quickly realize my journey has just begun.

yeah. my stoop has some snow. thats not a mini ski slope. that's my stairs. and my gate. i use my shovel boots and find a few stairs, then do the only thing an office assistant can do. threw caution to the wind and jumped the gate to a little snowy alcove below.

there were some immigrant workers shoveling the bodega down the street and no doubt mocking my 7 minute struggle. the signs of which remain in the photo above.

i get to washington street only to find that no one has even bothered trying to plow. YET PEOPLE STILL KEEP DRIVING. OMG.

yeah, this guy is probably an office assistant too. bet his stoop was shoveled. OFFICE ASSITANTS... UNITE!

don't even think for a minute that you can rest. there is no  rest for the weary here in the snow-crippled-square-mile town of hoboken. but i bet there was still a line for the cake boss. jesus christ there are always so many people in line for the cake boss.

at this point i tried to take a video to document a moment or two. kind of like 127 hours only instead of filming because i had to hack my arm off because i got stuck while doing something interesting, i filmed in case i decided to just throw myself face first into a 6-foot snowdrift because i lost the will to go on. the video turned about to be about 15 seconds of foot crunching and wind before the whole video turns black because my computer hand is too cold and just can' take it any more.

these guys dont have any idea where there are or whats happening. i think the front two are partaking in some ritual, synchronized, pagan, anti-snow dance in hopes that horror will all go away soon. THE HORROR, I SAY. for nothing is more horrible than this foreign white substance plaguing our town!

 i come across a familiar struggle halfway down the nearly deserted artery of hoboken. YES, boys and girls, YES. this IS the same van that i mocked while it crawled up the hill outside my apartment. and yes, it was getting mocked again.

  those men in the matching boots either work for the city or are just real pissed off men who shop at the same shoe store, but there was a whole lot of profanity for a peaceful, blustery monday morning. things like " WHY DON'T YOU GET SOME REAL FUCKING TIRES??" yes, solid point. but perhaps what we should really focus on here is " WHY ARE YOUR DRIVING YOU INCOMPETENT FOOL? DO YOU NOT NOTICE THE BLIZZARD?". i hate everyone.

finally i make it to the path station

it looks misleadingly glorious as the sun tries to show its face while it continues to snow. but don't be fooled! it was an hour and half long convoluted journey that took me deeper into nj before taking me to the WTC. but don't worry. i made a friend. jessica... or jennifer. i guess we're more 'acquaintances' then...

finally. i make it to nyc. where the streets look like this:

 and i decide i want a donut. so i go to one dunkin donuts. NO DONUTS. well, i think, that's two strikes for you, DD-that-ran-out-of-donuts-on-free-donut-day, i should have known better. so at this point i am already an hour late, and decide to try the other DD. because as i learned from the quick center: "it's easy to be late", but it's just as easy to be late with donuts."

 and i wanted a mother effin donut. oh what's that DD #2? OH. OK. YOU DON'T HAVE DONUTS EITHER. THAT'S FINE. NOT LIKE IT'S IN YOUR NAME OR ANYTHING. why are they even open? sigh.

i give up and soon see this lovely sign:

they are so not kidding about the falling ice. and somebody measured out the caution tape remarkably well. i was about 7 feet from the door of my building laughing about how i should have stayed home and i see a giant icy flash out of my peripheral vision. then a large crash, and my legs are showered with icicle shrapnel. totally almost Die Hard 2ed right there.

IT'S ICICL-ING SIDEWAYS!

i get inside around 10:20 and the security man at the desk says with utter surprise " Stacey! you made it! is there even anyone up there?". the answer to that is yes. 11 people in fact. in my office. i later find out from the cleaning woman that our office had more people there than the rest of the building combined. its a 35 floor building. people in my office are crazy.

i decide i am leaving at 3:30 and i dont care who knows it. and so i do. and go back on another 2 hour journey that should take about 30 minutes. i regret not staying home home with the schnauzer, but then i wouldn't have experienced the 'city that never sleeps' taking  a little power nap.

oh and i took the ferry the next day. 

 i shall end with a quote from twitter that expresses my feelings better than i can:
 EricCunningham 

  

Let's agree to not call every snowstorm the Snowpocalypse. Save it for the real Snowrapture when Santa returns.11:14 PM Dec 25th via Twitter for iPhoneRetweeted by you and 63 others

end of hampstead heath day.

Hampstead. can't recall what street, but i liked it.

Fueled by this veg sandwich, I begin to make my way toward Baker Street to meet Helen. After I walk our of the Heath  and past Spaniard Inn (I want to eat there) I accidentally drop the last half of my sandwich onto the remarkably clean sidewalk. Let’s just stop right here before anyone gets worried- I did not eat it.

However, it was a pretty solid womp womp Debbie Downer type moment. My immediate reaction was to go ‘oh’ and droop my head Charlie brown style. I couldn’t decide if I should pick it up or leave it. it was just cheese and bread so the squirrels that you aren’t supposed to feed would probably enjoy it. however I don’t like litter, and it was started to drizzle and I didn’t want any strangers to suffer any cheese related slips, so I picked it up.

I walked a VERY long time carrying it. London doesn’t have many garbage cans, which is why I am all the more impressed with how clean they keep the city (especially compared to NYC). There must be a whole army of people dedicated to cleaning the streets and sidewalks of London, but I never see them. they are probably harry potter esque elves. I want to write them a nice letter. People deserve nice letters. Anyway, I think they cut down on the garbage cans to prevent terrorist bombings, so I suppose its fair, but it makes it all the more melancholy to have to carry your uneatable sandwich while your stomach growls.

I try to make mental notes of the nice stores and restaurants I see in Hampstead Heath and then try to divert to Keat’s house and John Constable’s gravesite/house, but I gave up because I figured out I didn’t plan my time right. Sigh. I never plan my time right when I go on walkabouts, as Crocodile Dundee might say. At this point it was too late to get on the Tube; it was one of those situations where by the time you walk to the tube, wait for a train, walk from the station blah blah. Also, I had commited myself to walking. And walk I did. Quite fast, considering I had been walking since 9am and sat once to eat my yoghurt and once for a minute to read info on a painting. It was tiring. But I loved every minute of it.

I walk through Regent’s Park and try not to get too sentimental. I miss it so much. But I rush by and get to the theatre on Baker Street, I seem to have memorized the location just from going to it once years ago. I was way late. The movie was set to start at 3:40 and I didn’t even get to the theatre til 3:50. luckily, I remember that they have loads of adverts on first. this is the same theatre Helen, Kristen, Adam and I went to to see the last James Bond 2 years ago. The nostalgia ran deep.

I try – and fail- to call Helen, then I decide to go in and talk to the nice man at the window. A couple before me was trying to get a ticket to the 840 show, although the in the window stated clearly that it was sold out.  So the guy said ‘ you can go in right now’, but I guess the lady wanted to eat so they asked for five minutes to decide. The window guy then said ‘in 5 minutes you can’t go in. it’s about to start.’ So they let me go talk to him. It’s a shot in the dark but I say I am meeting someone and he just says ‘ oh yeah shes in there already.’ ‘did it start yet?’ I ask. And he said, ‘it’s starting right now’. So I run, find Helen, grab my seat, and quickly apologize profusely for being the worst. I really like the movie [this is Quantum of Solace]  and will probably see it again. [ I have].

After the movie I tried to get in contact with jenna and celeste but it was not working out, so Helen and I go to a pub called The Volunteer, a place she apparently frequented but I have never been to. I get a half pint of cider 1. because I am cheap 2. we weren’t really ‘drinking’ and 3. I was a bit cidered out from the Strongbow 2 days ago.

After this we wind up eating at an Italian place down the way. Quite good actually. During our dinner conversation I say, ‘I need to look up the Christmas lightings. I think they start soon.’ WELL, next day in the London Lite (one of the free papers they give out) I find out they already had some. That night. One street over from where we were. The one I really wanted to go to. So that was a huge disappointment for me. I hope they have some smaller ones when I get back.  I will at least try to go to Harrod’s and maybe I can convince someone to ice skate with me at Somerset House.

Helen and I part ways and I go back to jenna’s and finally officially meet Colin, her flatmate. We just hung out, discussed life and everything for a few hours over drinks. It was wonderful. I love that kind of stuff. They are both great. I wish I lived there with them. well, somewhere else in London with them. we eventually go to sleep. Though I can’t sleep of course. And I must wake before jenna this time so I can wake up and get to Baker Street in time to meet David Brady, my art (architectural) history professor from when I was at Regent’s. he is kindly allowing Helen and I to tag along – for free as well!- on his class trip to Cambridge. Good man. 

this was around the corner from the above photo. i like it. the message is still very applicable today. "Cheer up folks. it's only money... love's the important stuff." just another reason why i need to move to this neighborhood.

Hampstead part III: Kenwood House

(part two is posted directly before this. i am posting in quicker succession than usual, so read the two preceding posts to catch up to where i am now, if you feel so inclined)

I begin to the left, as told, and it’s not long before I come to their library. It’s beautiful. I love libraries. It wasn’t enormous and it was ornate enough to be inviting but not too intimidating. I wanted to sit down and read a book. No photos were allowed but I’ll try to find a photo online or I may go back for some postcards or souvenirs.

(taken from the kenwood house section of english heritage's site. this is a shot of the library) 

I move onto the next room where I hear creepy music like some man is just singing some sketchy drinking song in a nearby room. I thought they must have some odd historic video playing upstairs until the man guarding the other room came in to try to figure out the music as well. We both looked at each other and kind of shrugged and laughed. We had a moment. Then I went into the room he was guarding, one of the main art rooms. In addition to some nice portraits by Gainsborough, Reynolds, and Romney there were two non-english works worth mentioning.

First is the self-portrait by Rembrandt which is widely thought to be one of his best, apparently.

Second is, and the one I am more interested in, is “The Guitar Player” by Vermeer.

I can’t recall exactly what the man said but either there are 6 Vermeers in the UK and 4 must stay at all times, or there are 4 Vermeers in the UK and 2 must stay at all time. I think it is the 6/4. But this one NEVER moves. Never.

Vermeer’s wife/lover had used this to pay off a debt and the person at Kenwood back in the day (I don’t know the whole lineage. You’ll find I don’t know the full story to a lot of things this trip as it was quite the whirlwind adventure, but hopefully I give enough info that you could google it if you want to know more). Anyway, she used it to pay off a debt, and this guy bought it from a dealer. She later tried to buy it back, to no avail; it was the only one she ever tried to buy back, which led people to believe that the girl in the painting might be one of their daughters.

vermeer's "guitar player" from the kenwood house site.

The painting itself is quite striking. It certainly fits in with Vermeer’s use of light and putting a girl in a domestic setting, but it looks different, more casual almost. In some ways it looks less detailed, but it others it seems more so. Like the guitar strings, for example, appear to be vibrating like they were just strummed. The girl glances to the side as though someone just called her name while she was practicing. A framed landscape hangs in the background (I love stuff like that: a painting within a painting). Evidence shows Vermeer possibly used a camera obscura. He has cropped the painting at her arm, but the canvas was not altered. This is how it was painted, which is unlike the style at the time. It was nice, and I learned quite a bit from my new ‘what’s that weird music’ friend.

I moved throughout the lovely house, to a room that had paintings by my boy JMW Turner.  I love him. There was also a portrait of a man whose name I forget already, but he was an inventor as well and the Skeleton Clock he had created sat directly across the room from him.

Kenwood House had a great decorative arts collection; much of it made possible by the Victoria and Albert Museum, one of my favorite museums of all time. Another painting looked like it easily could have been my mom as a kid, and a different one in the room like pretty much exactly like me.

I walked through a music room containing a piano, harp, organ, etc. and then made my way upstairs. The second level had portraits of the people and the family related to Kenwood House in some way. Some were pretty awesome. One artist seemed to do things very much like Holbein (of the famed Henry the  IIV portrait). Another room contained jewelry (including some crazy iron stuff from Berlin), and a bunch of mini portraits –not really my thing. BUT there was a wall of shoe buckles. YES cases and cases of shoes buckles. I love shoe buckles now. I want them. Bring back shoe buckles!

I ended with a trip to the museum store, almost bought many many things, but actually bought a book for two pounds on sale that highlighted the free English Heritage sights across London and the UK. Worthy, I think, of 2 pounds.  Then I take myself to the other side of the building , past the orangery under repair and into the Steward’s Room – a little café where I buy a huge and delightful cheddar and tomato sandwich. With mayo of course. Yuck. Why the mayo, England? Always. Mayo.

Hampstead Heath part II: i accidentally stalk a family

This is it. it seemed like I had walked for so long. Sadly it was kind of a cloudy day. Cold too, though it didn’t seem so after the trek and I wound up having to take off and carry my jacket. Apparently you can see wonderful views of the city through the trees on Hampstead Heath, but it was a bit too overcast. It’s ok. I was content with the lakes, fall foliage, and unleashed dogs romping around through the leaves.

I wander by the water reading  the signs about the scum and duckweed then find myself somehow pretty much accidentally stalking this couple and their small child who was in a stroller. So that’s awkward. I follow them up a hill keeping a certain distance that I had calculated to scientifically be considered the least creepy. i noticed a building in the distance and asked myself whether it was Kenwood House (which I was trying to reach) or even possibly somewhere with toilets, but it was far and I decided it was neither. Unfortunately I didn’t pause long enough to allow the couple and child to get far enough ahead so before long I caught up with them again. This time we were on a beautiful path lined with autumnal colored trees.

All of the sudden their little boy starts to run away from them and in my direction. “NO! Adam!” they yell. And he turns around and runs back to them. They look at me. I look at them. I smile a little and say hello, because what else can you do when someone just yelled as though you were going to steal their child? (as if I am remotely interested in being responsible for a child). They smile back. A little TOO smiley. A smile that says they clearly think I am nuts and want nothing to do with me. a smile that asks ‘are you planning on eating our baby?’ and a smile that answers its own question with an emphatic ‘yes. Yes you are.’ This is when I decided to make a point of using my freakishly long legs to quicken my pace and pass them.

After I have gotten far enough away, I decide to meander a bit more. Near a pond was a lovely blue winged bird that I DID actually stalk, and it probably also wondered if I would eat its babies. (note: I ate no one’s babies). Then I come across a street. Bad news. but then I find a map! Good news!

So I reorient  myself and start wandering again. I come to a path covered in leaves, which were cleverly covering lots of mud. I decide to take this path because the colors just look so darn nice. I only almost fell twice.

Soon I see I an iron fence and decide it is probably a good idea to follow it. which it was. After I go in the entrance I see a sign saying ‘Kenwood House and Estate.’  Ha! Made it! and I am not even a girl scout. I walk along a path that seems to go on forever, yet get nowhere; past two old ladies with two matching poodles; past a young man throwing a ball across the vast expanse of green so his less sissy dog could retrieve it. Finally, I come across signs and follow them until I come to a gravelly driveway leading to a lovely mansion that was of course, undergoing construction (another theme of this trip, you will find). I let myself in, after my wiping my shoes on their shoe cleaner outside, and then a man at the front desk asks if I’ve been there before. After I say no, he kindly tells me that it’s free (obviously I look like I need things to be free, which is fine by me) and he tells me everything else I might need to know. He was very kind and informative.

 this was interesting. i believe it was a way to buffer the old tree and protect it since it was weak.

the journey to hampstead heath

Thursday 6.11.08

I awake after another near sleepless night, shower, get ready and run out the door around 8:30am. I dress fairly warm as it is November and quite chilly. It’s quite hard to ‘backpack’ through Europe when it is winter since you have to carry around a coat and a hat and gloves and blah blah blah. In the summer you have waaaayy less to carry around. This is why, in addition to the backpack I borrowed from jess, I also brought a huge suitcase, that jenna was kind enough to let me leave there when I did the main section of my wandering around Europe.

Back to the plot though. I pick up my favorite yoghurt at tesco (Muellers fruit corners, of course [anyone know if i can buy this anywhere in the state?s]), a spork, and I make my way towards Camden town. I find the Camden lock and sit down on steps nearby to enjoy my not-so-english breakfast. Finding a Carphone Warehouse was top on my list. The name still makes me kind of tilt my head. Why car phone? For cars? And its definitely not a warehouse. But they are found on essentially every main street in London and they are the place to go to top-up your pay-as-you-go phone. Which is why I went there of course. A very nice man helps me get 5 pounds on the phone jenna lent me, so I can actually communicate…at least while I am in England.

Business first. Now onto the happy wandering.   I continue down the road and browse the few shops that are open at this hour. I seemed to have walked farther than I have before because I came across a building that I surely would have remembered had I seen it before.  It had what seemed to be Egyptian painted papyrus columns with two statues of black cats on either side. I forgot what I was called but it was interesting and it made me check my book. I couldn’t find my good London map so I was forced to carry around a huge Fodor’s book that was outdated by four years.   [ I looked it up since and found out it is now called Greater London House]. Upon consulting my book I find I am undoubtedly going the wrong way.

So I turn around and begin to retrace my steps, finding that many more shops have opened up in the meantime. I see people with these little starbucks cups and my free sample radar fires up. A few seconds after my senses have heightened to find the free food, a man on the street comes right up to me with a tray offering a taste of a Dark Cherry Mocha or something like that. I say thank you and he tells me to take the last one too so I could have one for later. I decline politely and thank him again [WHAT?!!? This is outrageous. I cannot believe I would decline this. And I don’t remember doing it. The only explanations are: either my guilt of taking the last sample outweighed my love of free things, or I was worried my stomach would hurt. ] The sample was pretty good actually. I wonder if they have it in the states now?

I finally get on the right street towards Hampstead Heath. This is quite a physical challenge for a bum like me. it is pretty much walking uphill forever. I can walk FOREVER on straight flat land. I can run down hills when hiking. But I cannot, I repeat, cannot, properly walk up a hill without getting tired. I feel this is some sort of design flaw in my anatomy, for this has always been true, even when I was super athletic. Hampstead Heath seems like a very nice neighborhood. I had never been there before. I soon turn onto a street that I hope will lead me up to aforementioned ‘heath’ (triggered by the sign that read: “no thru traffic-environmental area.”

After about three steps, the street becomes absolutely silent. I can hear the thud of my feet on the sidewalk. An old lady and an unleashed dog amble past me. A young policeman smiles at me and says hello. I notice the beautiful, yet quaint, architecture. Nothing too ostentatious. perfection. Really. I pictured celebrities like Chris Martin/ Gwen Paltrow or James May (possibly my future husband) living here in this neighborhood. If I could live anywhere in the world, I think it might be here. It could very possibly be (to me at least) the greatest street in the greatest neighborhood in the greatest city in the greatest country on earth. Though living in Regent’s Park was pretty stellar as well.  Oh well. Too bad. You need to have wheelbarrows full of money to live here. I wish my dreams were not based on money.

After this absolutely idyllic stroll through winding streets while listening to birds chirp and squirrels  forage, I see the opening to a park...

byzantium and fireworks

Later on in the gas leak day.

Our day actually  starts at 130ish. We decided to go to the Byzantium exhibit at the royal academy of art where neither of us have ever been. Jenna has to do a project on it for class, so it works out quite well all around. The building was beautiful on the outside, with a courtyard full of geometric sculptures that also served as seats, around which were small, short fountains. The exhibit itself was wonderful. I got the student discount even though I am no longer really a student. The sign said ‘approved ids only.’ I am not sure how you get these ids approved or if there is some sort of id approver who just sits there and googles you and scrunches up his face to look at you and then the id. And then states “Approved’. I am pretty sure this is the case. And I did not have that.So when I walked up, the lady asked if I was  a student. I am cheap so I just said yes, but my id is American. And she brusquely said it doesn’t matter where its from and took it and gave me four pounds off (33 percent off!). I felt kind of bad. But I have no money. So I didn’t feel bad enough to not do it.

Inside, the exhibit was huge. Much bigger than I expected. It covered the whole of Byzantium’s history, essentially. Although I took an entire course called Byzantine Art, it doesn’t mean I remember anything from it. Jenna surely does. She would come up to me and whisper something all artsy and educated and I would eventually just pretend to know what she was talking about. “ah yes, yes. I do think that paten was residential. I am not sure how it could be any more clear.” While my mouth was saying this, a different scene played out in my mind. two brain cells were rubbing sticks together trying to make a spark in order to stay alive in the hazardous conditions. two others used a third as a battering ram to open every old rusty, dusty door in my brain hoping to find some of the knowledge about art that I carelessly shoved away in a corner somewhere. The remaining three were, respectively, repeating Morrissey lyrics, dreaming of donuts, and trying to figure out how such a well-treated, non drugged, non liquored-up brain got to be in such a sad state with zero memory power. Poor brain.

Deep down I knew this material but I just couldn’t scrape it together in time, and I often cant convince jenna that I am not nearly as smart as people seem to foolishly think I am, so I just went along with her.  I did see some wonderful illuminated books and manuscripts and some micromosaics that were quite phenomenal. I have always appreciated detail.

Oh and we saw the Sinai icons.

Yeah that’s kind of a big deal.

 art loves jesus. So much. So much art is jesusy, for the record. And while I am not jesusy, I find it quite interesting that that is something that just lasts throughout the art world. Also. i hate iconoclasm. So stupid. Religious fanaticism brings nothing but destruction and sadness. If people want to paint jesus, let them paint jesus. Everyone just chill out and BE NICE TO EACH OTHER. That’s what jesus would want.

After our stroll through this religious opulence, we walked in search of a restaurant; we passed a market, I don’t really remember where exactly or what it was for, but we did not buy anything. I love things like this. Just stumbling across a little town of tents, each with someone hawking something different. Most of it junk, but some of it is a treasure to someone. Awww.

However I did want to buy a fedora, and jenna mocked me openly. I did not buy that fedora, but I WILL buy a fedora and I WILL wear it. One day… but not that day.

We walk to picadilly and pass by the 39 Steps theatre; that was a fantastic play I saw while I was studying abroad at regents. AND it was FREE. What an awesome theatre class that was. [note: since writing this journal, I have also read the book. You should read it. It’s really quite good]. After some traipsing around trying to figure out what to eat we decide to go to this pizza place that jenna has been talking about. we took the tube to London bridge and wandered around for quite some time  because she couldn’t remember quite  where it was and of course I had no idea.  We persevered through a labyrinth of cobblestone streets and dark alleyways (actually a perfect pastime for me) until we finally came across Amano.

Jenna would not let me just order plain pizza, like the boring eater I am, so I wound up with a rocket salad and a pizza that had smoke mozzarella, roasted tomatoes, pine nuts, and avocado. It was actually quite delicious, so I am glad she forced me to be interesting. I couldn’t finish it so I asked them to wrap it up (something that seems to confuse Brits most of the time) and I think jenna ate the rest at a later date. I don’t like waste. The waiter was also brought jenna red wine even after they had a very lengthy discussion about how she wanted white. So overall, good food, but a slightly confused staff.

After dinner we head to the tube to try to catch some Guy Fawkes day fireworks in South London (Clapham to be exact). They shoot off fireworks throughout the week at different locations in london. one of the best times I had when I studied abroad was seeing the fireworks at Alexandra Palace. It was perched on hill, right outside the palace. They had their own display synched up with music, but you could also see many displays all throughout the city because it was such a great vantage point.

So you can see how this fireworks experience may have been a bit sub-par. The tube was absolutely PACKED. And so hot. And awful. But that’s how it is. Since we were running late, we got there after they had started and didn’t have a terribly good vantage point. although it wasn’t as ideal as Ally Pally, the display was actually still really great; the finale in particular was quite impressive and colorful. However, people a few feet away from us came remarkably close to starting a fire. You’ll find that this experience won’t be the first time on this trip where I find myself close to potential fire. Maybe it’s me.

We did a fantastic job of speedwalking down the street and managed to get on the tube when it was MUCH less crowded. We got home, planned out our next day, I used the computer to book some hostels/transportation. Unfortunately I barely slept that night and woke up early enough to leave the house at the same time jenna had to leave for class. My plan for the day was a walk around Hampstead Heath and Regent’s Park (sigh. I miss it so) , then meet up with Helen- a friend I met while at Regent’s- in order to see the new Bond movie at the same theatre on Baker Street where we saw the last one a few years prior. That is all for today.

jenna outside her apartment. she may be upset with me for posting this. but i like it. they were lovely doors.

 this was in jenna's garden. yup that's a giraffe head. not sure what the story is behind this, whose it was or how it got there, but i want to know it.

outside the byzantium exhibit

clapham fireworks for guy fawkes day

jenna's apt has an exit sign. i forget what is was before it was an apartment but apparently everyone needed to know where the exit was. actually this would come in handy in the event of, say , a gas leak.

gas leaks and 'the damp'

Nov 9

So let’s go back, way back to that original Wednesday. I do believe I left off with the mysterious and exciting gas leak. Yes.

A quick tour of jenna’s flat. She had a surprisingly spacious room and a big bed, which was good considering I was sleeping in it, and this was when my personal space bubble was surprisingly far bigger than it is now.  She showed me her roommate colin’s room, which was quite tiny. Poor colin. What a champ, giving her the big room. She had a bed, a table, some drawers, etc, as well as a slightly mysterious closet. ( HINT: FORESHADOWING)

I have no idea what time we went to bed. Maybe 2? Maybe 3? After many strongbows. That is all I know. But I DO know that we awoke at 7am to a phone call. Apparently it is colin’s old roommate, a dapper South African named Sean. He has some news for us. “ohhey, by the way, jenna ,there’s a gas leak.” “Really?” says jenna, “ When did you find this out?” “Last night,” says sean. “Where’s it coming from?”  Oh just that closet in your room. No worries.”  “OH OK COOL.”

That’s my version at least. Jenna was probably more eloquent while at the same time being more profane. Something only she can do really. So around 8:30 sean comes in with a man from National Grid. I am still in pajamas. Most likely still in bed. When the come in the room.  Fun! Good morning strangers! I wish we could have met on better terms. Such as. Not in bed. And not during a gas leak. But here we are.

So it seems that the National Grid man found several problems, including gas leaks and switches and levers that won’t turn off. To elucidate: if there is a house fire or something of that nature, there is literally no way to switch off the gas seeing as this man could not physically move it at all.  The man seemed like he could have at some point been the inspiration for a Billy Bragg song. A very nice, hardworking, blue-collar, Cockney man probably in some kind of union somewhere.

Well anyway, since jenna doesn’t officially live there yet (it’s complicated) and sean was the one who called in the Grid man (actually it was another guy the day before who called the Grid guy because he smelled gas when he was there inspecting “The Damp.” Yes, it seems they also have a horror movie growing in their little flat:

“THE DAMP”: In a woooorld where your towels never full dry, where your skin will always be dewy, where you life is ruled by….THE DAMP. When you least expect it: an unseemly water stain, an innocent drip from the holes in your skylight that the ivy tries to fight through, it’s THE DAMP. Coming soon to theatres near you this holiday season.

This film is not yet rated”

Ahem. Excuse me. So yes. The  Grid guy’s damsels in distress radar must have gone off, because about ten minutes after he leaves because he doesn’t have the necessary part, we hear a knock on the door. Still in our pajamas mind you. Jenna answers the door and I overhear the same man explain that he has a friend who fixes this kind of stuff, that he called him, and he is coming in 45 minutes. The man then said that he would wait outside for him, and refused our offer to let him wait inside. He really was awesome. What an upstanding human being.

We take this time to each shower and get changed into presentable clothing and out of pajamas. The two men eventually come back in. They clearly enjoyed one another’s company and they were laughing and joking the whole. I believe a direct quote from one was: “I think I am actually sweating. What is this? I am leaking!” Then we all enjoy a cup of tea together in the kitchen.

GAS LEAKS ARE FUN AND HIP AND COOL. You should try it. all the cool kids are doing it.

Our newfound teatime buddies fix up the leak and put on some new levers, warning us that the heat might not work for a while ( They were not fibbing).

I used all this time to plan and research, seeing as I hadn’t actually booked a bunch of trains or hostels…a bit last minute this time… so all that time certainly did not go to waste.

The men leave us a note telling us what was wrong with the gassy closet so that jenna and colin can explain it to their jerk landlord, and then the men leave without even attempting to bill jenna. Saints. They must have daughters, we decided. Daughters that they didn’t want to die in gas leaks, as we very well could have. (not really, I couldn’t even smell it). I think they are nice, kind, helpful men. Jenna says it’s because all British men are misogynists who think girls can’t do anything.

Either way. Pretty sure we couldn’t have fixed that gas leak. BUT it was a very exciting way to start the day. And jenna’s claim that she her London luck is much like my American luck is proven.

Leak free is the way to be.That sounds like a tagline for one of those overactive bladder commercials. How gauche and inappropriate. i apologize.

there is a concern for safety at least. this is where it all came from.

 one of the free papers they give out in london, wine glass, and the many thanks i believe is part of the note from the gas leak fixers. 

oh yeah. we also found out who our new president was when we woke up. britain was really very very happy about this. as witnessed from the many strangers who discussed the new president with me on my journey. everyone i spoke to thought there was really no other option. just like my tube friends' "it's got to be obama" statement emphasizes