Took Friday off, and caught the 8:30am train to Paris, arriving about 10:45. A nice little twenty-five minute underground ride from Montparnarse to Gare Nord, and then a two-hour ride to London via the chunnel.
I wasn't all that crazy about the chunnel bit...it just goes dark for about twenty-five minutes and you're out of it...but it's the perfect place for a terrorist attack. Or, for that matter, the attack of the smaller-than-usual-snowflakes. You gotta watch out for those suckers.
But, we went through and it was a very pleasant trip. I've really grown fond of train travel over here. It's comfortable and fast. By the time one goes to the airport, goes through security, picks up bags, and get transport into the city I figured it would be three to three-and-a-half hours. The train is only two more hours and you spend them in comfort reading your Kindle. Doesn't get much better than that.
Arrived at St. Pancras station downtown about 1:30pm (local time). Pulled one of my usual DA mistakes on reading the train maps on the internet before leaving. I'd determined I needed to take the City line to Goldenhawk station and then walk a short distance to my hotel. Wrong...pigeon-breath! I had needed to catch the District line to Stamford Brook. It was an "exercise-giving" error, causing me to walk about two miles to the hotel, bad leg and all. But, I made it without too many stops, and checked in. I'd found this Best Western hotel in Chiswick at a decent rate. The website stated recently remodeled. You can imagine my trepidation when I walked up and saw what appeared to the entire edifice surrounded by scaffolding. And it was ugly. But, you gotta dance with who brung ya, so I checked in and was taken to my room. Turns out they have purchased several older homes adjacent to the old hotel and are remodeling them and sort of "pulling" it all together. My room, though not very large is quite comfortable and overlooks a quaint little English garden. I'm not dissatisfied at all.
My room is on the second floor above the light.
A short walk and train ride later I'm at Trafalgar Square.
Horatio Nelson atop his pedestal.
I've read a couple of biographies on the old boy and he would have certainly wanted to be up there. He was one of the most honor-seeking, self-centered, and smug little preening "roosters" I've ever read about. But, he certainly could lead ships in battle.
By all naval dictates, his victory at Trafalgar should have been a disaster. In essence, he committed the cardinal sin...he "crossed the T"...the wrong way. . He led his ships into the French/Spanish line of battle from the perpendicular, meaning only his leading ships could bring their guns to bear while the enemy could bring more of their ships guns to bear on him.
His brilliance was in understanding that the English gunners, through superior procedures and constant practice, could fire two to two-and-a-half times more often than their opponents. It basically negated the "advantage" of the "T" allowing him to split the enemy forces in two, then defeat them in detail through the use of that superior firepower. Only a commander with his confidence in his opinion and knowledge could have made that decision. He reminds me of Gen. Bernard Law Montgomery of the Brits in WWII. Winston Churchill described him better than anyone: "He was unbeatable in war, insufferable in peace." That, too, would be Nelson.
Across the street from Nelson. On the left side of the street is an Italian-American restaurant with excellent hamburgers and wonderful 50s-60s American music. Had a great meal while listening to "Who put the Bop in the Bop-sha-bop-sha-bob, who put the Ram in the Ram-a-lam-a-ding-dong." Lyrics with deep, and socially astute, meanings. Ya know what I mean?
Walking down a London street I see this bank of phones. In this day of cell phones and Blackberrys I find this sort of puzzling. Those Brits are really ones to hold onto tradition, aren't they?
I headed back to the Embankment to catch a train and noticed this neat little park off to the side.
The Brits and the French can really do parks.
But, on going down the stairs and getting on the street with the park, I see this ubiquitous monster.
(Jamey, I looked for you again, as in Paris, to no avail.)
Near my hotel is this lovely example of old Victorian architecture.
Got an excellent night's sleep and awoke to an English breakfast: Eggs and bangers (sausage), orange juice and coffee.
Only thing missing was the Kippers.
(Morgan: Kippers are small fish, like herring, gutted and grilled...I can see you and Paul cringing from here.)
Caught the District line back into downtown London getting off at the famous Victoria Station.
Started walking down the street in the general direction of Parliment and Big Ben. London is interesting. You look one way and see the old, and the other, the new.
To the left: very old building, now a theater.
To the right from the same spot.
A short way down Victoria Street and one comes to Westminster Cathedral.
In case you haven't heard, the English and the Catholic Church have a rather unique history. This fellow named King Henry VIII sort of had a real need for a son (not to mention a pretty real need for quite a few young ladies as well). His desire to get a son, ostensibly, was the reason he broke from the Church. Personally, the economic major in me thinks he wanted all those lands and money the Church had as much as he wanted a son. (The money and land thing sort of motivated Napoleon in France a hundred and fifty or so years later.) In any event, it wasn't until the late 19th century that the Catholic Church was restored in England and Wales. In 1895 work began on this cathedral consecrated in June 1910.
As with the French cathedrals, beautiful work.
After entering, there are many small chapels on the sides of the building, each dedicated to a different saint.
I do not remember the name of this particular chapel, but notice the small "pillars" on the right side with recessed areas between them.
Each inset is dedicated to a particular regiment of the British Army. This one is for the Royal Dublin Fusiliers.
Another, and grander, chapel at the end of the building.
The Center of the Church
And the confessionals
Reminded me of a great story.
A young Irish lad goes to confession, and sits quietly in the booth until the slide is opened showing the hazy screen separating him from the Revend Father Flannigan.
"Forgive me Father, for I have sinned," said young Johnny Lynch.
"Ah, Johnny, not again, my son. What have ye done now?" said the Priest.
"I have to admit I have 'ad carnal knowledge of one of the young ladies in our Parish, Father," confesses Little Johnny.
"Ah, Johnny, that's terrible, my son. Was it Coleen McBride?" said the Father.
"No, Father," says young Johnny.
"Oh, was it Sarah O'Sullivan, then? says the Father.
"No, Father, it wasn't," replies Little Johnny.
"Well, then, lad, who was it?" says the good Father.
"Father, I'd really prefer not to say. I don't wish to get anyone in trouble," says Johnny.
"Well, Johnny, that's certainly admirable of you. Okay, you will have to say one hundred Hail Marys, and you will have to serve the altar for the next three Sundays for penance," says Reverend Flannigan.
"Okay, Father, thank you for your understanding."
"Yes, Johnny. Now you go home and be a good boy from now on," ends the Priest.
Johnny quietly leaves the confessional, goes outside, and down the street toward the school house where his is met by three of his friends.
One says, "I saw you come out of the church, Johnny. Did you do any good?"
"Yeah," says Johnny..."got two more names, my lads, two more names."
Walked a little further down the street coming upon Westminster Abby.
This is the burial place of many famous Englishmen.
I didn't go inside because, like the Orsay Museum in Paris, they wouldn't allow any photographs, even non-flash. Guy at the front told me it was out of respect for the Church. I told him the Church should respect my £12 ($18) and left.
I didn't go inside because, like the Orsay Museum in Paris, they wouldn't allow any photographs, even non-flash. Guy at the front told me it was out of respect for the Church. I told him the Church should respect my £12 ($18) and left.
Around the corner...Parliment
Point in fact: Outside a statue of Cromwell
Figuring Cromwell's place in Irish history is much easier. His attacks in 1649-50 amount to genocide. He is universally hated there to this day. My personal belief is he was the Pat Robertson of his age. The religious zealot willing to kill you for your "own good." I worry for my country about the zealous so-called Christian Right.
But, across the street from there are the "tent people," protesting Sri Lakan concentration camps (saying they are turning into extermination camps) and, among other things, Iraq and Afghanistan. The greatest protection of our freedoms is the ability of common (or uncommon) people to be able to protest like this. Agree with them, or not, this, like a free press, assures our freedoms. When they start "winning" in their attempt to stifle dissent, we are in trouble, whether they be from the "left," or the "right."
A statue of my favorite Englishman:
Winston Churchill
They celebrated victory in WWII in England today. Fittingly, I walked near 10 Downing and Whitehall watching the preparations for the celebration.
I thought this statue very appropriate. To my knowledge, the Brits are the only power to go to war in shorts...and pull it off. Anyone who could whip Rommel's Afrika Korps in shorts has got to be pretty damn good!
Further down the street I notice (I think) another suptle difference between the British and French.
When in Paris I never saw a public restroom in the underground. They did provide them upstairs in some places (see the Trocadero)...but not in the underground. I thought then, and still believe, that a wise policy; 1) it, eventually, "forces" them upside and, theoretically, increases revenues when they have to come "back down," and 2) keeping restrooms clean has got to be very expensive proposition in such places.
I was both surprised, and quite pleased, to see this statue of Abraham Lincoln in a square containing many statues of famous and well regarded Englishmen.
During this entire walk I was wending my way up toward the area of 10 Downing Street. Not to see the famous quarters of British Prime Ministers, but to visit the Churchill Museum and Cabinet War Rooms.
Upon entereing the museum I am confronted by this picture of Roosevelt and Churchill. I remember a couple of movie reel scenes of Roosevelt laughing heartily...but I do not remember ever seeing him laugh so freely.
Entering the museum one sees where Churchill spend almost six years of his life between 1939 and 1945.
The cabinet war room
I thought this commentary by Sir Alan Brooke, Chief of the Imperial Staff the most appropriate of all.
Churchill was a power. Truly one of those unique individuals in history. He is the personification of a saying of mine: Nothing of major value was ever accomplished by a reasonable man.
He was temperamental; critical of any bad performance, but beloved by all who served with him because they knew he was giving his all, and that they were in the presence of greatness.
In case you don't recognize it, cubicles were invented here.
The stenographers pool
A map in the map room.
The radio comm room
Churchill's room. His cot is on the left.
He also had "quarters" with Winnie underground next door in an area called the Annex.
Upon leaving the museum I skirt St. James Park.
Have I mentioned these folks know how to do gardening?
Walked down into the Soho area.
Then had a great little Chinese lunch in Chinatown
Took the train back to the hotel to relax a while. Then I went to a local pub for a couple of beers and a great hamburger. I really liked the pub...I was the only "tourist" in it. Watched a cricket match between England and South Africa and met a couple of really nice guys willing to try to explain it to me.
Nice evening.
It is almost like sitting on your shoulder...I will admit I prefer left over right (in the photos...to the left, the old, classic elegance, to the right, a monstrosity of steel and glass...I will bet on which lasts the longest).
ReplyDeleteThe grilled or fried omega 3 carrier looks pretty damn good to me.
I take a little exception to the "killing for your own good" in our country remark, as it is also the left, or progressives, moreso in a collective rather than a lone fringe nut, who are both violent and advocating additional violence.
My dream dinner party would include Winston (and Dorothy Parker and Florence King).
And, if there are local alternatives to the Big Green Starbucks sign, I would most certainly force a wean. Might take a day or three, though.
I like the parks. They give me a moment of rest and repose while thinking about which way to go to find the next adventure.
Exception noted. My concern stems from my belief that radical "progressives," as you call them, will never stand a chance in America. But the other side could scare (literally) up sufficient support.
ReplyDeleteBut, opinion...it's what makes the juke-box play.
Never regretted wasting a few quarters on a juke box.
ReplyDeleteI did not see any Pub pictures. What about the beer...
ReplyDeleteSalvador,
ReplyDeleteSorry for the tardy reply, but the answer to the question about the beer is: I drank it.