Three window shots

San Francisco Bay
from the plane

Five days ago we began our return slog to Portugal with a one week layover in London, where we are at the moment.

Molly in the sky

Molly came with me this time, in my backpack. About 10 hours into the flight, the steward noticed her—gasp—then said, Oh my god! I thought it was a real dog! I assured him, she is.

London
from the bus last night
with reflections

We're creatures of habit so we're staying in a tiny flat near Finsbury Park again. There are grocery stores plus Turkish and Thai hole-in-the-wall restaurants near by, so we're set. Monday we head back to Portugal.

Edinburgh - Queens and Guillotines

We're in Edinburgh for the week. Small as it is, this city holds some important pieces of the puzzle like Mary, Queen of Scots who ruled Scotland from 1542 to 1567.

Standing in her private supper chamber in the tower of the Palace of Holyroodhouse, Mary and her tragic reign became disturbingly real. One March evening in 1566 she was dining there with friends including David Rizzio, her private secretary, when her husband Lord Darnley suddenly entered the room, sat beside her and slipped his arm around her back. Then Lord Ruthven, dressed in full armor, entered and announced to the Queen that Rizzio had offended her honor and should come with him. Understanding the situation, Mary ordered Lord Ruthven to leave. The rest, as they say, is history. A screaming Rizzio was dragged into the larger adjoining chamber, stabbed 56 times and tossed down the stairs. His body was buried soon after in an unmarked grave.


By William Allan - Guildhall Art Gallery, Public Domain, Link
Knowing she was the real target of the conspiracy, the Queen skillfully persuaded 21-year-old Darnley to abandon his alliance with the Lords. To insure succession of the monarchy to her unborn child, she needed him at the birth to confirm the child was his. Two days after Rizzio's murder, they escaped the palace together through an underground passage. Nine days later, Mary re-entered the city accompanied by three to five thousand troops and moved into the fortress of Edinburgh Castle to prepare for the birth of her son. Her enemies fled to England, everyone that is, but Lord Darnley. He stayed in Edinburgh and, over the next few months, seemed close to reconciling with Mary but many cross-currents moved below the surface. Eleven months after Rizzio's murder, the lodge where he was staying exploded. Darnley didn't die in the explosion. He and his valet were found dead in the orchard. Both appeared to have been strangled to death. Two and a half months after Darnley's death the Queen married the Earl of Bothwell, the man accused and acquitted of Darnley's murder. However, the intrigue and power games did not end there. A year later the Queen was forced to abdicate her throne to her infant son and flee to England where she remained prisoner of her cousin Queen Elizabeth I until her beheading 20 years later.

The National Museum of Scotland held another crossroads of dusty history and bloody reality for it was there we met The Maiden, Edinburgh's guillotine. We were strolling around, looking at medieval and renaissance artifacts . . . armor, swords, coin hoards, skeletons, carvings and the like when we came upon The Maiden. It stood apart from the rest of the collection like a forlorn and naked wraith trapped in the light of day. It was real like nothing else in the museum and so terribly out time and place. Looking up at it I felt like I was being sucked into a treacherous undertow. But back to the history part.

The Maiden

Public beheadings were so frequent during Mary's reign that in 1563 the official executioner's sword had worn out, forcing the city to rent one. It was then that James Douglas, the 4th Earl of Morton, suggested the city purchase The Maiden. The city magistrates liked the idea and the guillotine became Edinburgh's new official means of decapitation.

More than 150 people were publicly executed on The Maiden between 1564 and 1710. It even played a part in the drama surrounding Mary, Queen of Scots. James Douglas, the 4th Earl of Morton, the man who introduced the guillotine to the city, was (falsely?) convicted of participating in Lord Darnley's murder. Of course he denied it all, "art and part", but was executed anyway on 2 June 1581. Such is the way when leaders enjoy absolute, unchecked power. Douglas's corpse remained on the scaffold until being buried the next day in an unmarked grave. His head however, as a lesson for all, remained on a spike outside St Giles Cathedral for eighteen months.

Holyroodhouse is the official residence of the British monarchs in Scotland and, by tradition, Queen Elizabeth II spends one week there every year in the spring.

Night brings the fox

 This morning I lamented I hadn't seen a fox in London . . .

Nearly transparent fox

 but this evening there he was

graceful as a cat

checking out the neighborhood for scraps and rats.

Obviously his mum taught him
to look both ways before crossing.

For me, of course, it was love at first sight
followed by a series of blurry photos.

My street. My night.

A quick stop to mark perhaps the neighbor cat's poo?

Into the night

Then off into the night . . .

London but no foxes but a cat

I'm still waiting to see a fox or four in the backyard. M. Lee saw a mom and three juveniles when he was here in the spring so it's only fair but, so far, no foxes for me. The only critters who have graced the backyard of this airbnb is one American squirrel who eats the rose hips and the next door cat who drops by to poop.

Toledo for daggers

We're now launched on a 5.5 month stay in Europe. For the first three weeks my daughter and her family will be with us. Last week we stayed at an airbnb in Madrid. From there are three World Heritage sites within an hour of the city by train so it's an excellent base. Never mind the temperature hovered around 105° the entire time, the hottest in the city's recorded history, we visited a thousand year-old castle, 800 year-old cathedrals, 2000 year-old Roman walls, roads, and shrines stuffed with saints bones and the skulls of long dead Catholic Cardinals however, the big event was visiting Fabrica Zamorano, the shop of Mariano Zamorano, master sword smith of Toledo.

For just under $1000, Clark bought four daggers,
gifts for his two daughters, his wife, and one for himself.

Now we're in good old London where it's about 40° cooler and raining.

Stewart Lee and good-bye

Leicester Square Theatre - London

Last night we saw Stewart Lee at Leicester Square Theatre. A wonderfully outrageous fellow, I've been wanting to see him perform live for a few years now so this was a real treat. Tomorrow we leave London for the US thus ending this odyssey which began in London last July.

Angels on Regent Street - London

Firewords and another cemetery

4th of July Fireworks  -  Los Angeles
On the 4th of July flew from LA to London where we've been for the last few days, back in our old Finsbury Park neighborhood. This time we're much closer to our favorite halva place, Kofali Hot Nuts. The first day we bought a 2 lb block and have been working on it since. Also since arriving in London we've taken some good walks.

Lovely day in a London cemetery

For our first outing, needing a good walk to survive the stupor of  jet lag, we went to Kensal Green Cemetery. Nice place to visit. It's a charming mix of history, ruin and repair. Along with some 65,000 others, some English notables are laid to rest there including Charles Babbage, often referred to as the "father of the computer" and playwright and Nobel Laureate Harold Pinter.

Road's end

Quick catch up

We've been in London now for three weeks and I've barely made a note. The emphasis of this visit has been the National Gallery on Trafalgar Square. We went eight times, about four hours a visit, and saw everything. We've seen most of it before but after all the art in Italy, where the Renaissance began, we needed to take a another look at the Renaissance art here. So, done. And yes, it was different, more in context for one thing plus I had a better idea of who and what to look for.

Anyway, no time to go into details right now. I need to save my battery for Hampton Court. At the moment we're on the Overground headed there for a second look at well. For one thing, I want to get better photos of Henry's kitchen. Its fireplace alone is big enough to live in.

Pig in a Bentley

We've been in London for about a week now and today we went for a lovely five mile walk beside the Thames. Passing through a segment of a riverside park we met a woman on an outing with a gigantic, black and white, long haired pig and a little white dog. The pig was happily munching what looked like delicious spring grass and the dog was running around investigating everything. I'm not sure if the man leaning on the nearby black Bentley was her husband or her driver but he also smiled when I complimented her on the pig.

UK walkabouts

One of the wild
green parakeets of London

(Note: I've gone a little wild with the formatting this time so please leave a comment if this layout doesn't work on your screen. Thanks.)

Here's a list of the main places we've visited, in order since Bath, with a few photos and notes thrown in for good measure.

Chair and photo of
1960s "middling class" with
photo of parallel world look-alikes.

Parallel world look-alikes

Geffrye Museum of the Home is housed in a building that was  built in 1714 as an almshouse for the poor. A series of period rooms along the hall that is the spine of the building allow visitors a peek at the homes of the 'middling class' from 17th century to the present day. In the modern section, reduced to one photo and a chair, I came face to face with a 1960s version of myself and two of my children. The likenesses between them and us was mind-blowing, definitely time shifting, parallel world look-alikes.

The Queen's Horse Guard.
The horse didn't like it
and neither did the guard.

Buckingham Palace and, of course, no photos allowed. The tickets were pricey but seemed like a must-do, given that we've been hearing about the place all our lives. We were prepared for it to be a total bust but it wasn't. In fact, it basically  fulfilled my wildest childhood fantasy of what a palace should be. And, having recently visited Brighton Pavilion, we had fun identifying treasures Queen Victoria had taken from there. Also, the highly theatrical, over-the-top decor of the music room and other less formal chambers, designed by George IV's personal architect John Nash was, simply put, mind-blowing. It was also interesting to see photos of the Queen and Prince Philip with the Obamas and other notables in the room where the state dinners are held. As for the photo of Swami and the Horse Guard, don't blame him. I put him up to it. He was every bit as uncomfortable as the horse. It was stupid of me to get so close and the guard let me know it with a masterful withering glance. Blocks later, I still felt like an asshole.

The Reckless Sleeper
by René Magritte

Tate Modern - We both really enjoyed the Poetry and Dream exhibit. It had works from some of my favorite painters, like René Magritte. And then there was the inevitable black painting and the white painting, some garbage, a broken chair suspended from the ceiling, an unmade bed in a corner, and even two sacks of sand all posing as art. I could not, did not contain myself.

"Art"at Tate Modern
Unmade bed

Stuff "art"
Tate Modern, Britain

Our art crawl through Europe has led to some interesting discussions about the current state of art or "art". This morning M. sent me two good links to articles on the subject, one at 3quarksdaily and the other at Commentary Magazine, How Art Became Irrelevant. Both are definitely worth a read if you're interested in the subject.

Toeing the old
Prime Meridian line

Greenwich to see the new Prime Meridian Line as it has moved 330 ft (101 meters) to the east. The usual crowd of people was there lined up to be photographed straddling the old line where (we thought) East met West. Then we walked over to the  approximate new place where, using modern GPS technology, researchers have determined 0° longitude actually runs. According to London's Daily Mail, "it now cuts across Greenwich Park near a bin". Also we saw several deer and lots of crows, seagulls, magpies, squirrels, the lovely green wild parakeets, a grassy mound that's supposedly covering Roman ruins and walked the tunnel under the Thames.

Minerva contemplating the crows
in Greenwich Park

Swami and Rembrandt
at Kenwood House

Walked Hampstead Heath and visited Kenwood English Heritage House, a 17th-century country manor where we saw, among other paintings, a self-portrait by Rembrandt and works by Hals, Turner and Vermeer. Swami especially liked the Rembrandt and the Hals.




Winchester Cathedral  Of course, the cathedral is ancient and grand. Here we took the tour. Our guide, one of several volunteers, was wonderful. She delighted us all with fascinating, quirky details about the history of the cathedral. The whole town of Winchester is built on a peat bog so, over the centuries, the massive cathedral was slowly sinking into the ground. In the early 1900s, it was in danger of collapse so a deep-sea diver by the name of William Walker was hired to do the repairs. Walker's job was to go down below the cathedral's base and find solid ground. At that point, bags of concrete were lowered down to him and, every day for six years, he worked in the total and utter dark far below ground, building a foundation. One hundred years later, Winchester Cathedral still sits firm on the foundation he built and the head from his diver's suit, a photo and plaque telling the story hold a place of honor within.

Swami and Minerva enjoying a sunbeam
at Almshouse of Noble Poverty

The Hospital of St. Cross and Almshouse of Nobel Poverty is not a hospital in today's sense of the word but a medieval poor house also located in Winchester. Known as "England's oldest and most perfect almshouse", it still functions as established around 1135 by Henry de Blois, grandson of William the Conqueror. Noticing that we were a little underwhelmed by the grounds, one of the Brothers invited us to a tour of his quarters. He explained that being chosen to live at the Noble Almshouse depends "entirely on how you look, how you fit in. That's it". He started out at St. Cross as a porter and had been working there for about three years when a resident died and he was invited to become a Brother. I can see why. He was a gentleman, a singer and a member of the choir. He was also a cat lover. Several photos of his cat and cat decor brightened his tiny apartment. But the Brothers live a very simple life at the Noble Almshouse. They are not allowed pets so, these days, his beloved cat Effie lives with the Bishop. My memory of him is both sweet and sad.


Cambridge - King's College Chapel and Fitzwilliam Museum

King Henry VIII
in Cambridge

King's College Chapel was built by a succession of kings but Henry VIII finished it in 1515 and, for me, his presence overshadowed the rest. That's probably because I have fairly limited knowledge of English history. In any case, it is an amazing place though it seems more a tribute to kingly glory than heavenly. Ok, a massive Ruben's masterpiece hangs over the alter but the alter itself is otherwise quite plain. And I wonder if anyone has ever counted all the swords, crowns and other royal symbols chiseled into the towering walls, pillars and ceiling.

"At the Cafe" Degas - 1876
Fitzwilliam Museum

And then there's the mile high wooden screen that separates the nave from the alter Henry had installed to celebrate his marriage to Anne Boleyn. It's stained dark red brown, I am sad to report, by ox blood and, originally contained a carving of Anne's head and another of a woman hanging by her hair. In Henry's day, hanging a woman by her hair until it separated from her scalp was common punishment for I don't know what. M. Lee suggested perhaps for cooking a bad meal. The portrait of the woman hanging by her hair remains but Henry commanded the portrait of Anne's head be removed after he had her beheaded at the Tower of London.

The Fitizwilliam was nice but only a few pieces really stood out. "At the Cafe" was my favorite but, when it comes to Degas, I'm easy.

Me, Lee and Swami
on the Tames at Limehouse

Walked along Regents Canal to the Thames we were amazed to see all the narrow boats. Until now, we didn't know about the labyrinth of waterways running through the island. There are some 2200 navigable miles of canals and hundreds, if not thousands, of hand operated locks to move the narrow boats up and over hills on their way through the countryside at 2 to 4 miles an hour. Very cool if you're not in a hurry.

Frank and the walkie talkie

I'm trying to finish this while sitting at St. Pancras International. We're leaving England now and headed to Ghent, Belgium, where we'll be for the next week. Ok. M. Lee, Swami and Minerva are here with me but this morning I feel a bit the way my grandfather must have felt on his seven voyages around the world, alone and far far away.

Poetry Unplugged

Poetry Unplugged's cave

Poetry Unplugged is the only open mic I've read at in London. It's not because I like the room which is the tiny basement of the Poetry Cafe. Yes, it has a certain funky charm but it also gets very crowded, stuffy and extremely hot. And it's not because everything read at Poetry Unplugged, or any open mic, spoken word or slam event, is wonderful because it's not. It's because Poetry Unplugged is early enough, it's not held in a shitty, noisy bar and, for the most part, the people who show up to read there are not pretentious dicks who swagger through their own reading then leave.

The credit goes to the MC, poet Niall O'Sullivan. He does a wonderful job of keeping things interesting, fair, fun and moving. That said, included below is a review of the event which, to my delight and his credit, Niall posted on his own blog.

One of the worst evenings I’ve ever endured was at an event called Poetry Unplugged. About 50 people were crammed into a sweaty basement, all perched expectantly on orange plastic chairs. How nice, I thought, to see such an enthusiastic audience for poetry. As one figure after another leapt up to read their doggerel, the truth dawned. They were all here not to listen, but to perform. They would suffer each other's poetic rants, but only for their moment of glory. A woman in a red wig recited a poem about her vagina. A man in a blue jumper did a lengthy lament on lost love. It was a very long night.

Duh. Of course people are there to read but it's not the feeding frenzy this nube describes. Generally people are pretty open to each other at readings but come on! Why wouldn't that include a little quid pro quo? Yet, for all the years I've read at these things, I am still prone to what is sometimes breath stopping shyness. At the reading two weeks ago it hit me full force. By my second poem I basically caught up with my breath but that night I never fully got into the words.

Uncle Monkey, Ugly Bear and Clarence
discussing my NaNo manuscript

This week I was more at ease. The difference? Before reading I acknowledged my nervousness to the audience. Simple, right? No. When I got to the mic it was all I could do to glance at people and whisper, "I'm really nervous". Still it was enough to break the tension. It also helped I read Jazz which is more a performance piece than anything else.

I extracted it from the NaNoWriMo "novel" I wrote a few years ago. In fact, thus far these four paragraphs are all I have used from that entire 50,000 word manuscript. No worries. I may even write a second one some November. I loved banging through a month of crazy intensity, 2000 words a day, the world be damned, though no doubt it helped that I had zero expectations and no plot. I naturally share the NaNo point of view, "No plot? No Problem!". 

The cafe is now closed until the first of September. We leave London in about a week so that's it for me this time around.

Time travels and so did the Romans

Growing up in America, old was anything over 100 years. Over the last ten+ years I have had to seriously revise my thinking. But nothing has so changed my point of view as this trip, beginning in Spain where we saw early human artifacts dating back 1.3 million years.

We were not invited in for tea

Last week we visited four more historic sites just outside of London. The first was Canterbury, an area that has been inhabited since prehistoric times.

The Candle marks were Thomas Beckett
was murdered by followers of King Henry in 1170.

Of course, like every country around or near the Mediterranean in the first century, one day the Romans showed up and built their customary grid, theatre, forums and baths. By 597, Canterbury even had the beginnings of its Catholic abbey.

Canterbury Cathedral today

And, of course, about 1000 years later (1534), Henry VIII kicked the Catholics out, appointed the first Archbishop of Canterbury and made Canterbury the Rome of his newly minted Church of England. These days the cathedral and the entire town is a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

Paw prints and a thrown stone?
Did the potter  throw the rock at the dog?

Another day we took a train to St. Albans, not a UNESCO site, but like most of Europe, built on Roman ruins. On a walkabout, we came upon the Verulamium Museum and what a pleasant surprise. It's small, but very well curated, and full of treasures from Roman Verulamium and medieval St. Albans upon which the St. Albans of today is built. My sentimental favorites were the tile and potsherds with paw prints left by dogs when the clay was still wet, about a 1,000 years ago. Judging by the deep impression of this dog's paw, I'd say the drawing accompanying the sherd is pretty accurate.

Click to read
St. Albans side of the story

Wikipedia, generally my go-to site for unbiased information, let me down here. Their mention of Cardinal Wolsey's church reforms is shockingly different than the detailed account displayed on a wall inside St. Albans cathedral. There, in plain and bitter language, a much different tale is told.

Swami and some old acquaintances

On the brighter side, the 800 year-old street market had the purse I've been looking months for and only £10. Plus Swami ran into some old acquaintances though I wasn't too sure about the middle guy.

Graves in the gloom

We also spent an afternoon wandering around one of London's "Magnificent Seven" cemeteries, Abney Park. Opened in 1840, compared to the Romans, it's new but the graves are disappearing beneath a wilderness of nettles, blackberry bramble, ivy and trees right in the middle of London. It's deliciously forlorn. I loved it. M. Lee not so much.

Village of Bath
the low, roofless building
without a roof is the Roman baths

And lastly we visited the village of Bath, so named for the thermal hot springs baths established there in the first century by, you know, the Romans. Except for the occasional newer home, Bath remains as it was rebuilt in the 18th century, a peaceful little Georgian village so, along with the Roman baths, the entire area is a World Heritage Site.

Romans bath at Bath,
one room among many

Being such accomplished engineers, the Romans get credit for developing the springs although this was a sacred site for the Celts almost a thousand years earlier. But for all their Roman expertise, even at the sacred Bath, the occasional passing critter managed to leave a paw print or two in the tile.

Swami and Minerva enjoying a Roman bath

The Verulamium Museum, St. Albans

And, of course, the brilliance of the capstone is that the arch needs no mortar yet will stand for a thousand years.

Windy Brighton

Yesterday was Kathy's last full day here so we went to Brighton to see the palace and today she leaves for Moscow then back to the States. Brave lady, 85 and traveling alone.

Kathy and M. at the Royal Pavilion

Brighton was windy as hell but, OMG, the royal pavilion was wildly and insanely extravagant. George IV drained the kingdom building it then, basically, ate himself to death there. Sorry, again, photos not allowed but you can get an idea here. Stingy policy, if you ask me.

Minerva at the beach

In any case, Minerva loved the beach.

.

Houses of Parliament - no photos please

I was wrong. We ordinary people did not get to run around the Houses of Parliament snapping selfies willy-nilly.

They only allow photos in the great hall so, on the way out, we snapped a couple.

Anyway, what little we saw of the place was quite impressive, arcane and antiquated.

Although the House of Lords is currently being rocked by a very juicy scandal complete with cocaine, prostitutes and salacious gossip compliments of Lord Sewel, or Lord Sewer as one journalist called him. Lord Sewel is of the last of the 90 some hereditary Lords still in the House of Lords and has lived down to our lowest expectation of aristocracy, proving himself to be yet another pompous, clueless dickhead.

Another cold day in London

Me and Swami
warmer days in Segovia

Another gray cold day in London. Accuweather, which "guarantees superior accuracy" promised it wouldn't rain today. But I just checked again, you should always check again when you're using Accuweather, and now it says "rain starting in 65 minutes" and counting. Rain with a high of 67°. I'm gobbling my oatmeal and swigging down my coffee. We leave in 20 minutes. We're walking over, picking up M's mum because today we're taking her to tour the Houses of Parliament. At certain times, they allow us ordinary people to swarm the place with our cameras to do our selfies in front of all the famous statues. Swami is coming. He loves that shit. Well, actually he just humors me.