So this is how my London photojournal begins. For those you just joining us, I spent the first four days of my trip to England in Manchester, boyhood home of Morrissey and the city that spawned the Smiths, the Stone Roses, Oasis, and Joy Division, to name a couple musical luminaries. But I didn't stop being a music tourist, no! I've gone all over the place in terms of musical faves - my favorite hard rock band is Led Zeppelin, and my favorite pop band of the '80s and '90s is Duran Duran. But my first musical love was the Beatles. I've been enamored with them since the tender age of 8. I think you can guess where in London I just had to go for my Beatles pilgrimage.
I decided to save my sanity and my sore back, paying 20 quid (including tip) for a taxi ride directly to Manchester Airport. (For those of you money-conscious souls, the Metrolink to Manchester Piccadilly is cheap, and the train to the airport is less than 3 quid. But there is a ton of walking from the train station to the departure gates, which makes for tough going if you have heavy luggage or can't get around very well like me that day.) Considering I got injured and beaten up the night before at Bridgewater Hall, I was glad that I had the lucky foresight to book a taxi the night before I had left for the Morrissey gig. My cabbie was quite nice; like anyone else I met in Manchester (except the Chinese, go figure), he was interested in what I was doing in Manchester, and was surprised to hear that I'd been there to see Morrissey. It wasn't until I got to London that I finally sussed the difference between sounding like a Northerner versus a Londoner. Northerners sound more sincere and they don't talk as fast, so I don't have to say, "I'm sorry, can you repeat that?"
My flight to London from Manchester was uneventful and much more relaxing than the flight into Manchester. I say the flight was fine. I admit I did not have that much money on me, because I figured I'd find an ATM at Heathrow and get my money that way. But I hadn't counted on the price of an extension ticket (to the 7-day rail/bus pass I'd bought online) being more expensive than I thought. Luckily, I just needed to get myself together, and a nice couple helped me figure out a tube ticket into town. Getting around an airport with luggage is a piece of cake. If you look hard enough, you can find a lift to get on so you don't have to try and get your luggage down the stairs. Trust me, it's worth an extra couple minutes to wait for a lift or walk around finding one so you don't hurt yourself. Why do I say this? Once you're IN London, you're on your own. (DO NOT make the mistake I made which was to take the stairs out of the Covent Garden station, for example: 192 steps. I couldn't figure out why everyone was waiting for the lift!)
So that day I arrived in London, I said to myself, no biggie. I'll switch from the Piccadilly line to the Bakerloo at Green Park. Green Park is where George and Ringo shared a flat in the early days of the Beatles, why not? Getting off the train was fine. It was trying to negotiate the stairs, walk a hell lot around the station to try and figure out WHERE the Bakerloo line was, and then go down stairs again to catch a different train. How I managed with my chest hurting like hell after getting pounded in Manchester the night before, I don't know. I was told, however, that it is a bad idea to take a black cab from the airport into the city, as it may be upwards of 50 quid and you may get stuck in traffic. Later in this journal I will tell you about the semi-heart attack I had the day I left because it appeared my journey back to the airport had just become impossible. Well, nearly.
For my 6 days in London, I stayed at the Premier Travel Inn County Hall. One of my coworkers had suggested this hotel and it was really a find. It was more expensive than some of the other places I'd read about (located way out in High Street Kensington, Earl's Court, or Victoria) but the location couldn't have been any more splendid. About a block away was the site of an informal gig of the Smiths that my friend Gary attended over 20 years ago. Across the street were a Italian sit-down place, a noodle shop, a Yo! Sushi (mmmm delish), a decently priced cybercafe, and a 24-hour minimart where I bought water and soda. It was a short walk to the London Eye, the Jubilee bridge, and Big Ben. Wow. For any Londoners out there, here's your chance to laugh. Americans only see Big Ben and the Eiffel Tower in pictures. But when you're there and Big Ben (oh, sorry, the tower that holds Big Ben, for Big Ben is actually the bell in the bell tower) is looming in the distance, but then you get up close...it's like wow, I can't believe I am here. The hotel was located such that it was in-between Westminster and Waterloo (no Abba jokes, please), so every morning I got up, said hello to Big Ben, caught a glimpse of all the cute London blokes in suits outside the Houses of Parliament, and jumped on the tube. It was close enough that if you wanted to, you could take the bridge over to Covent Garden and Leicester Square without having to take the tube. I just found taking the tube easier for where I wanted to go.
Finding the hotel was a bit of a struggle because I hadn't realized there was a South Bank exit I should have taken from the tube, not the York Road exit. So I probably walked an additional 3 long blocks for no good reason other than I was lost, and because Waterloo is also a major train station (and therefore great to stay nearby if you plan to daytrip out of the city), there were so many travelers I couldn't really ask anybody anything. I was exhausted by the time I got to the hotel - thankfully though, my room was ready and I could check in right away, instead of having to come back later like I had to do in Manchester. So after dropping off my stuff and getting washed up a bit, I gave Jennie (a longtime Duranie pal of mine) a call to let her know I was in town and that we were still on for 7 for supper that night. I'd be meeting up with Taylor (bass player for the band Kiria) and Kim, two other Duranie girls I've known for quite a while too.
Here's a Ryman's on Regent Street, near the tourist information centre. Well, you know what Morrissey said about blotting paper. Ooh! I get pretty worked up around stationery too.
But what to do for a couple hours? I decided I better stop by the the tourist information centre (Lower Regent Street) to pick up whatever I could. London is one huge city, and I thought I needed all the help I could get. I recommend getting a "London Walks" pamphlet as recommended by Rick Steves. If you want to book a time for the London Eye, this is where you do it. Also, if you need advice on how to get out of town for a day trip, these are the people to ask. Very professional. So after I got a huge bag of stuff to take back to the hotel, I thought, hrm, let me see if I can find the Smiths print by Stephen Wright in the National Portrait Gallery. So I walked a little bit down to Trafalgar Square and was taken aback by this pastel artist who had "set up shop" right outside the steps of the National Gallery. She had recreated "The Last Supper" entirely with pastels on the sidewalk. You wouldn't believe it unless I showed it to you:
I'm not into art, but I thought it was breathtaking. Wish I could be as one thimbleful as artistic.
Locals rest and people-watch by the fountain in Trafalgar Square. Note: dangerous double-decker bus in the upper left! Panic on the streets of London?
St. Martin's in the Fields, which as you see was under refurbishment and some major scaffolding. What
an eyesore :P I had these grandiose ideas about that place because my dad was an avid classical music fan and many of his symphonic CDs had the description "St. Martin
in the Fields" on the binding. So like Big Ben, I was going "wow!" just being next to it. No photo of Nelson's Column because of similar scaffolding.
Oscar!
I find it amusing that a punk with a purple mohawk is in this picture. What are the chances?
posted 12/04/06
London photojournal index
