Over and Out

With the bass pumping through the floor of the eight-bed dorm literally causing my head to shake on the pillow Friday night, I questioned the sanity of trying to fall asleep before the bar below turned off its music. While the music had been discernible on the three previous nights, Friday nights apparently demand a further forty or so decibels. Eventually I did fall asleep, but I didn't wake up this morning feeling well rested.

After my lazy day on Tuesday in London, basically just puttering around Greenwich parks and daydreaming, I started my Wedneday sightseeing with a vengeance: A walk under the Thames and then west along the northern bank to Tower Bridge, then a tour through the Tower of London, checked out The Monument to those lost in the Great Fire of 1666, attended the evensong service at St. Paul's Cathedral, walked past The Globe Theatre, the London Eye, and finally Big Ben at the Place of Westminster. I estimate I covered about fifteen kilometers by foot, and the next day was more of the same as I climbed to the upper dome of St. Paul's for a fantastic view of the city, and then ambled through the National Gallery and the Tate Modern.

I was glad that admission to the museums was free, for while I enjoyed the National Gallery, I doubt I will ever be able to drum up any reasonable enthusiasm for modern art. Installations, like a Volkswagen van in front of a herd of sleds, each with a block of fat and a roll of felt, were interesting, though not something I could appreciate given my unfortunately bourgeoisie view of art. I did get to see my first Jackson Pollock though, which was special for me. Pollock is an old nemesis from a college art class where I had been assigned to write a paper about his life and work. This was after the teacher had been shocked by my treasonous assertion that his work would not be what I would consider art. I was one of this teacher's least favorite students for the rest of the year, just ahead of the guy who compared Monet's haystacks to finger-painting. I thought that seeing Pollock's paintings might change my opinion of him, but I still think it's crap. Who says with education comes appreciation?

At the end of Thursday to headed to Trafalgar Square where a stage had been set up to celebrate - you guessed it - Canada Day! The festivites had been going on all day, including a ball-hockey tournament, poutine, mounties posing for pictures and numerous travel booths extoling the beauty of Canada. I found a spot to sit as the concert full of imported Canadian talent started (Hawksley Workman, Sarah Harmer, Jully Black - and some others I didn't recognize) and afterwards made my way back over the now-familiar transit route to Greenwich after another long day.

I spent yesterday basically lazing around; going for a short walk and then polishing off a novel and starting another, and I expect to do more of the same over the next two days before my flight on Tuesday morning. I do want to see the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace - nothing more touristy than that I know, but hey, I embrace it - and there are a couple of more things to do, but nothing pressing. That being said, this will be last post from me outside of Canada - thanks for following along with what I am afraid were often rather rambling pieces of prose over the last six months, and if you're reading this from Canada, see ya there soon.