London/Dublin Day 2: Impressions Near and Far

Free of jetlag at last, we started our Sunday adventure at Trafalgar Square, planning to walk down Whitehall to Parliament Square before crossing to the South Bank and doing a scripted walk from in Gwen’s guidebook. Trafalgar Square used to be known for its flocks of pigeons, but that was before Mayor “Red Ken” Livingston declared war, banning their feeding and deploying several other measures to get rid of them. In their place, he’s put up a rather sad-looking Christmas tree (given by the Mayor of Oslo, Norway) and several hundred portable metal barricades. It doesn’t seem like a fair trade.

We made our way down Whitehall, stopping to wander through the gate into the Horse Guards Parade area facing the Admiralty building, then proceeding further down and sticking our cameras through the wrought-iron gate to get a clear picture up Downing Street. We reached Parliament Square and took a quick spin around to establish opening times for Westminster Abbey on Gwen’s return trip, then crossed the Thames via Parliament Bridge and started looking for someplace vaguely authentic to eat — problem is, this area is (of course) one of the most heavily-touristed parts of London. So we walked for about 15 minutes before seeing signs for Victoria Station, and guessing that maybe we’d have luck nearer someplace that served actual London commuters rather than wandering Americans.

We turned away from the river, walked about a quarter-mile and saw a sign for “Fish And Chips / Fried Chicken” on a storefront beneath the elevated tracks leading into the station, and decided to give it a try. Well, it got interesting when our drinks arrived and my 500-ml Coke bottle was labeled in the Georgian alphabet, and the food was undistinguished at best. But then we found the great part, the name: FISHCOTHEQUE.

With our confidence slightly shaken by the sketchiness of lunch, we returned to the riverside and eventually arrived at the Tate Modern, Britain’s premier modern art museum. Unfortunately for Gwen, who actually takes this stuff seriously, I don’t.

• Upon seeing some weird paintings and installations by several different German artists: “Well, if the choice with whacked-out Germans is between having their military destroy Europe and letting them do this, then by all means, do this.”
• Semi-regular shapes: “I drew this kind of thing in third grade when I had a spare sheet of graph paper.”
• Upon seeing an installation of construction gear and artifacts from when the original power station was renovated and turned into the museum: “When building a modern art museum, be sure to have a modern artist on hand — all you have to do is wait for him to say, ‘Hey, I like that,’ and boom, you’ve got an exhibit!”

While taking a break from snide commentary on the comfortable couches (!) provided on the second-floor concourse, I saw about my 10th Canadian flag attached to a tourist (whether sewn on a backpack, placed on a lapel pin, whatever) in the past two days. It’s been observed before that Canadians do this far more than virtually any other nation on Earth, and it usually seems intended as an “I’m not American!” marker (in fact, some guidebooks have advised Americans to co-opt the Maple Leaf themselves, for just this purpose, in anti-American environments). Canadians, don’t get me wrong — I like your country, and you guys generally seem pretty cool (Jean Chrétien aside) — but it’s unfortunate that so much of Canada’s national identity seems wrapped up in what it isn’t, rather than what it is. (Or, if the Canadian flag on a tourist’s backpack is just a simple patriotic symbol, why is it acceptable for you, but jingoistic if Americans do the same with our own flag?) In Ireland a few days later, a group of us eating in a pub were asked by an Irishman if we were Canadians. When we responded, “No, we’re Americans,” he was apologetic, and mentioned that he had to ask it that way first, because Canadians got really upset if they were asked the reverse. We laughed it off. It would be nice if Canadians could do the same — Canada is a perfectly respectable nation on its own, you guys don’t need the flaming underdog complex.

From there, we made our way toward the Imperial War Museum for what I expected might have been the reverse of the Tate Modern, in terms of our respective interest levels. Not so at all. The IWM dedicates the basement to exhibits on (in order) World War I, World War II, and the post-war/Cold War era, the ground floor to large stuff (Montgomery’s tank, an original WWII Jeep, etc.), and upper levels to rotating shows. In the two hours we had, we barely made it out of the basement, and that required us to practically run through the Cold War section. The exhibits themselves certainly give enough representation to the military details, but also fill in quite a bit of detail on what happened behind the lines — which helps the museum appeal to the less conservative among us. One interesting observation: both here and at the British Museum, there are several transparent donation boxes in which you drop your money through a slot. At the British Museum, they specifically request £3/$5/€5; at the IWM amounts are unspecified. At the British Museum, you see all three of those currencies heavily represented; at the IWM there are plenty of pounds and dollars, but in three donation boxes I saw a total of one €5 bill. I suppose that speaks pretty strongly to who comes to each museum.

Having reached dinnertime, we tubed back toward Tottenham Court Road and eventually found a reasonable pub. After the busy day we’d had, it was easy to turn in early; the next two days would be huge.

Next up: snow, the Tower, international relations, and Michael Moore.