Black Saturday

It is a cold, cloudy London that anticipates Easter. Streets were full with people getting preparations for Easter and two day holiday with markets closed.  I slept until 9 this morning--no idea how or why.  After coffee, I decided to take the #46 Bus to Notting Hill Gate and walk through the famous Portobello Market--the largest antique and fresh food market in EU.

Well, large it was and not for me.  What was I thinking?  Crowds, not high on my list of fun.  Shopping?  Even lower on my list of enjoyable activities.

The roads are torn up with detours and I wandered for awhile looking for a Bus stop for # 46, #18 or #24.

Instead, I came across the Paddington Arm of Regent Canal.  Students had mentioned taking canal rides, but this was the first sighting I had.  For 5 squid, "seniors" get a 90 minute ride through the Grand Canal past the London Zoo and on to Camden Town.

If I have not mentioned it before, Camden Town is a 2012 version of 1960 Haight Ashbury. And how iconic are these?

On a nicer day, it would be fun to take the waterway to Islington.  The chill today was too serious.  After a sandwich (salted beef--which we would call corn beef) and coffee, I came home and took a 3 hours nap.  What is up with all this sleep? I did not accomplish anything on the "to do" list except answer student emails.

Tomorrow I meet Shannon at Paddington Station, on the Heathrow Express platform at 8:30am.  My job is to keep her awake until at least 5pm so that the jet lagged tourist can begin getting sync with London time. She left home this morning to catch an 8am flight in Portland to Dallas.  Her Dallas flight is about 11 hours in coach.

We have reservations for an early dinner at the neighborhood gastropub--Wells Tavern with its divine chef.

I expect Shannon to crash soon after dinner, leaving me to do laundry and other trivial endeavors that were neglected today.

Shannon has packed an Easter Egg Color kit, so I get to do EGGS, Eggs,   Eggs and more EGGS!!!


Lucky me.  We'll be eating lots of omelettes if I can find a sharp enough tool to blow out the yolks and whites.  This girl can only face about 3 boiled eggs a month--so I need intact egg shells for the project--something I use a sheesh kebob skewer to accomplish at home.  This little flat has no skewers.  There is a pair of children's scissors (blunt edge) and a corkscrew in the utility drawer-- so it will be an experiment.
Happy Easter to all.

Maundy Thursday, April 5th

Yesterday’s lecture in British Life and Culture was not what I expected, but it was brilliant!  The focus was the influence of American jazz and R&B music, iconic American cinema stars, and fashion on British post WWII culture.  


The American influences that spawned the Beatles, Rolling Stones, David Bowie were more mainstream here than in the States and, in turn, influenced American pop culture.  Drawing on Paul Gilroy’s the Black Atlantic, the lecturer drew together diverse cultural influences to weave a narrative using music clips and photos.  The photos and music he used to make his argument were fantastic.  


His nuanced understandings of race in the US blew me away.  And, his tribute to Chess Records was really smack dead on. He played Howln Wolf’s 1954 Smokestack Lighting  which did not hit the charts in the US for over 15 years, although it was a hit here in 1956 released on Pie label.   Then Justin played the Stone’s 1964 hit that appropriates an inferior imitation of Howl’n Wolf which hit the US charts as #5. 

He documented in photos examples of American jazz artists, like Theloneious Monk’s, whose fashion outfits during their stays in London and Paris of the late 1940’s were imitated by the working class subcultures in Britain in the 50’s and 60’s--look at this photo and think about the Teddy Boys.

Ending with Amy Winehouse—who cab driving father had extensive vinyl collections of American jazz and R&B--and Adele, the lecture was a real treat.  Justin used graphics and music very effectively, too.  Interesting how Black R&B and jazz were accepted in British homes from 1930’s on, but had to be repackaged by white, British  artists in the 1950’s before becoming widespread US commodities. 


He also showed how glamour actresses, like Marilyn Monroe, created a great frenzy and following in UK  that compared to Beatlemania in the U.S.  She was mobbed in London and began the re-image-ing of femininity in the UK. He highlighted the importance that Jean Seberg's career and demise at the hand of the FBI impacted Britain deeply.

Same for the "outlaw" images of Brando and Dean.

A scene from the Wild Ones

 A photo of "Rockers" in East London

I loved his examples of the hybrid nature of US and British music and fashion scenes--especially the re-working of gender ala David Bowie and then Madonna (who appropriated British Goth outfits).

With just two weeks of classes left, it is impossible to ignore the sand running through the hourglass.  We are all super busy with end of semester tasks: students cramming for finals and writing papers, Joanne & I grading until our minds are numb. 

We are at the point in the trip which is like a luxurious Christmas morning where all the preparations have made things just so; enjoyable, but the moments to bask any longer stopped being an option a few minutes ago—there are things that must be done, places where we’ll be scattering to, and our tomorrows won’t be at all the same.  There is a twinge of sadness afoot—hastened by the departure next week of all the other London Consortium students and faculty returning to Milwaukee, Denver, and Laramie.  We, CSU students and faculty, are a week behind. Watching them wrap up makes our leave-taking more pronounced as well as prolonged.

Of course, there are pledges to come back—do it again.  Some of us will, but most won’t. And when we do, it can’t be the same.  So there is a clinging grasp at the last walk through the National Gallery; the anticipated nostalgia for the corner sandwich shop and the crème yogurt from Guernsey herds.

The quick bite at Nando’s (Peri peri chicken flame grilled Portugese style) which was a convenience, morphs into a cherished symbol of the casual experience of London. Yesterday, with only 20 minutes to spare and a completely empty stomach, I grabbed the African jambalaya off the Nigerian catering truck before dashing off to BCL class—that will never happen at home and that iconic truck parked in front of the British museum every weekday is not likely be there in a year or so.  So it is those fleeting, idiosyncratic experiences that have combined to make this our London trip.  

Like everything else that matters in life, it is in the small moments and the seemingly insignificant trivia that take on significance in the imagination.  The bricolage of habits, words, mannerisms and memories contribute to how London has changed who we are as well as who we imagine ourselves to be.

So, last evening, I coped with the weather and anticipatory nostalgia for London by taking a hot tub in this cold flat for a quick jolt of heat—while waiting for the heat to come on. Tucked under a down comforter, I buried my head in another Adam Dalgiesh novel.  And I had a fretful sleep with nightmares (NB: don’t read about murder at bedtime) and strange juxtaposition of people and things I will be happy to see at home.

We had a good discussion in class today after term projects that varied from all right to very good.  The air is damp, the temperature COLD  (high of 41 F/low of 30F). 

I knew that Good Friday was a big deal in this country where the State recognizes Anglican religion—in fact, religion is taught in schools here as a matter of course.  Banks, grocery, buses, etc. will be closed or on reduced hours and service.  What I did not “get” was the fact that Easter Monday is also a Bank holiday meaning many things will be closed.  So, I am off to grocery shop since Shannon arrives on Sunday morning to our Oregon-like weather.  That will be good to have her here for the week and should prevent me brooding more about the beginning of the end.

Have a special day tomorrow—it also happens that Passover and Good Friday fall on the same day this year—Shabot Shalom! 

And, have a joyous Easter holiday.

Rainy April day in London

The cold and rain have returned with no subtle start.  A twenty degree daytime drop, a thirty degree nighttime drop and wet waters dripping from the sky.  Still, there are signs of Spring and the birds have been particularly vocal today and fretting from tree to tree with much conversation.

These blossoms grace the walkway near the university.  I sent the class out in assigned small teams today after a lecture on cooperation, competition and conflict.  Assignment: collect as many photo documents of public art as your team can in 3 hours.  Post on Blackboard with answers to prompts about human dynamics and how we deal with conflict in groups.  Winning group gets 25 points extra credit.  They were, therefore, motivated. One group has 273 photos in 3 hours which I will review when they uploads are complete.

The discussion should be interesting because I deliberately assigned team to break up those most familiar with each other.  We will review how teams came up with a strategy under a deadline and how members solved conflicts.
I was wondering if anyone would figure out that all 200 eggs from the Great Hunt have been relocated to Covent Gardens so I took a stroll over and did not see one of my students.  Opportunity missed.  That could have been a big yield in a short time.  I guess it is like the Rose Parade Floats going to Victory Park after New Years Day.
I did, however, get more photos of the eggstraordinary ones.

On the walk from the tube this afternoon, I watched a most interesting battle between two pairs of magpies building nests in adjacent trees.  There was much scolding going on, squawking, and lots of dashing about among the four birds.

A mother with a buggy and a little preschooler stopped, too.  She was teaching him this rhyme about magpies:

One for sorrow

Two for joy;

Three for a girl, four for a boy;

Five for silver, six for gold;

Seven for a secret never to be told;

Eight for a wish

Nine for a kiss

Ten for a bird better to miss.

The children here have rhymes I have never heard before including this ditty:

"Oranges and Lemons" say the bells of St Clements...(the jingle goes through all 17 churches of central London ending with:

"Old Father Baldpate" say the slow Bells of Aldgate

"You owe me Ten Shillings" say the Bells of St. Helen's
"When will you Pay me?" say the Bells of Old Bailey
"When I grow Rich" say the Bells of Shoreditch
"Pray when will that be?" say the Bells of Stepney
"I do not know" say the Great Bell of Bow
Gay go up and gay go down
To Ring the Bells of London Town

And, I realize one of the loveliest sounds in London is the hourly ringing of the neighborhood church bells.  It does not matter where one walks, on the hour and halves the chimes ring out.

That was also a sound of my childhood--hearing the Mission bells and stopping at noon--even in the middle of jumping double dutch--to kneel for the Angelus prayer with little knees sticking into that knotty asphalt hoping that those three Hail Mary's would end soon.

The bells were lovely, kneeling on anything but tile--not so much so.

I am tired, but not tired of being here.  As Aneejay often quotes Samuel Johnson: "If one is tired of London, one is tired of living."  True that.

I wish I was preparing Passover Seder for my friends--Susan, Vicente--that means your family and mine.  How odd that it falls on Good Friday this year.  So I could not have served brisket on Good Friday--ah, spared a dilemma. 

Sending good wishes for the week to all.

Palm Sunday; April Fool's Day

The weather has improved since yesterday and I realized that a couple of the photos from the park tour yesterday did not make it in the blog.  So, first things first.  The bird sculpture in Regent’s Park is so appropriate—given how the birds seem to “own” the park.

Second, one of the recurring thoughts I had walking through the parks yesterday was the early leafing out of trees.  

It reminded me of the Robert Frost poem: Nothing Gold can Stay.

In this photo of early green on a tree looking gold, something is lost--but in person it is golden.

Here is Robert Frost’s poem:

Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

Sunday

Set out this morning for Stockwell Station and met up with an underground graffiti artist and two Aussie photographers for a tour of street art.  It turns out that I didn’t need the raincoat as the sun stayed out all day.  First stop was a housing project where the sunken, outdoor basketball court is one of London's only  legal graffiti sites.  Consequently, there were painters working and most of the art is covered over within a week.

I love the basketball metal net in the photo of the artist at work

There were people doing drawings, but I really liked the wall ramp leading into the sunken bb court.

Hopped back on the tube for a ride to Old Street and began a dodgy journey.  I took over 60 photos and could easily have taken more, but didn’t trust the surroundings to unzip my bag and remove Ipad2.  At some points we were shoulder to shoulder 10 people wide in alleys.  Here are some of my favorites.

The African boy below:

This Belgian artist does animal in black and white all over SE London and Paris (I am told--we will see).

Saw much of his work, but I have way too many to post.

These are some of my other favorites from today

The three dimensions of this worker on a ladder are SO realistic!

And, as far as realism goes, here is another lovely one.

Most of these "canvases" will be painted over in a matter of days or weeks.

And this one showed up two days ago on a side street off Brick Lane and reminded me of Trayvon Martin:

The work that goes into these in the dark of night and their transitory nature is amazing.  Another favorite:

Up close by C215

Insect by Old Street Station.

.  

There were so  many that it made me weary.  Plus, our guide introduced us to some artists we met along the way like Gold Spike, Candy Smile, Tony and Citizen Kane.  Interesting morning.

The Shoreditch area in Hackney is an artist village with galleries, vintage clothes stores, bars, restaurants, coffee shops, and a strange mix of retro house ware shops.  All cool, Lots of the people wear costumes making it hard to find where Hoxton stops and Shoreditch starts.  After three hours, my legs were worn out and I could not look at another piece of artwork or graffiti.I do have, however, hundreds of photos.

I came home to do laundry after a lovely supper of chicken walnut salad at the local Cote.  Thinking I would venture out again was pure folly as I am tired.  So, after a hot bath I will resume my read of an old PD James novel and prepare for a day of writing tomorrow.

Adieu