What a Drag

We see two shows while we're in London. One is Matilda, on the West End, which is fabulous. And the other is a lot less expensive -- a real British tradition: the Christmas pantomime. Not pantomime like the French guy in white face who can't get out of the imaginary box, but rather a goofy, bastardized musical version of an old classic tale, always starring a man in drag. As if there weren't too few parts for women anyway. Sigh. Completely by coincidence, the despised school matron in Matilda, Miss Trunch Bull, is also played by a man in drag.

 

 

 

Somehow, Gigi ends up onstage for a small audience-participation portion of the show, which of course she loves. The rather laaaarge woman in the bonnet to her left is the star of the show in drag. That might be pretty self-evident.

 

 

We enjoy both shows to some extent: Matilda is excellent, and the girls and I love it. Anthony doesn't love it because he doesn't see it, since his general opinion of musicals is that he'd rather have his toe-nails removed one by one (although he did get dragged to and admit really liking the musical "Wicked", so there are exceptions). The girls thoroughly enjoy the pantomime, but both Anthony and I suffer through it to some extent. I think that's one of those traditions that's really fun for children, and really nostalgic if you've grown up with it, but otherwise, it's just a pretty low-brow slapstick musical. Glad to have done it once, I suppose.

But even the pantomime shines in comparison with what we consider the biggest drag of the trip: watching the changing of the guards at Buckingham Palace. I knew going in it wouldn't be my favorite, having suffered through it once before, about 15 years ago. But I did not say anything negative to cloud the opinion of the rest of my family; they just came to the same conclusion themselves. A whole lot of waiting around, jostling with crowds (and we even had a fine view in the front), and -- in our case -- stomping to keep warm, for a bit of pomp and circumstance. I think we would have prefered more pomp, and less circumstance. 

 

 

 

But the good news is that now we can all say we've been there, done that, and we don't ever need to do it again. As for the rest of London, we feel like there is still quite a lot here we haven't covered. Luckily, we have many friends here and feel sure we'll be back. Until then, ta-ta!

 

 

Towers and Bridges

A day at the Tower of London, and the Tower Bridge, which is not to be confused with the London Bridge, whose pre-1967 version has been sold and transported to Laka Havasu City, Arizona. And no, I'm not joking.

The tower itself is interesting, and not nearly as tower shaped as one would expect. Still the historic significance is impressive, as is the 1078 construction under our good old friend, William the Conquerer. One of my only disappointments is not that I can't get the guard to laugh, but that I can't the girls to do silly dances in public to try to make him laugh. I myself go for the worst possible version of the robot, with not so much as a smirk from the guard. However, I have succeeded in mortifying my children.

 

  

 

The exhibits are very knight-in-shining-armor, and there's even an artistic dragon to drive home the point.

There's no question it's a very boy-centric spot, though the girls and I certainly do find it interesting. We do not see the crown jewels, because the line is just way too long. But we do see some "crown jewels" if you get my not-so-subtle drift. I take these two photos, one inside the museum and one at a snack shop just outside, for my nephews and brothers-in-law, because if there's one thing I know about boys, it's that they never outgrow potty humor.

 

 

Jolly Old Friends

Suffering through an extreme cold, we watch some of London's New Year's Parade -- which turns out to be very much like an American parade, including many bands, cheerleaders, and baton majorettes visiting from the US. Still, it has a little English flair every once in a while.

 

We aren't there long before I suddenly hear my name called out, and since the only people I know who live in London are out of town for the break, and the only other people I know in London are the husband and two children I'm with, at first I can't imagine who's doing the calling. Then I look up and see some neighborhood friends from San Francisco, whom we first met when Gigi and their oldest boy were two year olds toddling around the playground equipment together. And now they're sitting there, eating sushi together in London. Crazy.  

 

 

And just in case you're wondering, accidentally running into people halfway around the world is, indeed, quite normal. For me. I have accidentally run into American friends in Taiwan, Japan, India, France, and probably several other countries I can't remember right now. For example, I've run into more than 5% of my high school class overseas; physically bumped into one of my best junior high school friends from Minneapolis in Tokyo; seen two different university friends within 24 hours of arriving in Paris on two separate trips; and run into the same acquaintance in two different countries. So when I hear my named called out in foreign countries, I should think it's par for the course, but for some reason it actually never seems anything less that a mind-blowing coincidence!

Entry Surprise

You never know what's going to happen at the entrances in London. On one end of the spectrum, you have the Victoria & Albert, and the Museum of Natural History, and pretty much all the other fabulous art, history, and national museums. If it's the quality and grandeur of the Met, it's free. Special exhibits may cost you extra, but otherwise you just walk on in with nothing but a bag security check and a nod.

 

 

Then there are the churches: St. Paul's and Westminster Abbey, where the admission fee is approximately $45 per adult, and that's not an exaggeration.

 

 

But what bugs me most about the admission fee is that once you're inside the churches, they tell you not to take any photos out of respect for the fact that it's a "working church." When all 100 of the people I can see in the churches are walking around with the audio guides (which, thank goodness, don't cost any extra) and have just paid $45 each for admission, I can't say I feel like I'm really being culturally or religiously insensitive by taking surreptitious photos. I don't even feel guilty. Maybe I'll go to hell.

But if I do, I will take forbidden photos of it -- shooting from the hip and not getting caught (thanks Dad for these and other important life lessons). St. Paul's, with its famous dome:

 

 

 

And Westminster Abbey, even older than Notre Dame. This is where William the Conquerer (as he's called on this side of the Channel, or Guillaume le Conquerant on our side) was coronated. Coronated. Is that even a word in English? I have to look it up. I have now been speaking French long enough that coronate sounds like a real word. But I think it's coronation. Crowned. Is that what I'm looking for?

 

 

 

 

Just outside this grand room with the stained glass, which was redone in the 20th century after the original was destoryed in wartime, is this simple door -- officially Britain's oldest -- built in the 1050s for St. Edward the Confessor. $90 later (because children are mercifully free), the girls have finished their kids' quiz booklet at Westminster Abbey and earned a large chocolate coin. Frankly, for the admission fee, I was rather hoping it would be real gold...