Natural Laws (2 of 2)(April 5, 2010)

Hello everyone,
Continuing where I left off...
Last Monday, March 29: I moved from the hostel that we had corporately inhabited as a Calvin group and moved to the hostel I had booked for the next couple days, situated in the Bayswater Area northwest of Hyde Park. This place turned out to be kind of a dump, and I found myself in a bunk room with eleven other patrons of varying European nationalities. I stashed my stuff and headed out for the day.
I rode the tube to the far side of Hyde Park where my first destination was the Natural History Museum. This was housed in a large 19th Century brick building and was overrun with noisy school groups. Navigating the hordes, the first gallery I investigated was an exhibit on marine life, which was probably my favorite. The exhibit of replica dinosaur fossils was the most congested with frantic, over-demonstrative children. A catwalk funneled visitors past the skeletons, which rested on platforms suspended from the ceiling, and led them past a large animatronic Tyrannosaurus Rex. There was also an exhibition on human anatomy and physiology, which gave a much more nuanced and explicit presentation on human functions than children would encounter in an American museum.
From the Natural History Museum, I proceeded next door to the Victoria and Albert Museum, which houses the largest collection of the decorative arts in the world--a person could easily spend a week surveying the varied collections in that massive building. I only saw a fraction of the items on display; I most enjoyed a collection of sacred metalcraft, such as jeweled chalices and eucharist services; an exhibition on performance costumes and production design, where I saw costumes that had been worn by Laurence Olivier and Mick Jagger; and best of all, a dim gallery hung with medieval tapestries along the walls, depicting episodes from folklore and vignettes of hunting expeditions and pastoral games.
Outside the V & A (as it's colloquially known) I had a chance meeting with Prof. ward and his wife, who were staying in a hotel nearby for a couple more days. From there I trudged past Royal Albert Hall and trying to imagine what it must have been like during the filming of Hitchcock's The Man Who Knew Too Much. I walked through part of Hyde Park, passing a memorial erected to the memory of Prince Albert--a Gothic revival-style pavilion with sculptures commemorating the arts and sciences as well as the major regions of the world. I wandered a bit from there, ending up at Harrod's, which is larger than a department store but smaller than a shopping mall, incorporating elements of both and all crammed in one large building. They had everything, from souvenir chocolates to Ralph Lauren apparel, Wedgwood place settings and a small art gallery with original paintings for sale, modestly described as "home decor". At the junction of a stairwell, there was a pedestal supporting a large blank book in which shoppers wrote messages and dedications to Princess Diana.
I then wandered from Harrod's to Piccadilly Circus, which is the closest thing London has to Times Square--a traffic circle formed by the intersection of four major roads, with a sculpture of Cupid offset in the middle. From there I attempted to reach Trafalgar Square, and I did make it to the backside of the nearby Admiralty Arch, but I didn't realize where I was and instead tramped across the parade grounds of the Royal Cavalry Museum, where I found myself within a stone's throw of Downing Street. I boarded the tube near the Houses of Parliament and rode back to my hostel, where I checked my email and got in touch with Karin.
Tuesday began with a shower and a spartan breakfast at the hostel, after which I rode the tube to the bank of the Thames, which I crossed on foot. I arrived at the Globe Theater in time to view their associated museum--which described the climate of the south bank area of London during Shakespeare's Day and the procedure of building the replica of the original theater--and catch the first tour of the day. There was only a small group for this tour, and as such, our guide took us into some of the upper tiers of the theater rather than just confining us to the ground floor, which evidently is the standard procedure for the tours.
After the Globe, I walked next door to the Tate Modern art gallery, a large, slab-like building which houses an extensive collection of modern art. I arrived just in time for a 45-minute highlights tour of surrealist paintings, viewing works by artists such as Picasso, Dali, and Pollock. Again, this gallery was overrun with noisy school groups, a fact which our tour guide repeatedly lamented.
When I emerged from the Tate, the sun had likewise emerged from the clouds for the first time since Sunday evening, so I took advantage of the cheerful weather to walk along the Thames, passing a replica of The Golden Hind and the Southwark Cathedral, as well as several large office buildings. I crossed over the Tower Bridge back to the North Bank of the Thames and got an outside view of the Tower of London, deciding to defer my visit until the next morning. I made my way back to where I had got off the tube that morning and rode to Trafalgar Square, just in time for the sunshine I had been enjoying to dissipate. With the rain coming down, I retreated into the National Gallery.
The National Gallery was a lot more interesting than I expected it to be. Within it's walls, I saw Van Eyck's Arnolfini Wedding Portrait (which I had scrutinized ad nauseum in my art history class), a pencil sketch by da Vinci, some paintings by Claude Monet, Rembrandt's Self-Portrait, and Van Gogh's Sunflowers...not to mention a handful of other paintings by Raphael, Michelangelo, and Caravaggio.
Coming out of the National Gallery, I killed some time photographing the sculpture of Trafalgar Square before riding the tube to catch Evensong at St. Paul's Cathedral. I craned my neck, hoping to catch sight of the monument to T.E. Lawrence that resides somewhere in the cathedral, but to no avail. The service was gorgeous, as I've come to expect from Anglican services, and it afforded a sublime respite from the rain outside after a day spent on my feet.
Following Evensong, I spent an hour sipping a mocha and filling out postcards in a Starbuck's near St. Paul's, then rode the tube back to Piccadilly Circus to end my day with a performance of "Les Miserables" at Queen's Theater. I got a cheap ticket for an upper balcony seat, from which point the nuances of the performances were lost on me but I got a good overview of the action.
I had wanted to see "Les Miserables" ever since I devoted an entire summer to reading Victor Hugo's novel four years ago. Obviously, it would be impossible to render either the total scope of the narrative or the contemplative and digressive tone of the book on the stage, but the musical was moving, focusing on the emotional highlights of the story. I enjoyed it a lot, and it was a stark contrast from watching Wanted a week prior.
I started Wednesday with a visit to the Tower of London, a castle originally built by William the Conqueror to solidify his power over London following the Norman Conquest. Over the years, several monarchs have relied on its defensible location and strong fortifications to project power, house valuables, or retreat in times of political turbulence. After poking around on my own for a bit, I joined a free tour supervised by one of the Yeoman warders that still oversee the Tower and reside on-site with their families. Alan, as our guide was named, had a great sense of humor, teasing the children on the tour and threatening decapitation as punishment for the slightest annoyance or disruption. Under his guidance, I saw the tower where Sir Thomas More was imprisoned after his refusal to support the Act of Succession, the site where Anne Boleyn was beheaded, the White Tower which had housed the Royal Observatory in years past, and a chapel housing the remains of several distinguished and tragic personalities who had entered the Tower for various reasons, but all bound for a common fate. After the tour, I visited the armory exhibits in the White Tower, which weren't terribly exciting, and then joined the throng surging into the Jewel House to catch a glimpse of the Crown Jewels. The lines were long, but projectors showed footage of Elizabeth II's coronation and detailed views of the Crown Jewels on the walls of the antechambers. Slowly but steadily, the line lead into a vault where crowns, scepters, lavish mantles, and table services were in display in glass cases. I would have liked to remain longer, but I had to get going in short order.
I grabbed some lunch and boarded the tube for my next engagement, the Stanley Kubrick Archives housed at the communications branch of the University of Arts London. Unfortunately, I hadn't adequately looked up directions to the archives, and to make a long story short, I spend half my allotted appointment time going to two separate incorrect sites before I finally got in touch with the right institution and got good directions. It is from this experience that the title of this email is derived, because it seemed at that time that a natural law was in effect that guaranteed that I, John Morton, would meet any given situation where I given a seemingly innocuous but significant choice--namely, which way to turn down a given street--with what would inevitably prove to be the wrong decision. But I digress.
The Archives were housed in a facility kind of on the London outskirts, in an academic building that seemed to be past its prime. I had made a prior appointment to view the archives, and after registering as a visitor I was led into the archive office where the attendants had readied some previously-requested materials for me to inspect. I spent two hours shuffling through publicity stills and casting memos for Dr. Strangelove, including correspondence between Kubrick and different talent agencies, and what I found most interesting--a file of notecards, some typed, but most written in Kubrick's own hand, with notes ranging from two or three terms to a series of bullet points outlining working concepts for characters or scenarios from the early stages of Dr. Strangelove's development, when Kubrick was still attempting to make a serious film rather than the black comedy that audiences saw in theaters in 1963. After the Dr. Strangelove materials, I examined a publisher's proof of the novel Wartime Lies, a novel which Kubrick had considered for a project on the Holocaust, complete with Kubrick's annotations. Finally I took a look at an editing outline for The Shining, which didn't really reveal anything. Once the archive closed, I returned to Bayswater and ended the day with dinner at a Chinese restaurant.
On Thurdsay I awoke early and bade farewell to London as I rode a train to Portsmouth, where I checked into a hostel not far from the seaside and trudged across the town to the Portsmouth Historic Dockyard. Portsmouth has a naval history extending back to the days of Henry VIII and still docks some of its vessels there during times of peace. It's this naval heritage that brought me there.
I purchased a ticket to the dockyard attractions and immediately headed to the dry dock housing the HMS Victory, the flagship of Admiral Horatio Nelson during the Battle of Trafalgar, and the most warship in the history of the Royal Navy. First I visited a small museum dedicated to the Victory and Trafalgar specifically, then I boarded the ship herself. Although she's undergone several refurbishments and restorations throughout her 250-year lifespan, the Victory is permanently displayed how she would have appeared in 1805 under Nelson's command. When we were kids, my brother and I spent hours poring over a book that presented a page-by-page cross section view of the HMS Victory, and it was incredible to see all the details I had absorbed as a kid presented in real life.
By 1805, Nelson had already achieved celebrity status for multiple famous victories against the French navy, which constituted the main threat that Napoleonic France could wield against England. In the course of pursuing a combined French and Spanish fleet to to and fro across the Atlantic Ocean, Nelson ended up on one side of the French and Spanish near Gibraltar, with another English fleet lying in wait just outside the English Channel. By merit of bravado and superior training, the resulting battle constituted a decisive naval victory for the British and ensured Nelson immortal fame, although at the cost of his life.
The Victory is an example of a "first-rate ship of the line", i.e. she was the aircraft carrier of her day. As I wandered her decks, I saw the the elaborate captain's and admiral's cabins, the lines of cannon on her gun decks, the massive anchor cables, the iron stove in the galley that cooked all the crew members' meals, and the dark hold of the ship, where supplies and ballast were stored. I also saw the spot where Nelson was struck by a French sniper's bullet, marked by a small plaque on the quarterdeck, between the helm and the mainmast, as well as the likely location on one of the gun decks where Nelson expired despite the efforts of a naval surgeon.
In addition to the Victory herself, the Historic Dockyard also has the fore topsail which hung from the Victory's mainmast during the Battle of Trafalgar--removed after the battle, this huge sheet of canvas featured in different displays and exhibitions over the years, finally winding up in an old building in the dockyard before its "rediscovery" in the 1960s. Riddled with holes from French projectiles, the sail has undergone extensive conservation and is now on display in a warm dim room, lying flat for visitors to see. It holds the distinction of being the largest surviving original artifact from Trafalgar.
After that, I walked through a gallery devoted to the different trades that would have flourished in the dockyard over the years, such as producing iron, rope, and brass, and headed out of the dockyard for the day. I wandered around Portsmouth a bit, grabbing some supper and browsing in a bookstore for a while, before taking a circuitous route back to my hostel, where I took advantage of the free wireless internet access to upload a ton of pictures to my Facebook profile dating back to the first or second weekend here in England.
I started Friday off with a leisurely walk along the coastline--it was chilly and windy, but I enjoyed it nevertheless and took pictures of the different monuments and fortifications that dot the shoreline. Eventually I ended up back at the dockyard as it started to rain, where I enjoyed a tour of the harbor in a small ferry. I dried my shoes in front of a space heater on the ferry as the guide pointed out various aspects of the harbor and how they had evolved over the years, as well as some current Royal Navy vessels, from a brand new, state-of-the-art destroyer and an aircraft carrier to older training frigates and mothballed vessels awaiting an unsure fate.
After the tour, I hurried to shelter myself in a museum dedicated to the wreck of the Mary Rose, one of the first ships intended from it's construction for military service. Commissioned by Henry VIII during the infancy of England's navy, the Mary Rose saw over thirty years of distinguished service in multiple battles and was the personal favorite of Henry VIII. Then during an intimidation showdown in the waters just off Portsmouth, the Mary Rose inexplicably capsized during the midst of a maneuver. She remained on the ocean bottom for 400 years, preserved in silt, until the site of the wreck was re-discovered in the mid-1960s. An underwater archaeology project was undertaken, which culminated in raising the remnants of the ship itself out of the water in 1982. Since then, the wreck--almost the entire right side of the ship remains intact--has been undergoing a long process of rinsing, preservation, and drying at the hands of conservators, and is scheduled to go on display housed in a new museum by 2016. Obviously, I was unable to view the remains themselves, but I was fascinated by the story of this shipwreck--I don't think I had ever heard of the Mary Rose before, and I had no idea that the remains were in Portsmouth. I was able to view many well-preserved artifacts recovered from the wreck, such as clothing, weaponry, everyday tools and utensils, and the skeleton of the ship's dog.
The sun had come back out by the time I left the Mary Rose museum, and boarded another vessel docked at Portsmouth, the HMS Warrior. The Warrior is a Victorian Era iron battleship, capable of traveling under sail power or steam power. On board, I saw a brief demonstration on small army by a Scottish sailor who had nothing nice to say about the Royal Marines, then I wandered the ship at will. Unlike the Victory, there was no set route through the Warrior, and apart from the cabin of the ship reserved for a wedding party, I could poke around as much as I wanted to.
I had to walk back to the hostel to recover my luggage, then return to the dockyard area to catch my train, which took over an hour, then I got some food while I waited to board the train to Salisbury. After arriving in Salisbury, I had to take a detour to my hostel to get around a Good Friday processional that was going through town. I checked into a room with four young boys who were part of a swim team, and as a result of my arrival, their coaches had to move them to another room. Although I assured them that I was a nice guy, liability issues prevailed. I did laundry and took it easy for the evening.
Saturday was wet and overcast. I slept in, snatched a meager breakfast right before the hostel kitchen closed, then set out into town. After browsing in a couple stores, I wound up in the local library where I concentrated on updating my journal (which was outdated far back into the last semester) for a couple of hours. When the library closed, I relocated to a Starbucks and continued working amidst the bawdy jokes and exclamations of a group of local teenagers, until the manager banished them from the premises. I returned to the hostel and got in touch with Karin; then I tried to help a fellow American traveler get connected to the internet, but with no success. The kid in the bed bunked on top of mine snored loudly through the night.
Sunday morning was sunny and consequently warmer, which was perfect for Easter. I made it to the kitchen for a full hot breakfast, then consolidated my luggage while listening to a bespectacled middle-aged man with a high-pitched voice; he kind of mumbled, and it was hard to tell when he was talking to me and when he was talking to himself. He mentioned that his mother didn't approve of him traveling on Good Friday, and I wondered if his mother hung out in the basement of a small motel he manages along the highway between Phoenix and Las Vegas...
I attended an Easter service at the Salisbury Cathedral, complete with chanting and a lot of incense. Afterward, seeing as most of the shops in town were closed for Easter, i hiked to the nearby site of Old Sarum, which was a built-up hilltop settlement of some prominence in the area before it was eclipsed by the development in Salisbury. This was a pleasant walk following a river much of the way, cutting through town until I hopped on a horse path that led up the sides of the hill. On the far side of an earthen embankment, the foundations of several buildings, including a cathedral, are still visible, as well as the ruined fortifications of an old fort.
After checking out Old Sarum, I took the same path back into Salisbury and hung out back at my hostel for an hour or two before catching a train to the town of Bristol, where I write to you now.
Thanks for bearing with me through a long and detailed message. It's now past my bedtime, so I'll say goodnight and thank you for all your prayers and well wishes. Happy Easter to everyone!
Sincerely,
John Morton