A touristy weekend

You may be pleased to know that I finally did something touristy this weekend…and even took pictures. So, I will try to make my entries less wordy and more visual (here's your cue to sigh with relief). 

…But first let me bore you with a generous amount of writing.

On Friday night I went to another music venue called Koko. This time however, a sequence of bizarre events did not follow. I went with my flatmates Rachel and David, and we decided to show up at the venue a little early so that we could buy tickets, assuming that if the venue’s site states the time “9:30”, that the show would start at...9:30. We arrived unfashionably early at the hour of 9 to find that the doors were locked. I peered in the window to find a few men standing inside and staring back at us, watching the show we were apparently putting on as we helplessly struggled to pry the door open with our fingers. Finally, after several minutes, one of them decided that it would be a good idea to provide us with some information. The guy directed us to the box office at the side of the building to get tickets. Walking around the corner, we found a small, inconspicuous window barricaded by 5 large dumpsters. We stood for a moment, pondering the dumpsters’ anomalous placement directly in front of the “box office.” Perhaps we were the first to have given thought to how these dumpsters might make the window inaccessible. We returned to the main door where another man instructed us to stand in a queue until the doors opened at 9:30. After scoping the premises and realizing that there was nobody around who intended to enter the building, we did as we were told and formed a queue. All three of us. We waited in our "line" for perhaps 15 minutes until a few more people showed up. Evidently, these people did not recognize our line formation, and like us 15 minutes prior, assumed that they could enter the building with ease. We watched their thought process transition from realization to acceptance, until they finally coped with the fact that the doors remained locked after a second, third, and even fourth violent pull. It was then that I understood why the guys inside were slow to help us earlier - petty human struggle can be amusing. Exasperated, they turned to us for help. We proudly informed them that we were “queueing” until the doors opened.

As a side note, in case you are unaware, the British love to queue and take it very seriously. Whether you are waiting for a bus or standing on an escalator, there is always a queue. If you do not recognize or respect this queue, and contribute to disorder by standing somewhere in the middle of the line, you will surely be put in your place and left feeling ashamed of your inattention to methodical aggregates of people. I learned this the hard way and ever since, I make sure to stand directly behind any single person...just to be safe. This once became uncomfortable however, when my person of choice turned around, wondered why I was perfectly aligned with him, and then slowly inched away. Better to be a creep than to disobey the unwritten rule of queuing.

Now back to Friday night. When we finally entered the venue at 9:30 sharp, I was surprised to see how cool the place was. The inside of the venue looked like an old, Victorian era theatre and was multi-tiered with balconies overlooking the stage. Above us, a humungous disco ball slowly rotated and provided the room with some sparkle. 

We sat down and ordered drinks, and then waited…. As the second hour approached, we were sure there was an impending power outage or gas leak - maybe these misfortunes weren’t so uncommon at British music venues, I thought. After another hour, the opening band took the stage, and we pushed our way to the front of the crowd. The band was called “The Lost Generation." Like their name, their music was not very original - I could not distinguish one song from another, and was convinced that the entire set was just one very long song. The headlining band, the New Politics, put on a pretty good show and the lead singer showed off his ability to break dance and climb things. We had a good time and I was thankful that Koko fulfilled my intent to see live music that night, unlike The Good Ship a few days earlier.

On Saturday, I met up with my dad’s cousin Shadi, who moved to London from Lebanon and has settled here for the past 7 years. I was pleasantly surprised to find out only a week ago that I had family here. The last time I saw Shadi was when I was 5 years old, so this made for an interesting experience when we had to meet up with each other at a train station. Fortunately we found each other, though I stared at and approached a few too many people in the process. We went back to his apartment (which I was happy to find out was in the center of “little Beirut.” Win!) where I met his family. We all went out to lunch at a very, very good Thai restaurant. The food was delicious, and I was grateful that I did not have to subject my taste buds to another one of my home-cooking creations. After lunch, they showed me around different parts of London, and our day ended with a very nice desert and coffee.

Later that evening, I met up with a group of Skiddies (or “people who attend Skidmore College” for those unfamiliar with the term). We scoped out some clubs and bars in another area of London, but with little avail. Most of the places were packed as per usual. You see, most of the bars here are so densely populated that suffocating, profusely sweating, and making physical contact with 6 people all at the same time are part of the experience. We gave up and returned to one of the dorms, where we listened to music and talked for a while.

On Sunday, I met up with a couple of other Skiddies, Valerie and Tiffany, and we planned a day to the Tower of London. But first, we sat down for an English Breakfast at a nearby café. Feel free to salivate at the sight of this picture. These were probably the best sausages I have ever had.

We crossed the London bridge on our way, which was a pretty anti-climactic experience considering that it is the subject of an acclaimed nursery rhyme. It looked like any other bridge and I was in no way concerned that it was at risk of falling down.

I guess I was mislead to believe that this, more aesthetically pleasing attraction, was the London Bridge. But I was corrected and learned that it is called the Tower Bridge. It does not have a popular children's rhyme devoted to its name, so that's my excuse for not knowing it. 

    

We spent most of the day at the Tower of London, and started off with a walking a tour lead by a costumed tour guide or “Beefeater.” He was an awesome story-teller and was very involved in his role. 

This green area was the former moat. The level of the moat was lower than the ground of the Thames, and consequently, all of the trash from the river flowed in and accumulated around the towers -  making it arguably the most effective moat in history.

After the tour, we walked into the different towers to see the Crown Jewels and other things like artillery, armor, thrones, and torture tools like the one below, which stretched the victim's arms and legs in opposite directions. ...Not a fan.

Here are a couple of the guards who are not allowed to move. What a job. The bottom picture shows the living quarters for the Beefeaters and their families, and even the queen if she chooses to visit.

This is where the private executions took place. There was a separate location for public executions, but this area was specially reserved to behead those who were related to the royal family or close friends with the king (what an incredible honor). Anne Boleyn was one of those people.

Here are some more pictures of the towers. It was a gorgeous place and I would very much like to live there.

This is another beefeater. He was enjoyable to look at and I liked his cape, so I was happy to immortalize this moment with a photograph.