This Trip, Part IX: 29 March 2011

When your home time zone is 6 hours behind Greenwich Mean Time and you’re awake at 5:30am GMT, you know it’ll be a long day. More so, a long day that begins with the usual fretting about getting everything packed and getting to the airport on time. Thankfully all of those worries diminished as the morning progressed and hurdles were cleared. Once I made it to Terminal 4, Gate 14 at Heathrow, I began to notice something odd. There were a few middle-aged men dressed like the band Anvil, complete with long stringy hair, lots of chains, earrings and almost exclusively black clothing. I noticed it, but didn’t really think about it too much until I noticed several more.

Upon boarding, I had to ask the guy behind me the obvious question in the most obvious way possible: "This may seem like an obvious questions, but are you guys in a band?". Of course I knew they were in a band, but it seemed a bit brusque to simply lead off with "What band are you in?". At this point, I was sure this was actually multiple bands, possibly on tour together. Nope, turns out this epic assemblage of rockers was none other than the Trans-Siberian Orchestra, along with their crew and tag-alongs. Most of these tag-alongs came in the form of young girls that could just have easily been their daughters, but there was no hope for such normalcy.

The prospect of a long flight with about 50 grown men on tour was a bit worrisome, especially since they were spread throughout the plane, including directly behind me. I had an exit row seat for this long flight and one of the young groupies was my neighbor, but she made her intent known very quickly that she would be relocating in order to (paraphrasing) "sit next to someone she could fall asleep on". I guess I should consider myself lucky for that little twist of fate and declaration. As it turns out, there were a good many empty seats on the plane and nobody ended up being my neighbor for the flight. Sitting in the exit row without a neighbor actually provides enough space to be comfortable for an 8-plus hour flight.

The most troubling part of the flight was the extremely cold air seeping in the door, next to my feet. I thought it was a little troubling that this air was seeping in at 30,000 feet since the cabin is supposedly pressurized. I finally wedged the little pillow and blanket at my seat in the crack of the door, which helped somewhat. Upon arrival in Detroit, we were very delayed exiting the plane because we didn't have a gate or something. The friendly steward guy was standing next to me, so I mentioned the freezing air coming in during the flight. He just laughed and said that kind of plane (767-400) was prone to do that because there wasn't a perfect seal. I smiled because we were already on the ground.

It was a very bright and sunny day in Detroit, but apparently only about 40 degrees outside. Of course, you'd never know that from the warm confines of DTW, which never fails to impress me as a really nice airport. The weather out of Detroit was also very nice looking, but the invisible wind over Toledo made for a little bit of teeth gnashing aboard the little CRJ200. Nothing against Toledo, per se, but it certainly does not make for a fond remembrance of a place when your stomach is in your throat whilst flying over.

This Trip, Part VIII: 28 March 2011

The last day someplace is bittersweet because you might not be quite ready for home yet, but you also know you have to get back to pick up where you left off. In a place like London, there is always something else to do, so you feel inclined to keep squeezing as much in as possible, but the fact that there’s more to do is sorta exciting because it means you have good reason to return again. How many times do you want to go someplace and do exactly what you’ve done before? It’s nice to repeat some of your favorites, but at least for me, there has to be some new places and new experiences on each trip. Otherwise, it starts to feel like work and you might as well be at home if you’re going to yield to a routine.

This trip was successful in the fact that I visited new places in great frequency and actually never found myself in places like Trafalgar Square and Piccadilly Circus at all. This is probably a good thing considering the protests that bordered on riots on Saturday night. I was actually cruising underneath Trafalgar on the Tube when all that was going on. On the heels of the Belgian excursion, I was exhausted and apparently missed it all. Pictures of me in the midst of a clash between protesters and police involving tear gas, beatings, smashed windows and spray paint would have been great for Facebook. That’s what Facebook pictures need more of: danger.

Safe to say, my stroll through Kensington, Hyde Park and Knightsbridge had very little danger. Some of the rental bike riders were a little cagey, though. Then there were the exuberant young men running out the back door of a building that I only then realized was the Afghanistan embassy. A little while later a pass-by of the Libyan embassy was even more tense, as armed police officers lined the sidewalk in front of the building and protesters with very intimidating flags were across the street. The embassy, on the other hand, was flying the usual solid green flag of Libya. Nothing wrong with keeping it simple.

By pure chance I saw the Twitter tweet from Okkervil River’s Will Sheff that he would be playing solo at St. Pancras Old Church in London on Monday night. At first blush, this seemed like a can’t miss opportunity. Any debate regarding when to leave London ended when this came up. After buying tickets, I later found out it sold out very quickly and apparently less than 100 tickets were available in the first place. The church is actually a church and not some heroin den that might have been a church in a previous life or simply given a church-like name for effect. No, the previous life of this church, which was built in Victorian times, was as a church, as there has been some form of a church at the site since 361 AD.

The show was great, even though doors were at 7:30pm and Will Sheff went on at 9pm. No opener, no nothing, except the conversations of those around me. Will (can I call him Will?) played several new songs throughout the set, but also hit high spots from throughout Okkervil River’s catalog, including a particularly strong rendition of “A Stone” a capella. Patrick, the Okkervil River bassist, joined Will for several songs, but Will finished solo in grand fashion. The climax of the night was Will coming back for an encore only to walk directly to the back of the room, dislocate a couple of audience members from their seats and sit down at an old upright piano that had been hiding in the corner up to that point. The audience shifted to the back of the room and many people stood in chairs as he went through “For Real”, which was greatly appreciated. The show ended with “Happy Hearts”, with the crowd standing right at the stage, without much regard for the rows of tiny wooden chairs set up. There were some sound problems throughout the night and Will can be a bit of a diva at times, but the strength of the set list, the songs themselves and the setting made it an amazing show regardless.

This Trip, Part VII: 27 March 2011

Although it may come as a shock to some people that have traveled with me before, it is nice to have relaxation time while on vacation. I truly believe in the benefits of seeing and experiencing as much as possible, but it is also nice to see and experience things that aren’t necessarily in a guidebook. A trip to the playground at Walham Green and the White Horse on Parsons Green are a perfectly fine way to spend a day in London, even if it never requires riding a bus or the Tube. Even a failed trip to the butcher shop was a welcome diversion from the seemingly constant schedule of busy trains and streets.

That said, thanks to the weather, which was excellent by London-in-March standards, both the playground and White Horse were quite busy. Sitting at a playground can be an odd experience if you’re not a parent and/or not used to sitting at a playground. The kids run around and interact in potentially strange ways, and there are parents mixed in at random intervals. Some of the parents are interacting with one another, while some play with the kids. Others still, stand back and observe. As we discussed while being the sort to sit back and observe, you have to be careful to interact with a kid at some point that is friendly in return to you. This way the other parents don’t get the idea that you’re a pervert that likes to just lurk around the playground and watch the kids. Then there’s the issue of fair play. At what point is your child bothering another child, or are they just playing? How do you know the other child’s “style of play”, much less their parent’s? The benefit of playing the role of “friend of the parents” is that none of it really matters, so long as the kids play, burn some energy and go home satisfied.

The adults can play at the White Horse while the kids play on the patio or the park across the street, which is nice and fair. The place had a slightly American feel to it, but it may have just been because it allowed outdoor seating in slightly American weather. Apparently there are a fair number of Americans living in Fulham, but they didn’t seem to be around us. Mostly under- and/or overdressed Londoners and probably some French. Not a particular reason, though, just guessing. Regardless, the White Horse just seemed to make a simple-minded American feel fairly normal, except maybe for the lady behind the bar that seemed deadest on questioning every request made of her, as if people often come in there just to make completely errant requests that they have no basis for. That sentence ended in a preposition. I do no care. Ok, so yeah, the White Horse on Parsons Green, write that one down.

A trip to an authentic neighborhood butcher would have been a unique treat that would probably somehow trump a walk down the aisle at Whole Foods or Kroger. There is something to be said for that sort of place that provides a specific service, but it also a “part of the community”. I use the quotations because “part of the community” seems to be one of those phrases that have become cliché or just filler. Well, either way, I don’t consider the nice guy at Whole Foods’ seafood counter to be “part of the community”, but I guess he is if the old school butcher gets to be. This particular butcher (and the next one) is only 6/7 part of the community, as they are not open on Sunday.

One place that is open on Sunday and shows no ill effects of it is The Hand in Flower. I had dinner on my 29th birthday here and I had a return engagement this time around. It was good before and perhaps better now. A dining experience is always interesting when a 3 year-old is involved. Not interesting because kids and their behavior are unpredictable, but interesting because there is a potentially precise formula to managing small children in public (or private, for that matter) places. I suppose you just have to figure out what your child’s trigger is for discipline and not be afraid to go back to it time after time. Obviously, for some kids, telling them that security cameras monitor their behavior is reason enough to behave. It especially helps when that child is accustomed to traveling and being in public places that are commonly monitored by cameras. Then, of course, there is the epic trump card of the 21st century, the iPhone/iPod and headphones. The ability to transport that child to another universe without leaving the table is matchless, especially if you tell them people are watching them through security cameras and they’ll be in trouble if they make a sound.

This Trip, Part VI: 26 March 2011

A complimentary breakfast that would normally cost 30 euros is usually something too good to pass up. Unfortunately, such an expensive breakfast, regardless of the quality, would take too long and the return trip to London was already booked and non-flexible. So it was. I returned to the streets of Brussels to find many fewer partiers and carousers as the night before, but quite a few of their leave-behinds on the sidewalks, along with tourists.

A vital piece of the day’s potential success came in the form of Bookoo, a one-day pass for the Brussels Metro. I guess that’s meant to be pronounced beaucoup. Given the honor system set-up of many of the stations I passed through, there must be beaucoup free riders. I missed a fare box or two, but thankfully did not end up in Belgian custody. The use of the Metro probably wasn’t even completely necessary, as much of the parts of Brussels you’d want to see during a one-day visit are within reasonable walking distance. Riding a city’s public transportation is, however, a great opportunity to learn more about the city itself and the people that inhabit it. A few quick pieces of information that are apparent about Brussels based on their Metro: not a lot of English being spoken by choice, a nice mix of old and new, and busy, but not too crowded.

By most accounts, Brussels is a place that prides itself on not taking itself too seriously, as evident by its most celebrated landmark being a 2-foot tall statue of a little boy peeing. Not quite the Eiffel Tower or Big Ben, but just as easy to inspire souvenirs. This little guy, whose name is Mannekin Pis (no, really), can be found virtually anywhere in the old part of Brussels that attracts the most tourists. There are many stories regarding his origins and what he “symbolizes”, but it probably doesn’t really matter at this point. People, although I’m not sure who these people are, have taken to dressing the little guy up in costumes. On the day of my visit, he was wearing a little dress/Cossack/cloak-type thing. However, his “thing”, as always, was still doing its thing, much to the delight of the moderate crowd assembled.

The nice thing about Mannekin Pis is that he is located on a seemingly regular street corner in a tightly-packed part of town, not far off the Grand Place. Although he is protected from his admirers to some extent, the public can get within about five feet and he is not locked in a glass case. At the same intersection are a couple of local establishments that have used their location to their advantage, including a neon sign depiction of the statue’s famed activity. Despite this description, the area still maintains historic appeal.

Apparently much of Brussels was torn down and rebuilt in the early 20th century, in an effort to be a “modern capital city”, rather than a “historical capital city” or just an “appropriate capital city”. Much of the newer development includes huge parks, museums and, more recently, headquarters of the European Commission. These aren’t exactly bad things, but it is a relief that a decent amount of the historic parts remain mostly in tact, along with the newer parts. Everything in moderation.
An example of the old and the new coming together is on display at the Musee Magritte Museum, which is a part of Brussels quite immense Museum of Fine Arts. Rene Magritte was Belgian and great, with this museum being probably the best collection of his work anywhere in one place. A museum dedicated to the work of one artist is fairly rare since either the artist isn’t relevant enough to warrant it, or their art has been bought and sold so much that it is spread across many collections, museums and continents. Regardless, the opportunity to see so much work by one great artist in one great place was well worth the 8 euros. Actually the view of Brussels from the hillside museum’s windows was worth that much.

So yeah, Belgium seems to be best known for three things (other than peeing statues): chocolate, waffles and beer. Not exactly a path to enlightenment or a healthy life. The local businesses don’t seem particularly concerned with this, as the opportunities to partake in any of the three come about once every five steps. Apparently diamonds are also a huge industry in Belgium, particularly Antwerp, but that wasn’t as evident in my surroundings. Everyone must have been broke and in a coma from their chocolate, waffles and beer.