Day Four- Museums and Monkey Business

The South Kensington station in London, like I tell everybody, is one wonderful place. Not by itself, of course. It is just another station with little stores selling papers, crisps and umbrellas; looks worn and weathered; and has, at this time of the year, people walking gloomily about. However, it is the places which it leads to that make it so charming. From the South Kensington station, one can choose to walk to The National History Museum, The Science Museum, The Royal Albert Hall, and of course, my personal favorite (favooooorite, actually) The Victoria & Albert Museum all by taking the subway that leads "to the museums".

When I visited London for the first time(that feels so cool, saying it), I totally tripped over the museums. And Victoria and Albert, with its "2,000 years of culture" was easily the best. It has beautiful Greek and Roman sculptures; dedicated sections containing artifacts and finery from every major civilization from the last two millenia; sections dedicated to photography, architecture, glass(!), fashion amongst many, many other things. Add to this its heart-stopping Cast Courts, the V&A is an excellent place to potter about on a hot (or cold, in this case) afternoon. Then, you can step outside to the large courtyard and ponder thoughts while wordlessly conversing with the quiet fountain in the center.

The first time I went there, I had with me my sister's brand new DSLR camera which I had only barely learned to operate. I spent an entire morning learning to take better pictures at V&A. Hercules, Venus etc were forced to pose for portraits they didn't ask to be made.

This time around, I went to the V&A as much to pay a perfunctory visit and renew ties, as to catch the popular Maharajas exhibition which was running into its last few days. The India section (desultorily bundled off under "South Asia" whereas China got its own section. The blood, it boils.) had quite a few Mughal treasures the last time around, so I knew what to expect.

The ticket queue on a Friday afternoon was frustratingly long and I decided, eventually that I didn't want to look at any more romanticized Mughal artifacts. Especially when I had to choose between this and another very interesting exhibition on electronic/digital art called Decode. I bought tickets for Decode and spent a jolly half hour going through very cool exhibits. Fractal art, Visual Effects using sensors, smoky picture walls, Video montages etc etc. Fun stuff.

From here, I went off to Leicester Square to buy tickets for a musical for the weekend only to queue at too many places without getting either the right seats or the right price or the right dates. That done, I spent about thirty minutes trying to decide where I wanted to eat lunch at. It was bad enough that I had to do the lunch ritual alone, and to make matters worse, I was stuck with the task of choosing where. I cannot begin to relate the emotional pressure that was upon me. Pasta? No No. Traditional food? Too complicated. Chinese? Bleh. Indian? Definitely not. In the end, I did what every idiotic-tourist-who-can't-make-decisions does. I went to Burger King.


From there I hopped over to Covent Garden for a round of coffee and watched some nice street performances. There was the stout man with a beard singing in his deep, baritone voice and being merry and cheerfully flirting with passing girls. There was the girl juggling knives, balancing from on top of poles hoisted by four men("three of who were drunk and one of who needed to pee") who made fun of some poor volunteer ("Give it up foooooor, Steeeeeve!"). There were the hip-hop dancers cheered on by loud Spanish girls. There was also, the customary singer of songs of broken hearts and unrequited loves calling as if to those sitting and sipping solitary coffees in the cold, by themselves. From my few times there, I can declare this a standard Covent Garden evening.

Special mention must go to our man who took off a piece of clothing for each time he goofed his act up. He went from being fully clothed to boxers to black-chuddies to pink chuddies on an icy evening while happily noting how this was "his first show in weeks, thanks to it being a lot warmer". We all laughed good naturedly and thanked god for making 2 degrees a lot warmer than -3.



Later that evening, we went to a nice English pub called Barney's in St. Albans. It was Friday night and everybody was sloshed. Girls walked around in clothes that I worried would give them hypothermia. People were darting in and out of the smoking area outside. A few stumbled over to the wine cellar downstairs and I very prudishly looked away. One smiling woman was blowing candles off her birthday cake.

We spoke for a while but I cannot, for the life of me, remember what about. It might have been about how people manage to endure the cold while dressed in scraps. It could have been about traditional ales. It could have been cellphones. Whatever it was, it must have been funny. For I remember laughing a bit. Or perhaps I was drunk.