Postcard From London: Highgate, The Brontes, and Saying Goodbye

I've been abroad for about a month now, though it feels like so much longer. The housesitting gig ended last week but I have been hiding away in the attic stealing wifi and subsisting on dust bunnies and the soothing sounds of Channel 4--just kidding. The family I house sat for were kind enough to let me stay on a bit longer, but as nice as its been, its time to move on. I head up to the Peak District village of Eyam on Monday and from there I'll go to Haworth, home of the Brontes.

As preparation, I covertly snapped this picture in the National Portrait Gallery. Afterwards, I learned that it is ok to take pictures and that they have security cameras in every room that the guards monitor 24/7. This can only mean that there is CCTV footage of me very obviously looking around, sneakily taking this photograph, and then pretending to read my phone like nothing was going on. 

After that, it's on to York for a few days before returning to London where I'll meet up with James and start EUROTRIP: PHASE TWO. We'll spend ten days exploring London,  along with a few day trips farther afield, and then it's off to Paris for six. I am beyond excited for so many things: Seeing James of course, turning 29 in the city of lights, checking out Glastonbury Tor, exploring Amelie's Monmarte--the list goes on and on and on. It's funny, though. I'm excited for James to come, but I also don't want this to end. I want time to move forward and back all at once. But before all that I have to say goodbye. 

I've really enjoyed my housesitting experience--the only downside is leaving Chilli, the wonderful dog I took care of. I lucked out with this one and it almost makes me a little wary of doing it again. The bar has been set pretty high. 

It has also been great getting to know a new part of London and marveling at just how big and varied this place is. Today I visited Highgate, another lovely village close by that borders the heath. I went for the cemetery (which is the final resting place of George Eliot and Karl Marx, among many others) but the village is, like Hampstead, very quaint and beautiful. You can wander around the East cemetery for 4 pounds or take a guided tour of the West for 12. Guess which one I did? For 4 pounds you get a map that points out the notable graves, so there's that. I was pretty shocked at just how crowded the place was, and not by the living. Headstones were literally falling on each other. Apparently, plots at Highgate were in such high demand the East cemetery was opened in 1860 and is still in operation today.  Then again, I guess it shouldn't be so surprising of one of the world's oldest 'mega cities'. 

Almost walked by George Eliot's grave. Then I shook my fist and said 'Ughhh Casaubon!'

However, it's hard to miss this one. Workers of the world unite for a more tasteful headstone?

Many stones were completely covered in ivy. Beautiful, but it also says so much about the brevity of life and the enduring nature of death, no? Maybe I'm reading too much into it...I bet George Eliot could riff on that for a few pages though.

Sadly, I'm not sure what my WiFi situation will be like up north so I might not do a blog post for awhile. I'll definitely be updating the Facebook page and Instagram so check those out for Peaks and Yorkshire goodness. And give them a "like" while you're stopping by!

Postcard From London: An Afternoon In Kensington

The way I decide what to do with my days is a combination of touristy stuff and life stuff, i.e. "I should go see ___ but I also need to buy milk." Today I decided to go to Kensington because they have a Whole Foods and I wanted some 'green' shampoo. I also thought I could walk around Kensington Palace and maybe see that exhibit about famous royal dresses. 

On a whim, or more truthfully because I got on the wrong train, I ended up in my old neighborhood and was shocked at how very little had changed: There was the KFC I never went to and the cafe where my mom insulted a waiter by asking if she was going to get mad cow disease from eating the ribeye. And, rather shockingly, there was the very same homeless man panhandling in the very same spot outside Barclay's. His hair was mostly grey now and his dog was different but hey, I had changed too. 

As I walked down the street, I realized that as much as I had always told myself (and other people) that I would return to London one day, there really had been no guarantee. Yet, here I was, seven years older and twenty pounds heavier, walking down the very same street in the very same neighborhood I had lived in. What a gift, I thought to myself. How lucky that I was able to do this. It very easily could never have happened. 

I didn't make it to the Fashion Rules exhibit because I wasn't about to shell out 15 pounds to the monarchy. Pssh. They should pay for their own exhibit about themselves, I reasoned. Then I paid the equivalent of $12 for a bottle of shampoo, but at least it will last a while and actually do something.

Anyways, I returned home later to yet another rejection email from a literary journal and despite where I was and what I had just experienced, I felt like a total failure. After wallowing for a few minutes and tweeting about my wallowing to my 37 followers, I realized that the way I was defining success was making me miserable. I could literally be walking around my favorite city on a beautiful summer day, having an actual life experience--but not getting a story published in a journal that probably very few people read, other than those who have been published in it themselves, could ruin everything. I could see myself willing to trade this whole day or even this whole trip for a published story. And for what? What, exactly, would it do for my life? Could it really make me any happier or more satisfied than I am right now? I'm not sure anymore. I do know that I need to change my way of thinking--easier said than done, of course, but necessary.  

Postcard From London: Hampstead, The Heath, and Feeling Guilty

For the past several weeks I've been settling in and exploring the area--along with caring for a very sweet dog named Chilli. After my first whirlwind week in London it has been nice to slow down a bit. And with a backyard like this, who can blame me? 

Luckily, Hampstead Heath is close by so I've been taking Chilli on some good long walks nearly every day, though more recently those walks haven't been quite as long. I strained my hip muscle at some point during the last few weeks because my lazy American body isn't used to all this walking. Though in fairness, before I left I was doing this squatting workout from something I saw on Pinterest, which was probably just setting me up for this injury. Lesson learned: do not engage in an exercise regime that is superimposed over a picture of someone's butt.   

To make things more complicated, Hampstead itself sits on a hilly area above London. However, the amazing views manage to make up for the pain:

What I like most about this area is that if you squint a bit, and ignore the cars and the McDonald's, you can almost trick yourself into thinking you'd gone back in time. Last Saturday I did a wonderful walking tour of Hampstead with London Walks and learned all about its history. Not surprisingly, it has long been a popular neighborhood for writers, artists, and actor types. H.G. Wells, John Keats, Daphne Du Maurier, and John Constable all lived here. More recent residents include Ridley Scott, Ricky Gervais, Judi Dench, Jeremy Irons, and Liz Taylor (among many others). With a history like that it's hard not to feel inspired just by walking around. 

The Romantic poet John Keats spent the last years of his life in Hampstead and here is where he wrote some of his best known poems, often inspired by his walks on the heath nearby.

Here is a replica of Keats' death mask, because I'm creepy. Apparently the original disappeared shortly after he died in Rome.

And this the Admiral's house which served as the inspiration for Admiral Boom in Hampstead resident P.L. Travers' Mary Poppins.

Get a peak at that sky--Constable painted it numerous times and I can see why. Every sunset has caught my eye and I'm not even at the top of the hill. 

And yet, as lovely as this all is I can't wait for James to be by my side so we can experience it together. He will love Hampstead and I'm looking forward to showing him around. Traveling alone definitely has its perks and I'm really glad I'm doing this, but there are some things that are just better with another person. 

I've also been struggling a bit with feeling guilty since I haven't gotten much work done. But, my time here is limited. If I end up spending the day wandering around the heath instead of inside writing, so be it. As Annie Dillard wrote: "How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives." A chapter of my life spent wandering around London is much more fulfilling than writing inside a house in London. I can get back to my usual routine when I'm home. But for now, this is what I want my days to look like:

Literary London: Barrie, Dickens, and The Bloomsbury Group

Long before I came to London, I had an idea of what it was like thanks to writers like Charles Dickens and J.M. Barrie, whose vivid descriptions have long held a place in our collective imagination. It was a foggy place filled with cobblestoned roads and row houses where colorful characters lived while fairies flew through the night sky and unseen terrors lurked in the shadows. Of course, no real place can ever live up to our imagined expectations, but even still there's a magical quality to the city, perhaps in part enhanced by its rich literary history, which can be found on seemingly every street corner. This is, after all, a place that has dedicated a whole tube station to a fictional character:

The Sherlock Holmes Museum (notably, not the Sir Arthur Conan Doyle museum) is located at 221 Baker Street, naturally:

Even still, there are plenty of real life literary heros who walked these streets. In fact, writers like Dickens, Barrie, and Woolf are so well-known and beloved that they have become characters themselves. I love visiting the places where larger than life authors lived and worked. It's fun and educational but also inspirational. And who couldn't benefit from a little inspiration now and then?

First up was the Dickens Museum. I'm not a huge Dickens fan (a bit wordy for my taste), but his influence on Western literature is undeniable. Even if you've never read a word, you can still probably name at least a few characters: Ebenezer Scrooge, Tiny Tim, Miss Havisham, Oliver Twist. To me, Dickens' greatest legacy is the characters he created. Therefore, the museum, housed in a townhouse he rented for a few years during the beginning of his career, is a real treat for both the casual fan and fervent admirer. Here he wrote Oliver Twist and Nicholas Nickleby, among others, and it is also a great example of how an upper middle class family lived during the mid-19th century. 

Charles Dickens' kitchen. He was not the only writer in his family, as his wife Catherine wrote a cookbook: What Shall We Have For Dinner?

Um, best wall designs ever?

There's a lovely terrace out back where you can relax with a cup of tea and reflect on the house.

A few blocks and several decades removed is Bloomsbury, where the Bloomsbury group, made up of 20th century artists, intellectuals, and writers, got their name. I didn't know much about them until I took a course on Virginia Woolf in grad school. Though I admire her, Woolf's fiction isn't my cup of tea. However, her diaries are fun, witty, and a fascinating window into the era. 

Gordon Square was home to several prominent members, the economist John Maynard Keynes and sisters Virginia Woolf and Vanessa Bell all lived at number 46, though at different times. Hey, it's an important distinction to make. This is the Bloomsbury group after all.

Nearby is Tavistock Square, where Virginia Woolf lived with her husband Leonard.

This memorial to Virginia Woolf stands near where they lived.

Interestingly, Dickens also lived in Tavistock square at one time. Ev'rybody wants to be in the stock!

Tavistock Square is also home to this famous statue of Ghandi as well as other memorials to those who have championed peace.

But closest to my heart is Peter Pan, the catalyst for my lifelong obsession with London. When I was a kid I loved Peter Pan so much that I begged my mom to change my name to Wendy. (This is a good example of why children should not be able to name themselves.) Thankfully she said no, but my love affair with the story of The Boy Who Wouldn't Grow Up and the Darling children continued. 

I decided to track down author J.M. Barrie's house near the northern part of Kensington Gardens he met the Llewelyn Davies boys who inspired his greatest creation. In fact, the character of Peter Pan first appears in a section of Barrie's novel The Little White Bird called "Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens". 

100 Bayswater Road at Leinster Corner is a private home.   

The only sign is the tell-tale blue plaque that marks many historically significant buildings throughout the city.

Kensington Gardens from 100 Bayswater Road. Perhaps this was where Barrie first encountered George, Jack, and Peter Llewelyn Davies while walking his Saint Bernard dog Porthos.

Dispatch from London: Week One

 "What was I doing here alone in great London? What should I do on the morrow? What prospects had I in life? What friends had I on earth? Whence did I come? Whither should I go? What should I do?"~Villette

That quote may be a bit dramatic, but I've identified with it more than once this week. A three month trip abroad is all well and good  in theory until one day you're at the airport saying goodbye to people you won't see for weeks on end. I know though that the beginning is the hardest part, but that is also what makes it an adventure. 

I've only been here a few days but have already learned some new things about myself, namely that I cannot sleep in a room with 14 other people. I know, I know, I have nothing to complain about. But still, between the jetlag, a cold that I think was brought on by pre-trip stress, and four hours of sleep a night max, I've been pretty worn out. Nonetheless, I've still managed to log  a decent amount of sightseeing in each day. Of course, at the end of it I'm ready for bed (not that anyone around here let's me sleep). Tomorrow I'll stay in the housesitting  house which is lovely and hopefully I'll be back to normal by Sunday. In the meantime, here are some thoughts and photos:

~Oh last week's Emily, there is so much I want to tell you, so many things you need to be warned of, like B.O. so strong that it can be smelt from across a hostel dorm room--even through the privacy curtains. And you think you're tired now? Just wait...

~I started the week with a visit to the Museum of London, which was very interesting and free. I learnt all about the origins of London, the fall of the Roman empire, the devastation wrought by the Black Death and the fire of 1666, and I saw this amazing hat from an exhibit on the Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens:

Screw the 90s, this is the kind of fashion that needs to make a comeback!

~Imagine cooking in this ancient Roman kitchen. Or rather, imagine your indentured servant doing the cooking.

~The museum is right around the remains of the old Londinium wall built by the Romans. There's something to be said here about the intersection of modern life and antiquity by someone much more clever than myself.

~London smells the same, not in a bad way and it wasn't something I remembered until I started walking around, but it definitely has a distinctive scent all it's own. Like they say, scent is the strongest link to memory.

~I've been walking far too much, but I can't help it. There is something to see seemingly on every street. Just one more block, I'll tell myself. Ok, now just one more. One more. My feet and hips will be happy for a day or two of rest. Of course, when I get shots like these of Saint Paul's, it's all worth it:

~This city is still shockingly expensive. I've probably spent 30 GBP on the tube alone and I've only used it twice a day. That's also without going to any of the expensive touristy places, i.e. The Tower, Buckingham Palace, Westminster Abbey, etc. Instead, I've mostly stuck to free things like Regent's Park and walking along the Thames. Even still, the great travelcard vs oyster card debate seems to have been settled. Once James comes and we hit all the sites in central London, we'll both have to get travelcards.  

~There really is nothing like an English cuppa. I don't know if it's the water or the tea bags, but either way I can't replicate it back home so I'll have to enjoy it while I'm here. 

~I've been telling James about the Brit's obsession with sandwiches for weeks now ("And the sandwiches, so many different kinds! Ones you've never even dreamed of!") But really, I think this picture says more than I ever could: 

~On that note, I'm very much looking forward to having a kitchen to cook in. The food at the hostel wasn't half bad and pretty cheap but the menu was limited. I went to the corner store yesterday and got some snacks to mix things up a bit:

I demand to know why Kit Kat is keeping Chunky peanut butter out of the states!