London, part two
We woke up bright and early the next day, avoided the Englishy parts of an English breakfast, and put ourselves together to walk over to the British Museum. 30% chance of rain, said the online weather forecasts. So okay, we pack our umbrellas.
And walk out into a driving hailstorm.
Obviously “30% chance of rain” means something a wee bit different in England. My hypothesis is that it means “will only rain for 30% of the day.”
We took shelter in a covered doorway, as many native Londoners were doing across the street from us, and waited it out; it didn’t take long. Again, this is behavior I can personally recommend faced with really abysmal weather in England. It just doesn’t last all that long.
I just bet the British Museum has more cuneiform per square foot than anywhere else in the world: obelisks to intimidatingly gigantic Assyrian stone gate-guards to tally-tablets to name it. Astounding place. Of course we caught a glimpse of the rock that unlocked a language, but anyone who does just the highlight tour is missing out. David and I enjoyed learning that Greek vase-painters were really lousy spellers.
(I also note that the vases on display, whatever their artistic or historical importance, are remarkably tame as regards subject matter. Sure, dancing girls and naked heroes, but let’s be real here—the Greeks weren’t shy about painting sex on vases. So who forced the British Museum into prudery, I wonder?)
My minor art-history insight of the day concerns the friezes that are part of the famous Elgin marbles. The sculptors thereof had made great strides in depicting movement and stance—the friezes are vigorous and varied, with good work on human and equine anatomy in motion. But… the faces (those still undamaged enough to examine) are all the same! Not only are the features identical from face to face, but the vigor of bodily motion is reflected nowhere in the faces; they’re all serenely expressionless. It’s odd, especially when you put it up against (for example) the individuality of the warriors at Xi’an.
Both of us were a little put off by the frosted-glass floor of the bridge between the outer and inner circles on the upper floor. Being that high up gives me the wiggins to begin with; the floor under me ought to look as solid as it feels. I suggest they carpet it, honestly.
We ended up both opening and closing the place, before we wandered down into Soho to find dinner and watch all the Pretty People (which we emphatically are not!). An annoyance about British restaurants as compared to American ones is no free water. You might as well order whatever non-alcoholic drinkies look good on the menu; bottled water will cost about the same. The Thai place we eventually chose had decent food and lousy service. We didn’t eat in enough London restaurants to know whether that’s par for the course.
’Twas a good day. Tiring, but good.