Loss and Life

It has been colder in Durham but still no snow. The cold bites at your exposed skin and the wind drives right through layers of clothes making you shiver under the weight of a wool coat and even thicker wool jumper. The nights are dark but ever so imperceptibly they are getting shorter and the grey days are getting longer. London feels as far removed in my memory as my first day in Durham over four months ago and January has marched onward to her inevitable conclusion. As I think over the past few weeks I am faced with a series of incredible occurrences; some fantastic happenings and a loss that has left a hole in my heart.

On the 10^th of January I lost my grandmother. My last living grandparent and one of the strongest connections to my childhood has slipped away from me. She had been in care for a long while and her worsening dementia had continued to break my heart to the point where I could no longer acknowledge it. I began to write letters to her over the last month, only two. I have to hope she received them and was proud and amazed that I had gone on such an adventure. I will always carry with me the memories of visiting her in the wilds of northern Pennsylvania: trekking up the turkey path and watching deer cross the meadow behind her house. Those exceptionally quiet evenings where everything felt so still and hushed; I can actually put myself there at this very moment and feel that exact same feeling. She can’t honestly be gone. Not when I can still hear her voice in my head singing Red Sails in the Sunset and feel the touch of her hand on my back when I asked for a back rub. She won’t ever really be gone when I can call up those memories which feel so real it is almost like I am there. 

My Grandmom (1923-2014)

With loss also comes a renewed sense of determination and purpose. I feel more determined than ever to succeed in this programme and achieve the highest level I possibly can. I’m already making strides. I discovered that I received a 70 on a mock exam I took just before Christmas break. Now for my American readers you must be thinking that a 70 isn’t a very high score. You must remember that the Brits mark things differently. Few score over an 80 and certainly no one scores over 90. To convert a UK score to a US score add 20 points. A 70 (UK) then becomes a 90 (US). I felt an immediate boost to my confidence when I set eyes on that mark. That’s when I began to really dig my heels in and now I fully intend on moving mountains.

The first mountain came rather quickly. As part of my programme I am required to complete a four week work placement at a museum outside of Durham. Since September I had been hunting in vain to find a place that would take me. Since September I had been met with disappointment and mostly unanswered emails. I was feeling discouraged about the whole process when I ran into one of my professors the week before lectures began. We set up a time to meet to discuss what I needed to do. I had been avoiding the national museums thinking that they would never in a million years take me. Ben told me I should be trying them. He suggested the British Museum and the V&A, the Science Museum since I had loved it so much. I left the meeting feeling I had nothing to lose. That evening I emailed the V&A and the British Museum and then promptly forgot about it. Deadlines had begun to loom and all my thought processes were tied up in research proposals, presentations, and essays. I was going through my emails one afternoon and nearly deleted one when I didn’t recognise the sender. I opened it up and to my utter astonishment time stopped moving.

I HAD GOTTEN A PLACEMENT AT THE V&A.

I wanted to shout and cheer at the top of my lungs. The V&A! One of the most prestigious institutions in the world wanted me. The museum that my course director had specifically told everyone not to waste time applying to because they have never taken a Durham student had decided to take me. It had been the right time, the right place, the right person, and the right email. So stay tuned folks, An American in Durham will be coming to you live from London at the end of March!

January has brought so much more. I have begun working and researching at one of the University museums. I started Crossfit training and I have the sore muscles to attest to how hard I’m working. I’ve begun to have weekly lunches with my good friend, Sam, and I even made my English premier singing in a sextet for a member of staff’s leaving party. I cannot complain about the start of this brand new year. Though I have suffered the first major loss in my life, I know that my grandmother would be proud of me and would be cheering for me if she were here.

When in London (Part Three): The Last Full Day

Day Four: Portobello Road, Hyde Park, Buckingham Palace, The British Museum, London and Tower Bridges, and the Messiah at Southwark Cathedral

My last full day in London arrived far too soon. There was so much I hadn’t done and seen yet and I was determined to cross a few more destinations off of my list. By ten o’clock in the morning I was on the Tube heading toward Holland Park. I was on an important mission, one I had been planning since childhood. I was determined to set foot on Portobello Road. Now, for those of you who have never seen the Disney film Bedknobs and Broomsticks you must immediately stop reading this blog, go out and buy the DVD or rent it from Netflix, and watch it this minute. It’s alright, I’ll wait…okay fine. Just watch this part:

Awesome, right? And now you know why I had to go to Portobello Road. I remember watching that movie all the time as a child and one of my favourite parts was always the Portobello Road dance sequence. It was a bit of childhood magic that I had placed in my pocket when I came to the UK; something I had decided I wanted to do before I set foot on the plane in September. As I sat on the carriage that was speeding along the track, the song ran on repeat through my head.

Eventually I emerged from the station and found myself on a beautiful, wide street. It was lined with gorgeous homes and it was so quiet. It was quiet a sunny day and the white exterior of the houses seemed to gleam against the green shrubs and blue sky.

This is it, I thought. If I were to live anywhere in London, it would be here.

I turned down one of the side lanes and strolled past the uniform front stoops of dozens of these well-manicured homes. The quiet filled my ears. It was the quietest the city had ever been. I breathed it in. It was perfect.

I turned down one more side road and finally arrived at Portobello Road, street where the riches of ages are stowed. The road stood before me and wound past colourful buildings. The merchants were putting up stalls on the pavement. I had arrived probably a bit too early to get the full effect of the bustling market. I wandered past antique shops, shops selling all manner of kitsch, souvenir shops, cafes, pubs, second-hand clothiers, and record shops. I passed a crepe stand and instantly my mouth began watering. I passed a stall with ancient looking cameras and golf clubs. There were stalls filled with scarves, faux fur coats, and military jackets. Then I came to the man playing the steel drum. He was the only taste of my childhood imaginings I came across on Portobello Road. I wandered up and down the stalls and then decided to head back to the station. Perhaps had I come a little later or not directly after a holiday it would have been a more bustling scene. As I passed the beautiful homes again, I realised I wasn’t disappointed by my experience. It was a place I would love to visit again. I imagine it is the type of place that is ever changing and evolving with the seasons, weather, and people. I made a mental note to seek out Portobello Road again the next time I was in London.

Twenty minutes later I was once again emerging from a Tube station. This time I was at Hyde Park Corner. As I began to walk into the busier downtown area of Knightsbridge my phone buzzed in my pocket. I looked down and to my surprise I saw a message from someone I hadn’t seen in ten years. He had been a senior when I was a sophomore during my undergraduate days. By a remarkable coincidence he was in a performance of Messiah that evening at Southwark Cathedral and had seen from my posts on Facebook that I was in the city. I made up my mind to attend and shook my head at the enormous coincidence.

My stomach rumbled and I sought out a restaurant to grab a bite. I settled on Wagamama where I partook of their trademark juices and noodles. £20 later I was heading back toward Hyde Park hoping to catch a glimpse of Winter Wonderland. I passed through the Hyde Park Screen and joined the crowds heading toward the centre of the park. As I neared the entrance to the fair, I heard a woman’s voice echoing across the grass. She was beckoning everyone to come to Winter Wonderland.

I entered the fair and started to feel a bit disappointed. I had now been to at least two Christmas Markets and this did not seem to be any different. In fact it was almost exactly the same at the Edinburgh Christmas Market, same food, stalls, and tchotchkes for sale. It just seemed a little bigger. I decided to turn up one of the paths and all of a sudden I was in an amusement park.

I kid you not, dear reader, the Christmas market had dissolved into carnival games, roller coasters, haunted house rides, and scramblers. Buckets of cotton candy (or fairy floss as the natives call it) hung from popcorn and sweet carts. A large Ferris wheel reached up into the sky and I had to blink several times to make sure I hadn’t entered some sort of odd delusion. One moment I had been in the prototypical German Christmas market and the next I was at Six Flags. I felt like I had fallen through the looking glass.

I weaved through dense crowds and gaped at the sites around me. Eventually I made my way back to the market and finally out into the park. I shook my head, still unsure if what I had seen had actually existed.

Buckingham Palace was a short walk away and I figured while I was in the neighbourhood I might as well drop in. I wandered through Green Park, under the Wellington Arch and down a lovely tree lined road. The Victoria Memorial rose up in the distance and the gates in front of the palace were lined with people three deep. I was reminded of when I had visited the White House while I was in Washington, D.C. I say visited, what I mean of course, when I passed the gates and had to work my way to the front of the crowd for a proper view. Here I was seven months later and an ocean away working through the crowd for a glimpse of Buckingham Palace. I watched for a minute or two as one of the guards marched back and forth beyond the gates before I moved on. After I circled the Victoria Memorial, I decided it was time for another museum.

I had been to the Natural History Museum, the V&A, and the Science Museum. I still hadn’t been to the most famous museum in London and I couldn’t call my trip complete until I had seen the British Museum.

Once more I climbed aboard the London Underground. I had become an old hat at riding the Tube and this time I was headed toward Tottenham Court Road. I still love emerging from the underground. You truly never know what you will find when you climb up those stairs. I felt as though I were in downtown Manhattan. The sidewalks were narrower, the crowds more dense, and the buildings felt more used. The character changed as I neared the museum into a more artsy sort of ambience, little cafes and bookshops rather than fast food places.

The museum came up on my left and I passed into the forecourt just as the sun was beginning to wane in the sky. I knew when I came back out after my visit, it would be dark. I climbed the step and passed through the columns and found myself standing in the Great Court for the first time. I chuckled a bit to myself. I had written a paper about the architecture of the Great Court without ever having seen it. Now I was finally standing there gazing at the gorgeous glass ceiling that canopied the vast, vacuous space. It was perfect.

I had only a few hours before the museum would close so I grabbed a map and decided to hit Ancient Egypt, the Parthenon marbles, Sutton Hoo, and the Lewis Chessmen. It was terribly crowded when I entered the Egyptian hall. Once again I was weaving through couples and families, tourists and scholars to catch a glimpse of the figurines, statues, and architectural pieces. I found an empty bench and decided to catch my breath.

I had been going for seven hours and I still had to make it down to Southwark Cathedral by 7:30. I felt like Portobello Road had been a week ago rather than a few hours. I cast my mind back to the day before, the V&A and the Science Museum, further back still, back to 2013 and New Year’s Eve. Had it really only been a few days? I had been back in England for less than a week. I had been home only five days before. How had I gotten here? I began thinking all the way back to when I had first applied to Durham. So much had changed. So much was still to change. I blinked and realised I had been staring at a series of several animal statues. I felt as ancient as those statues in that moment. I sighed and stood up.

I passed the Rosetta Stone, too late to realise what the huge crowd around it was gawking at and headed toward the Parthenon marbles. I read every label, watched the restoration video, and finally entered the darkened gallery where they lined the walls. Here were pieces of history and culture ripped from their original context and culture and transfigured into curiosities and art. In some ways they had lost their original cultural context. They seemed more British to me than Greek. They fit their surroundings. As I studied them intently I couldn’t decide if they should be repatriated or not. I thought I would have achieved clarity on the issue by seeing them in person. Instead I felt more conflicted than ever.

I wandered through gallery after gallery. I peered at every Sutton Hoo artefact and read every label. I climbed the stairs and found the Lewis chessman. After that I meandered through rooms filled with everything imaginable. It all blurred together and I allowed my brain to shut off and merely soaked it all in. My favourite item of the day was an elaborate clockwork ship that in its day would travel across a table and fire its tiny cannons. I passed scores of coins, statues, ceramics, and glass. I finally found myself in the café fifteen minutes before closing. I order a pot of tea and a lemon drizzle cake before finally bidding the British Museum adieu.

It made no sense to go back to my hotel. Instead I decided to head to Southwark Cathedral two hours early and wander the river front. Night had fallen across London and the lights on the Thames danced and sparkled. I gazed out across the river and saw the dome of St. Paul’s Cathedral. I hadn’t made it there this time. Then there was London Bridge glowing bright orange. I strolled along until I came to the HMS Belfast and there was Tower Bridge in the distance. The city at night was beautiful and alive.

It was thirty minutes before the performance was to begin. I headed back toward the cathedral and found a seat on the aisle in the last row. It was a gorgeous space and I was so grateful that I would be hearing music. I hadn’t realised how starved I was for it. The seats filled up completely and finally the performance began. I spotted my old compatriot and smiled. It truly is a small world when you can be thousands of miles from home and still come across the people you knew.

The first chords of the overture filled the ornate cavern and then the choir began. I closed my eyes and allowed each note to pass over me. For the second time that day I turned off my brain and just soaked up my surroundings and the sounds of choral singing. I missed it so terribly. When I returned to Durham I would do everything I could to sing again. The performance concluded and I managed to catch up for a few minutes with my friend. They choir had been touring for two weeks and tonight was the final performance. I was saddened by this. I had hoped they would perhaps head north and I would be able to hear them again. Further disappointment came when I realised they had been in London on New Year’s Eve. How much different would my night have been had I spent it with people I knew! We took a photo to commemorate the occasion and I wished him luck on his journey home.

That night I returned to the hotel and began the arduous and depressing task of packing. My train for Durham would be leaving at half past noon which left me little time to wait in the morning. I dreaded lugging my baggage onto to the Tube and through the streets of Durham on the other side, but at least the buses would be running. As I zipped up my large red suitcase I realised that though being on my own had been difficult over the past few days, I had managed to see and do so many fantastic things. I was lucky. When else in my life would I have these sorts of opportunities? Soon I hoped. I couldn’t wait to do this again. London had nestled into a very special place in my heart and I wanted nothing more than to come back and stay for longer. Forever.

When in London (Part Two): We'll Drink a Cup of Kindness Yet

Day 2: The Natural History Museum and NYE on the Thames

New Year’s Eve. So much pressure is put on holidays like New Year’s Eve. You have to do something. You have to celebrate and ring in the new year and celebrate the fact that the planet orbited the sun another time. Being in London, the pressure was doubled. I was in one of the most amazing cities in the world, on New Year’s Eve, and I needed to do something. I couldn’t just sit in my, rather depressing hotel room. I scrambled to find an event and succeeded. I bought a ticket the night before to a New Year’s Eve Ball to be held at the London Film Museum right next to the London Eye. I would be able to watch the fireworks from the second story. Something I was sure I would never forget.

Only one problem: I had nothing to wear to a party which insisted on its guests arriving in “glamorous” outfits. I woke early and grabbed the tube to Oxford Circus. In record time, I had put together an outfit and was headed back to the station.

Oxford Circus area complete with iconic double-decker buses.

I had made plans to meet up with a friend from uni. Sara was a native Londoner and she had provided me with a list of places to see and try. Luckily she was in town for New Year’s and we were able to meet up to explore the Natural History Museum.

I cannot do justice to the magnificence of the building. It is one of the most amazing pieces of architecture I have seen. It is an artefact in itself as well as a teaching tool. The carvings of various animals and plant life and the botanical ceiling completely encase you in knowledge. Everywhere you look there are amazing details. You could spend the afternoon simply looking at the building.

Romanesque charm with monkeys.

First glimpse of the interior.

It's like a cathedral of knowledge...

... with monkeys.

We wandered through the exhibits and queued up to see the dinosaurs. Definitely go see the dinosaurs! The exhibit is scientific while simultaneously being artistic. The skeletons are lit in such a way to cast brilliant shadows on the walls behind. You begin to look at the bones not just as the structure of a long dead animal but as living, dynamic, memories. Your imagination takes over and the intrinsic aesthetic value of the bones themselves becomes important.

This little guy seems to be doing the Thriller dance.

Hey kids, it's Chuck Darwin!

So this ceiling was really awesome until I read that they cut down a
 200 year old oak which was perfectly healthy just to take this thin slice of it.

Brilliant lighting and shadows.

 

So that's what happened to them!

After the Museum I wished Sara a happy new year and headed back to my hotel for a quick nap and to get ready for the party. I needed to get to the museum by six before the police closed down the area. People had been arriving since noon to get the best spot for viewing the fireworks and as the area got full, the police were closing the entrances. Tube stations were shut down or only allowing you to exit. In short, it was going to be a long night.

I exited the Waterloo Station and walked towards the waterfront. Peeking from behind the buildings, I caught my first glimpse of the London Eye. It was magnificently tall and striking against the night sky.

I managed to find the museum and soon I was staring out one of the windows at Parliament and Big Ben. 

After I explored as much of the museum as was open, and wandered around all the rooms, I found myself completely bored. Everyone was in groups or couples and no one was dancing. I went to the loo (and used my first pull chain toilet) where I overheard a group of girls talking.

“It’s like a bad wedding isn’t it?” One of them said and was received by a round of laughter. She wasn’t wrong.

I managed to be one of the first people to get dinner just by happenstance. I was standing looking at some all clapboards from past films when the queue began to form. Little did I know how lucky I was to be there at the moment; there were people who still hadn’t gotten their food at midnight.

Five hours in and I was going mad with boredom. A middle aged couple had taken pity on me at one point and struck up a conversation. They were lovely. Emma and Iain from Bristol had come to London with their kids for New Year's. We spoke for about ten minutes and then they wandered off to try to battle for food. I was left alone again and I hoped that the fireworks would make it all worth it. I grabbed my coat from the coat check so I could disappear as soon as they were over and planted myself in front of one of the windows. Soon the countdown began and the fireworks lit up the entire sky. It was perfect. With each explosion the room lit up with applause and cheers of approval. They went on for what seemed like an hour. Then came the finale. It was so bright that the room was filled with what appeared to be daylight. The room erupted in cheers and the music began playing again. I smiled and began weaving my way through kissing couples and hugging friends.

When I made it out onto the street, I joined the river of humanity heading back to Waterloo Station. Thousands of people streamed through the streets of London. Drunks were being upheld by their friends and some were pushing to try to get ahead. Most were content just to take their time and take it all in. A particularly intoxicated girl being braced by her two friends waved at me. 

"Happy 2014!" she slurred smiling happily.

"Same to you," I replied smiling in return.

"I'm so sorry," her friend said to me.

I shook my head, "No need to apologise, she's having a good time."

It took an hour to reach the station that had been only a two minute walk six hours earlier. Thirty minutes later I was unlocking the door to my room and collapsing on the bed. 2014. A new year, with no mistakes, regrets, or disappointments. I smiled and drifted off to sleep.

Advice and Notes: Go see the Natural History Museum. It is completely worth it and you’ll have a blast. Say hi to the dinosaurs for me while you are there. If you don’t mind a long wait, huge crowds, and drunk people the London NYE Fireworks are a once in a lifetime experience. It’s not for everyone and you will always get some of the best views from your television screen.