Devouring Dali & Movie-tastic

Still in Westminster Abbey I realised I couldn’t find my way out. Around every corner there was another corner, another prayer room filled with glass mosaics and tombs and writings dedicated to the people who contributed to the society of their time. There were arches and thrones and statues and the regalia worn by kings and queens through the centuries. It took an hour to simply do the ‘once over’. In the centre there is a large square grassed area (that one is not allowed to walk on… it seems quite the norm that people are not allowed to walk on the grass and I cant count how many “keep off the grass” signs I’ve seen in my short time here). I passed a priest or two and finally made my way out. Unfortunately the experience was tainted by the fact I had to pay 12 pound and then was not allowed to take any photos. And the fact that potentially every tourist in London was in the Abbey at the same time as me. Places like that you need solitude for, some quiet to take in the glory. History does not speak so loud as in the silence of solitude (I think I’ll have to copy write that sentence!)

I came out of Westminster Abbey determined to cheer myself up. I was disappointed and I think there is a lot to be said about Great Expectations. Westminster Cathedral is not on the maps so much, or on the tongues of toursists… so in going there, its romance had been maintained. I like the secret places you find when you meander along the street.

Turning to the right I look up only to behold Big Ben bearing down on me. Again, I expected it to be larger, however it did not stop the butterflies running ramped in my stomach… It was another “Yay! I’m here… look at me in my beret checking out Buckingham Palace”. It’s a bitter sweet moment because you cant help for you mind to run across the waves and back to the people you love, wishing and dreaming they were with you there. I knew Nigel would have loved to be there seeing my eyes light up while I jumped around infront of passing Londoners like a crazy person. I took out my camera and recorded my first impressions.

Big Ben and Houses of Parliament are simply beautiful and have a gothic feel to them. Its like staring at a painting come to life for the complexity of the architecture, every crevice has been considered, each tells a story about the purpose of the building, the people who helped create it and the people whom it would house. Its difficult to describe what I mean, when you look at the Houses of Parliament from afar its as if someone has used grey paint and subtly stroked down on the horizon, I don’t know if you can describe something so large as intricate, but it is in its detail. I could stare at it for house, you feel like touching the exterior of the building, wondering how they formed it. It reminded me of some photo’s I’d seen of Gaudi’s Church in Barcelona (adding to list of things to do when I head to the continent).

I took in the surroundings, snapped a million photos and tried to fit my head into the shots so that I could actually accept that I’d been here, no… it wasn’t all a distant dream. It still seems all very surreal to me, I feel as if I’m going to wake up at home again soon… and realise it was all of very long dream.

I carried on along the bridge, bumping into people as I walked… I was still distracted looking at Big Ben and Parliament, the fact that it is build on the river, literally on the river, was another amazing feat. Its so impressive, we think that “back in the day” those persons were not as advanced as the modern day, wars were conducted in a different manner, there was little to no concept of different cultures or respect of such, they didn’t have telephones, the internet, every conceivable play thing that one could ever imagine… and yet, they made some of the most unbelievable and strikingly beautiful buildings, buildings that far surpass the so called “mansions” of today. I like to think there was love and pride put into every arch and pillar. Everything was done manually with thousands of hands, probably thousands of deaths, multitudes of money… maybe sometimes the harder a thing is to do, the more motivated one is to do it well.

I finally arrived at the other end of the bridge and was shocked yet again at what I had come across. Up! Up! For wandering. I had arrived at the South Bank (which apparently used to be considered “the country side”, London was across the river which is where the 1666 Fire of London took place destroying the original city which had been primarily made of wood). Here I was where the prostitutes, gamblers and persons of questionable character had danced and sung their way through medieval naughtyness. How exciting. Now the South Bank is considered a bit of a modern tourist / artsy realm. There were people everywhere… by the sounds of things, they were also all French and were not inclined to seeing me… such were the thumps and bumps that I received as I made my way down the stairs, or side stepped into a puddle when a pack of wild frogs came directly at me! I was not overly impressed by this, especially considering my shoes allow water into them quite easily and now my socks were all wet… but nothing could take from my excitement.

There rising up before me was the London Eye and what an impressive construction that is. There was an American shouting to see everyone tickets (at 20pound a pop I thought I would not partake and could possibly find another way to see the city without parting with what is $45 for a 20minute ferris wheel. But it is still a site to see.

I was not so excited to see the London Eye as I was to… I still have to take a breath and check my excitement even thinking about it… there behind me was an exhibition at the County Hall (another beautiful big building where previously discussions about the goings on in the city of London would have been held years ago… now it is a centre for exhibitions) and WHAT an exhibition. By the statues out side you didn’t even need to read the title of the exhibition. Giant figures of long-legged elephants and women with drawers coming from their abdomen… Dali.

Ever since Brett introduced me to Dali when I was in high school I have been fascinated. Having read his biography I don’t much like him as an individual, he was ‘odd’ for the sake of being odd and certainly took Andre Breton’s thunder in relation to the Dada / Surrealist movement (poor Breton didn’t have the same skill with the paint brush). Nevertheless, to see Dali originals, to read about him and have a whole building dedicated to him… including a café! I was at a loss, I was jumping up and down, I wanted to grab a stranger and tell them how truly happy I was. Yay… and more Yay!

I convinced the lady at the front desk that I was a student but had forgotten my card (I think given my attire… aka looking like a mad lil art student… she was obliged to believe me, or atleast feel sorry for me that I had no fashion sense what so ever). I got in for 5 pound less than I should of and was quite content with that. Then, I walked through the hall.

The hall leads through to the triple gallery area. Along it were photo’s of Dali and his quotes… many of these quotes I’ve read before but still make me huff and puff when I read them. He has very arrogant tendencies and again, it is frustrating when I person plays on the quirky side of their nature. You either are or you aren’t, and I think Dali was just making money of it, given the time he was living in. He was actually the first pop artist ever (that is artist that during his lifetime became famous not only for his art but also his persona… what Andy Warhol was for the 60s and 70s, Dali was for the 30s and 40s. He quotes at one time, “Each morning when I awake, I experience again a supreme pleasure - that of being Salvador Dali”… never has a human being been more arrogant. He also made a few comments about the inadequacies of women… which, I ofcourse gasped at, then smiled because that was his point, he wanted to shock and amuse, and here I was all these decades later, being shocked and amused, you have to give him credit for that.

I turned out of the hall, reading about things I’d already read about and thinking back to my time at University doing the Ideology course, remembering how excited I was reading about Breton, Dali, Satre and de Bouviour, here I was in London where they all spent time and chatted about the ins and outs of society and the human condition.

When entering the main gallery I suddenly felt at home. Luckily there weren’t too many people meandering around so I could spend time infront of a sculpture or painting and take it all in. There were melting clocks, some amazing works that I’d never seen before – coloured paintings that had a Picaso flair to them, the usual woman laning on a stilt with drawers coming from her abdomen, the elephant with exceptionally long legs. My eyes darted from one side of the room to another before I decided to start at one end and circumnavigate my way around every single object and painting. There was a television showing Dali’s films, which in their absurdist manner, made no sense at all – even less sense when spoken in French. One very small object that most fascinated me was a golden paper weight, there were two infact. One was an elephant, and the other, a swan. Reading the details about this one was then advised that both objects were actually the same, however if you turned the elephant up side down, it became a swan. Dali considered himself the first to have made this discovery and this type of mini-sculpture. Whether he was or not, it was very interesting and I really wanted one.

Each room had a different and detailed display of Dali’s work. It’s a pityI had such a horrendous memory, I so wanted to retain everything that I was reading and everything that was before me. However, just being there was enough and I have every intention of going again.

I meandered around all of the amazing structures before finding myself at the Dali Café… even if I wasn’t hungry there was no way I wasn’t eating here. I took up a table and sat on the little green plastic chair and stared out of the window at the hustle bustle outside. Everything on the menu seemed completely ridiculous… I thought maybe it was Dali inspired and had no intention of not making sense. I finally ordered a chicken-type snadwhich, apparently “gormet” and apparently “organic”. The very abrupt waitress, who appeared more interested in speaking another language to a colleague (I assume about the ladies male interest) than helping me with my necessity for food.

Finally she turned up with my meal…

My meal was in a bag…

A brown paper bag, very environmental… carrying on with the organic spin I supposed. The bread was white (unsure how one makes white organic bread considering in order to have white bread the wheat has to be bleached and preservatives added). Not only this but there was no butter (and I can’t be eating bread without butter! One of my loves in life is good butter), but the chicken was bland… and to add insult to injury, there were chunky pieces of some part of the chicken that aught not have been in the chicken sandwhich. I felt suddenly sick after crunching into what I imagined to be a chicken shoulder, was entirely frustrated that I had paid ten pound for something that wasn’t worth two and made my way out of this place of wonders.

I sighed allowed when I came into the impeding clouds, very happy with my accomplishments of the day. I thought I would have a quick wander further down the South Bank and see what restaurants and sites there were to see and then make my way home.

At that time I suddenly felt Tiffany staring at me. I knew. She knew. We knew. I was unknowingly standing before the MOVIESEUM… as the name suggests it is a museum dedicated to movies, with parts of actual sets within. I asked the gentleman dressed as a policeman where to go, he took me in and arranged a student ticket for me and off I went. It all happened rather quickly. No more than five minutes after coming out of the Dali exhibit I was in Star Wars… staring a C-P30 and Chewbacca. Mickey was having a cup of tea with Dorrothy and Danger Mouse greeted me at the entrance way. It wasn’t done as well as it could have been, but I was skipping down the hall thinking of Tiffany at every turn.

My favourite room without a shadow of a doubt was the “play room”, which I assume was created for children, but there was no one in there. There were computers set up so that you could create your own character, with its own personality, its own little world, what ever shape and colour you wanted. I created a purple spotted monster with a great big smile, and positive outlook on like, but if he was ever in danger he had teethy-mouths on his knees so when he kicked he could also bite his assailant. He was situated in Texas and liked to flare his muscles. I could not for the life of me stop laughing. It was the most wonderful thing, it may have surpassed Dali. My own lil monster.

After half an hour of playing with my new favourite fiend I realised that it was getting to the late afternoon and I needed to see everything before rush hour started on the tube (not a big fan of people touching me on public transport or the horrendous smell that human beings give off at the end of the day eating spicey meals to keep the cold at bay). So I ventured forth and spoke with Sherlock briefly before visiting Spongebob and a few more Star Wars heroes. My camera was dying which I thought was a good sign that I should head out. It had been a very long and very exciting day and my legs were beginning to feel the impact of my seven hour trek.

I took a glance around South Bank again, took in Big Ben all lit up, Westminster Abbey and the Houses of Parliament shone out at me and everyone in the vicinity seemed as delighted as me to be exactly where they were. Couples were embracing while waiting in line to take a ride on the London Eye and some children were feeding the hundreds of pigeons that were gathering with expectation. It was London. This, I thought, is what London is all about.

I headed off to find a tube station and make my way home. Following signs I dashed through traffic, still buzzing from my excursion of a lifetime, and hoped that a tube station would present itself soon. It was getting increasingly dark and I was getting to the Alice stage (the overwhelming desire to click ones heels and suddenly be back at home). Waterloo station was apparently just around the corner, but unfortunately the corner disappeared. I carried on through and decided I would wander to Elephant and Castle… The problem with travelling and doing it by yourself is that to you, a place is just a place, none are more dangerous than the other… however I later found out that the Elephant and Castle is not really the best place a white female with a red beret and green scarf should be wandering about. I didn’t mind at the time though, it took me around twenty minutes to walk at a fast pace to the general area. I was stopped by two French men asking for directions. Sadly I had to advise that I wasn’t from London and had little idea where I was going myself. I practically skipped down the street after being mistaken for a local, the rain was coming down but in my mind, the sun was shinning.

After getting lost and lost again and feeling like the only light skinned person in the world for quite some time, I finally found the tube and was unbelievably glad to find myself sitting down, my feet hovering off the floor and aching. I was so glad to be heading back to warmth and quiet… but oh what a wonderous day.