August 7, 1984
Today we collected our Eurobout paraphernalia at the hotel lobby. We've got travel bags, brochures, luggage tags, and travel maps. These were stowed in our room. While we were doing last-minute primping, I got a call from my pen-friend Nigel, saying he was in the lobby.
Nigel and I had been exchanging letters through a penpal service, and though we'd sent each other pictures, I was approaching this meeting with butterflies in my stomach. I felt awkward, meeting him with Ma present; but the idea of being on my own to meet him was even more daunting.
In any case, before my imagination could go off the deep end, he was there; a nice solid kind of person, quiet in manner and with excellent manners. He was a bit shy, but that was to be expected. He would make a good friend, definitely. He had us wait out front while he got the car out of its parking slot; it's a cute little thing, though he managed to squeeze himself in without any discomfort whatsoever.
Nigel had us out of the city limits in good time, and he said that he would be taking us through a drive in the country, with a visit to Hampton Court. It was a bit unsettling to be in the front seat, given the way Nigel drives, which is swiftly but with care. Still, the views were worth it. It was beautiful to rest one's eyes on the countryside, looking at the facades of any number of old homes, many of them are "antique" in every sense of the word.
We made Hampton Court in good time, and as I set my feet on the gravel sweep, I could hardly believe I was actually walking on the same grounds as Henry VIII and his immediate family. It is a magnificent estate, and kudos to the British for preserving it through war and economic crises. It's easy to imagine the royal ghosts that might be watching from behind the portraits!
The gardens are vast. We passed the oldest living grape vine in Britain, if not the entire world — apparently the thing still produces fruit and the resulting wine is still drinkable. Amazing. We passed The Maze, and I was tempted to go in, except that the sight of the tall hedgerows marking the maze walls and boundaries was intimidating in the extreme. Instead we turned our attention to the little souvenir shop and came away with lots of souvenirs. Nigel asked if he could take us out for another country drive, and we accepted with pleasure.
We had our dinner at "The City of London" Tavern, a place that is described as specializing in authentic pub food. It's across the road from Blackfriars station, and the trip down was a delight — all those clean-cut young businessmen in their conservative pinstripes, reading the evening paper! It would have been very rude indeed to start taking pictures in the Tube car, but then again, it's the pictures one doesn't take that one remembers the most.
Unfortunately, we arrived too early at the Tavern, just after the rush hour. So we just had time for dinner and because Ma was afraid of being out in a strange city after dark, we had to skip the festivities which were supposed to start at nine in the evening. We took another one of those lovely London cabs back to the hotel, and never did I feel so safe while traveling. Even at night, and in a city unfamiliar to me.
Friday, July 14, 2006
[LONDON LIGHTS 1984] DAY 7
August 6, 1984
Today we caught the Changing of the Guard, and very lucky we were to do so. Thanks to currently running NATO exercises, the schedule was switched from a daily changeover to even-numbered days. The Guardsmen are doing NATO rotation, hence the regiments are undermanned, and a composite full-dress battalion is so *not* the thing. It was a beautiful sight, and we managed to get a pretty good vantage point, though not quite front row and center.
We took a walk in St. James' Park after the Changing of the Guard. I have a particular soft spot in my heart for all the wee creatures that you can find in a city park. Here, the ducks, geese, sparrows and the rest of the wildlife appear to be quite used to people. The come up to those who approach the water's edge, looking for all the world as if people were created to give them handouts. For a little while we sat on a bench and people-watched, relaxed and absorbed the atmosphere.
Today was the day we learned to use the Tube. As was our won't, we took one of the big red buses, but I managed to read the route map wrong and we ended up practically in the suburbs of London. We lined up at another bus stop, but then a sweet old lady who got tired of waiting for the bus decided to take the Tube instead. She figured us for tourists, and asked if we'd like to join her. Mama was having a mild attack of nerves due to our surroundings, and off we went.
The Tube station was just around the corner, and the lady told us how to follow the map of the system. Every line has a color, and there are arrows to show which platform you should be standing on if you are going in a particular direction. So very easy, much easier than taking the bus! Riding in the trains isn't scary at all (at least not from my point of view), and in less time than it took with the bus, we were back in the familiar region of Russell Square.
We discovered a Safeway supermarket across the hotel. It's located in the Brunswick Shopping Center, which is a sort of mini-mall. We bought fresh fruit in season, especially apples and nectarines, some milk and bottled water. After all the excitement of dealing with the transport system, we settled in early.
Today we caught the Changing of the Guard, and very lucky we were to do so. Thanks to currently running NATO exercises, the schedule was switched from a daily changeover to even-numbered days. The Guardsmen are doing NATO rotation, hence the regiments are undermanned, and a composite full-dress battalion is so *not* the thing. It was a beautiful sight, and we managed to get a pretty good vantage point, though not quite front row and center.
We took a walk in St. James' Park after the Changing of the Guard. I have a particular soft spot in my heart for all the wee creatures that you can find in a city park. Here, the ducks, geese, sparrows and the rest of the wildlife appear to be quite used to people. The come up to those who approach the water's edge, looking for all the world as if people were created to give them handouts. For a little while we sat on a bench and people-watched, relaxed and absorbed the atmosphere.
Today was the day we learned to use the Tube. As was our won't, we took one of the big red buses, but I managed to read the route map wrong and we ended up practically in the suburbs of London. We lined up at another bus stop, but then a sweet old lady who got tired of waiting for the bus decided to take the Tube instead. She figured us for tourists, and asked if we'd like to join her. Mama was having a mild attack of nerves due to our surroundings, and off we went.
The Tube station was just around the corner, and the lady told us how to follow the map of the system. Every line has a color, and there are arrows to show which platform you should be standing on if you are going in a particular direction. So very easy, much easier than taking the bus! Riding in the trains isn't scary at all (at least not from my point of view), and in less time than it took with the bus, we were back in the familiar region of Russell Square.
We discovered a Safeway supermarket across the hotel. It's located in the Brunswick Shopping Center, which is a sort of mini-mall. We bought fresh fruit in season, especially apples and nectarines, some milk and bottled water. After all the excitement of dealing with the transport system, we settled in early.
Wednesday, July 5, 2006
[LONDON LIGHTS 1984] DAY 6
August 5, 1984
After visiting the Catholic house of worship (Westminster Abbey), today we gave time to the Anglican house of worship (or what we Filipinos call "Protestant", not being bothered to distinguish between the various denominations) -- St. Paul's Cathedral. It one of the most beautiful works by Sir Christopher Wren, if not the most beautiful. Certainly, for a public place, one of the most welcoming. I'm fairly sure that had I been by myself, I would have at least made the attempt to get up into the dome, just to see if I could; they say the view will take away what little breath you have left after climbing the stairs.
The Prince and Princess of Wales were married out of this lovely church. Following tradition, Ma and I made three wishes, said a few prayers, and lighted a candle to watch for us after we'd gone.
From the Cathedral, it was off to the Tower of London, which took up most of the afternoon. We joined a guided tour led by one of the Beefeaters. That's the nickname of the Royal Guard - I suppose they were given an extra ration of meat, back in the day, in order to keep up their strength for the job. Our Beefeater was as big as a bear -- and an endless fund of Tower lore. His dry wit enlivened the anecdotes surrounding the Tower, and there was a lot of polite laughter at regular intervals.
The Tower is actually misnamed. It is something more in the way of a small castle by the riverside. Tower Bridge (the often misnamed "London Bridge"), is one of the prettiest drawbridges around...people love to linger about in hopes of seeing it rise for vessels traveling on the Thames.
It was interesting to discover that there were, apparently, two styles of execution practiced at the Tower. Each style was performed in a separate area of the compound. First you had the "commoner" method, which served as a particularly gruesome form of public entertainment. The poor soul who was executed in this manner, was led out to the outer walls and, to the jeers and cheers of the populace, endured the awful punishment of being "hanged, drawn, and quartered." Basically, you were hung until you were almost dead, and then, in this state, the executioner slit opened your middle and drew out your innards, which were then thrown into a fire -- while you were watching! Then you were beheaded and your corpse divided into four. By comparison, a simple hanging was a merciful thing. I cannot wrap my mind that people would voluntarily come to such a gruesome event...and bring children, at that.
The "private" method of execution was reserved for those incurring the ruler's personal ire. The relative advantage to this, was that one was executed out of the public eye, and one was generally executed swiftly, through beheading. In the reign of Henry VIII and later Tudor years, Anne Boleyn and Catharine Howard met their ends in this manner, as did Lady Jane Seymour (only 17, and victim of her uncle's political games).
Of course, the Tower and Henry VIII are nearly synonymous, given the many people he sent there for one reason or another. Henry VIII is also famous for his six marriages, three of which ended in a spectacular manner. Our Beefeater offered us a rhyme to help us keep straight the fate of each Henry VIII's wives : "Divorced, beheaded, died/Divorced, beheaded, survived":
== Divorced - Catherine of Aragon, mother of Mary Tudor
== Beheaded - Anne Boleyn, mother of Elizabeth Tudor I
== Died - Jane Seymour, mother of Edward VI
== Divorced - Anne of Cleves
== Beheaded - Catherine Howard, cousin of Anne Boleyn
== Survived - Catherine Parr
The highlight of the tour that I was most looking forward to experiencing, was the walk through the room where the Crown Jewels are kept. The room is divided into two levels: an upper tier where one can linger and take longer to appreciate the stones, and a lower tier wher you can get a closer look, but must move along a lot faster. Ma and I took the lower tier -- in our books, a closer look at a faster pace beats a lingering look from a distance.
The Crown Jewels and Regalia are set up against a background of dark velvet -- purple, most likely -- and strategically placed lights that bring out the best of the gems. The Star of Africa probably the most spectacular of the lot. It's the size of a hen's egg -- it looks almost alive under the spotlights; think of a crystal clear ice cube, that somehow retains an aspect of something living, and that's what it looked like to me. Part of its beauty is that it is set, all by itself, on top of the royal sceptre, where all eyes can focus on it, undistracted by any supporting jewels.
The Koh-i-noor Diamond, in the Queen's Crown, is another gorgeous, glorious stone. It is India's contribution to the Crown Regalia, as the Cullinan is South Africa's -- both of them making their way into the Crown Jewels via interesting ways. The Koh-i-noor is said to bring bad fortune to male owners and good fortune to female owners; it once belonged to Shah Jahan, who built the Taj Mahal, and when the old Shah had to be confined to bed, his son had the diamond placed in his window, positioned in such a way that the Shah could see the Taj Mahal reflected on its main facet.
After filling ourselves with history, Ma and I decided to move back into the modern world with that most prosaic of female activities -- shopping, and then a quick meal in nice surroundings before heading back to the hotel.
After visiting the Catholic house of worship (Westminster Abbey), today we gave time to the Anglican house of worship (or what we Filipinos call "Protestant", not being bothered to distinguish between the various denominations) -- St. Paul's Cathedral. It one of the most beautiful works by Sir Christopher Wren, if not the most beautiful. Certainly, for a public place, one of the most welcoming. I'm fairly sure that had I been by myself, I would have at least made the attempt to get up into the dome, just to see if I could; they say the view will take away what little breath you have left after climbing the stairs.
The Prince and Princess of Wales were married out of this lovely church. Following tradition, Ma and I made three wishes, said a few prayers, and lighted a candle to watch for us after we'd gone.
From the Cathedral, it was off to the Tower of London, which took up most of the afternoon. We joined a guided tour led by one of the Beefeaters. That's the nickname of the Royal Guard - I suppose they were given an extra ration of meat, back in the day, in order to keep up their strength for the job. Our Beefeater was as big as a bear -- and an endless fund of Tower lore. His dry wit enlivened the anecdotes surrounding the Tower, and there was a lot of polite laughter at regular intervals.
The Tower is actually misnamed. It is something more in the way of a small castle by the riverside. Tower Bridge (the often misnamed "London Bridge"), is one of the prettiest drawbridges around...people love to linger about in hopes of seeing it rise for vessels traveling on the Thames.
It was interesting to discover that there were, apparently, two styles of execution practiced at the Tower. Each style was performed in a separate area of the compound. First you had the "commoner" method, which served as a particularly gruesome form of public entertainment. The poor soul who was executed in this manner, was led out to the outer walls and, to the jeers and cheers of the populace, endured the awful punishment of being "hanged, drawn, and quartered." Basically, you were hung until you were almost dead, and then, in this state, the executioner slit opened your middle and drew out your innards, which were then thrown into a fire -- while you were watching! Then you were beheaded and your corpse divided into four. By comparison, a simple hanging was a merciful thing. I cannot wrap my mind that people would voluntarily come to such a gruesome event...and bring children, at that.
The "private" method of execution was reserved for those incurring the ruler's personal ire. The relative advantage to this, was that one was executed out of the public eye, and one was generally executed swiftly, through beheading. In the reign of Henry VIII and later Tudor years, Anne Boleyn and Catharine Howard met their ends in this manner, as did Lady Jane Seymour (only 17, and victim of her uncle's political games).
Of course, the Tower and Henry VIII are nearly synonymous, given the many people he sent there for one reason or another. Henry VIII is also famous for his six marriages, three of which ended in a spectacular manner. Our Beefeater offered us a rhyme to help us keep straight the fate of each Henry VIII's wives : "Divorced, beheaded, died/Divorced, beheaded, survived":
== Divorced - Catherine of Aragon, mother of Mary Tudor
== Beheaded - Anne Boleyn, mother of Elizabeth Tudor I
== Died - Jane Seymour, mother of Edward VI
== Divorced - Anne of Cleves
== Beheaded - Catherine Howard, cousin of Anne Boleyn
== Survived - Catherine Parr
The highlight of the tour that I was most looking forward to experiencing, was the walk through the room where the Crown Jewels are kept. The room is divided into two levels: an upper tier where one can linger and take longer to appreciate the stones, and a lower tier wher you can get a closer look, but must move along a lot faster. Ma and I took the lower tier -- in our books, a closer look at a faster pace beats a lingering look from a distance.
The Crown Jewels and Regalia are set up against a background of dark velvet -- purple, most likely -- and strategically placed lights that bring out the best of the gems. The Star of Africa probably the most spectacular of the lot. It's the size of a hen's egg -- it looks almost alive under the spotlights; think of a crystal clear ice cube, that somehow retains an aspect of something living, and that's what it looked like to me. Part of its beauty is that it is set, all by itself, on top of the royal sceptre, where all eyes can focus on it, undistracted by any supporting jewels.
The Koh-i-noor Diamond, in the Queen's Crown, is another gorgeous, glorious stone. It is India's contribution to the Crown Regalia, as the Cullinan is South Africa's -- both of them making their way into the Crown Jewels via interesting ways. The Koh-i-noor is said to bring bad fortune to male owners and good fortune to female owners; it once belonged to Shah Jahan, who built the Taj Mahal, and when the old Shah had to be confined to bed, his son had the diamond placed in his window, positioned in such a way that the Shah could see the Taj Mahal reflected on its main facet.
After filling ourselves with history, Ma and I decided to move back into the modern world with that most prosaic of female activities -- shopping, and then a quick meal in nice surroundings before heading back to the hotel.
Monday, July 3, 2006
[LONDON LIGHTS 1984] DAY 5
August 4, 1984
We have a technique by which to maximize our budget while traveling, and cut down on our eating intake besides. We wake up at a time such that, after having showered and dressed and securing our bags for the day, we get down to the breakfast room an hour before the buffet is supposed to close. In effect, breakfast turns into brunch, and we only need to take a medium afternoon snack and a light dinner before turning in to bed.
Today it was Westminster again, to get a closer look at the Abbey. We strolled inside, and there was much craning of neck to appreciate the Gothic architecture -- ribbed ceiling vaults, stained glass windows, and statues everywhere. Everyone who was someone wanted to be buried in the Abbey, judging from the markers on the floors and walls. As a royal house of worship, most of the monarchs of England are buried here. Royal marriages and christenings also take place here, as do the coronations.
It was fun playing "spot the historical figure" -- because in addition to markers and statues, there are effigies on the tombs. Supposedly they are accurate representations of the people in the tomb. It's entertaining to believe, however, that sculptors were paid an extra sum of money to remove less than flattering features without making the effigy totally unrecognizable.
I spotted Isaac Newton, Mary Queen of Scots, Elizabeth I, The Black Prince Edward III (unwitting father of the Wars of the Roses) and his consort. There was a touching memorial to the Princes in the Tower, who disappeared under the reign of their uncle Richard III. It's shaped in the form of a canopied crib, but you can't see who's inside, because it's oriented away from the official tourist path -- you look up into a mirror set into the wall, and see that two young boys are lying in the crib, embracing each other, as it was described in Shakespeare's play. A sad and fairly unsolved mystery, for while the remains under the memorial are thought to belong to the young princes (brothers of Elizabeth Tudor and therefore uncles to Henry VIII, had they lived), the world may never know how the boys died.
Or even if they died at all. Many a rumor abounded that the young princes were spirited out of England and hidden away abroad. A favorite location was Burgundy, since the Queen was somehow related to Richard III. Certainly at least one pretender showed up from that direction. But who is to say?
We also saw the Stone of Scone that makes each coronation official. It's a very large looking rock, and sits beneath the throne used during the coronation ceremony, surrounded by the latticework connecting the four legs of the throne. How very interesting that being crowned on top of a rock should confer legitimacy on a ruler!
After the Abbey, we strolled around the area of Clarence House, the official residence of Her Majesty the Queen Mother. The skies had gradually turned from mildly overcast to iron-gray, and it had actually begun to rain. Thank heavens for travelling umbrellas! However, the rain quickly stopped, and the crowds gathered outside Clarence House let out with a loud cheer when the Royal Scots Highlanders (for after all, the Queen Mother was born and raised in Scotland) emerged to pipe "Happy Birthday" for her appearance on the balcony.
The Queen Mother was dressed in pale blue, and she looked quite healthy and happy, waving to the people and looking the way a dowager Queen ought to look. What a pity the rain started up again, as though it meant business, chasing us away from Clarence House to the end of the Mall towards Buckingham Palace.
It was here that we had our first experience with the London black cabs. One obligingly stopped for us, and it was love at first sight when we got into the roomy interior. The cab had seen quite a few years of service, but it was well-maintained, the cushions firm and the floor carpets brushed down to a fine point. It gave one the feeling that one had just stepped into a cosy sitting room.
The cabbie got us to the hotel in good time, with none of the odd feeling that maybe he took a more scenic route to add a little onto the fare. Fortunately, I remembered that first one has to get out of the cab and then pay the driver through the window, which made the cabbie smile, since we were so obviously tourists!
We both had hot showers to counter the sudden chill of the rain, and on the TV, I discovered that if we'd managed to stay longer at Clarence House, we would have caught Prince Charles, Lady Sarah Armstrong-Jones, and Viscount Linley as they came to pay their respects to the Queen Mother! Ah, well...the Queen Mother was quite enough royalty, and since she was the birthday celebrant, the proper person to wave at in any case!
We have a technique by which to maximize our budget while traveling, and cut down on our eating intake besides. We wake up at a time such that, after having showered and dressed and securing our bags for the day, we get down to the breakfast room an hour before the buffet is supposed to close. In effect, breakfast turns into brunch, and we only need to take a medium afternoon snack and a light dinner before turning in to bed.
Today it was Westminster again, to get a closer look at the Abbey. We strolled inside, and there was much craning of neck to appreciate the Gothic architecture -- ribbed ceiling vaults, stained glass windows, and statues everywhere. Everyone who was someone wanted to be buried in the Abbey, judging from the markers on the floors and walls. As a royal house of worship, most of the monarchs of England are buried here. Royal marriages and christenings also take place here, as do the coronations.
It was fun playing "spot the historical figure" -- because in addition to markers and statues, there are effigies on the tombs. Supposedly they are accurate representations of the people in the tomb. It's entertaining to believe, however, that sculptors were paid an extra sum of money to remove less than flattering features without making the effigy totally unrecognizable.
I spotted Isaac Newton, Mary Queen of Scots, Elizabeth I, The Black Prince Edward III (unwitting father of the Wars of the Roses) and his consort. There was a touching memorial to the Princes in the Tower, who disappeared under the reign of their uncle Richard III. It's shaped in the form of a canopied crib, but you can't see who's inside, because it's oriented away from the official tourist path -- you look up into a mirror set into the wall, and see that two young boys are lying in the crib, embracing each other, as it was described in Shakespeare's play. A sad and fairly unsolved mystery, for while the remains under the memorial are thought to belong to the young princes (brothers of Elizabeth Tudor and therefore uncles to Henry VIII, had they lived), the world may never know how the boys died.
Or even if they died at all. Many a rumor abounded that the young princes were spirited out of England and hidden away abroad. A favorite location was Burgundy, since the Queen was somehow related to Richard III. Certainly at least one pretender showed up from that direction. But who is to say?
We also saw the Stone of Scone that makes each coronation official. It's a very large looking rock, and sits beneath the throne used during the coronation ceremony, surrounded by the latticework connecting the four legs of the throne. How very interesting that being crowned on top of a rock should confer legitimacy on a ruler!
After the Abbey, we strolled around the area of Clarence House, the official residence of Her Majesty the Queen Mother. The skies had gradually turned from mildly overcast to iron-gray, and it had actually begun to rain. Thank heavens for travelling umbrellas! However, the rain quickly stopped, and the crowds gathered outside Clarence House let out with a loud cheer when the Royal Scots Highlanders (for after all, the Queen Mother was born and raised in Scotland) emerged to pipe "Happy Birthday" for her appearance on the balcony.
The Queen Mother was dressed in pale blue, and she looked quite healthy and happy, waving to the people and looking the way a dowager Queen ought to look. What a pity the rain started up again, as though it meant business, chasing us away from Clarence House to the end of the Mall towards Buckingham Palace.
It was here that we had our first experience with the London black cabs. One obligingly stopped for us, and it was love at first sight when we got into the roomy interior. The cab had seen quite a few years of service, but it was well-maintained, the cushions firm and the floor carpets brushed down to a fine point. It gave one the feeling that one had just stepped into a cosy sitting room.
The cabbie got us to the hotel in good time, with none of the odd feeling that maybe he took a more scenic route to add a little onto the fare. Fortunately, I remembered that first one has to get out of the cab and then pay the driver through the window, which made the cabbie smile, since we were so obviously tourists!
We both had hot showers to counter the sudden chill of the rain, and on the TV, I discovered that if we'd managed to stay longer at Clarence House, we would have caught Prince Charles, Lady Sarah Armstrong-Jones, and Viscount Linley as they came to pay their respects to the Queen Mother! Ah, well...the Queen Mother was quite enough royalty, and since she was the birthday celebrant, the proper person to wave at in any case!
Sunday, July 2, 2006
[LONDON LIGHTS 1984] DAY 4
August 3, 1984
After having had our bus tour yesterday, I looked over our vouchers and agreed with Mom that a trip to the London Diamond Centre and Greenwich in the afternoon would be a nice way to spend the day. We took the double-deck bus near the hotel, and shortly found ourselves in front of a modest looking building. Making our way inside, we were greeted at the reception area by a very nice woman, who was to be our guide for the tour of the premises.
Our first stop was an impressive display of all the world's most famous diamonds. Not the real things, naturally, as quite a few were part of the royal regalia -- but accurate crystal replicas that were very well done, they sparkled almost the originals would. The Cullinan diamond was truly the mother of them all -- there was a replica of the raw stone and the final cut gems; there were at least eleven, if I remember the story correctly. Recognized the Star of Africa and the Hope Diamond from my encyclopedia photo plates. Very pretty indeed!
The tour showed us how diamonds are transformed from lumps of volcanic rock into sparklers. Cutting a diamond was a dicey business -- one slip, a hidden crack inside the stone, and what might have been a lovely gemstone would turn into volcanic dust. There's a legend that the poor man whose job it was to first open the raw Cullinan, all but fainted when his initial slice through the rock made it safely through to the other side!
Every cut -- pear, marquise, emerald, heart-shape, and the much-loved round brilliant -- has to follow a particular facet structure. It is the faceting that brings the diamond to life, each and every angle positioned in such as way as to direct and reflect light into the heart of the stone. A shade too shallow or too deep, and the stone loses its fire, and much of its appeal.
The workrooms, of course, were sealed to visitors, and we could only peer at the work tables through thick glass windows. Amazing to see the decisions, based as much on instinct as on the knowledge of the stone's structure, on which cut to use in order to preserve as much of its size as possible. After all, size does matter, at least where diamonds are concerned. The patience in polishing and then choosing the settings for the showroom pieces makes one see the profession of a jeweller in a new light -- and with a great deal of appreciation.
So, having been taken through the entire process, we were led into the showroom, where we oooh-ed and ahhh-ed and regretfully passed on the chance to acquire a genuinely certified diamond to take home! However, on our way out, the nice lady who gave us the tour, said we were entitled to a souvenir of our visit, which took the form of a one carat cubic zirconia stone. It's not a natural diamond, but rather a man-made synthetic substitute. Definitely a lot cheaper, but with all of the fire and ice one would expect in real stones. Ma and I are going to find settings for these beauties when we get back home, and hopefully nice ones to show off the stones.
The afternoon saw us heading for the Thames, in order to catch the river launch for Greenwich. Another one of those special vouchers from the British Airways tour packet, and we are beginning to truly appreciate just how wonderful this tour package is! The weather is perfect for traveling down the river -- and how the Londoners can do all this business on the river and not turn it into a stinking mess of filth is a wonderful thing. I think of the state of the Pasig River and want to cry, and to think that Jose Rizal wrote about the joys of swimming in it during his days!
Greenwich was once a royal palace, and one can imagine the appeal of traveling by royal barge to what was once a rural area. Apparently Henry VIII spend some childhood years here, and his children (Mary Tudor, Elizabeth I and Edward VI) also spent part of their time in this green and lovely place. The gardens are neat and pretty, and with a little imagination, you can close your eyes and see Henry VIII as a young lad, playing with his siblings Arthur, Margaret, and Mary.
In the present day, the Royal Maritime Academy makes its home in Greenwich. A fitting place, as many a clipper ship set sail for the Orient and India from here. The Royal Observatory used to be here, but alas, the state of London air pollution is no longer conducive to stargazing, and they have moved further into the country.
Two famous ships are berthed in Greenwich. One is the Cutty Sark, named after a famous poem about a young man named Tam O'Shanter. One night, after celebrating a successful market day at the local pub, passes by the church and comes upon a coven of witches dancing in a secluded grove. When they've done dancing, the young man calls out praise for the witch dressed only in her "cutty sark" or chemise -- which of course was not the thing to do. The witches give chase, and Cutty Sark actually has her hand on the tail of Tam's horse when it crosses the bridge leading into town. Fortunately, witches cannot cross water, but the poor horse's tail came off in Cutty Sark's hand. The ship's figurehead immortalizes this moment, showing an angry young witch, dressed in a chemise, holding the horse's tail in her hand.
The Cutty Sark clipper traveled back and forth between England and China, her main cargo the foundation of that charming English custom called afternoon tea. She was built to handle more sail than boats of her time, yet still be sleek enough to "clip" over the ocean in the annual race to bring home the first pick of China tea. Walking along her decks, feeling the breeze coming in from the sea, is a fine thing indeed.
Also berthed in Greenwich is the Gypsy Moth IV of Sir Francis Chichester. I grew familiar with the image of this lovely yacht from perusing the faux woodblock print illustration on the tables at the Automat. The Gypsy Moth IV was built to beat the times set by the Victorian clipper ships for their voyages to Australia - Sir Francis' goal was to be there in 100 days. He made it in 107 days, on a vessel 53 feet long! In doing so, he not only set records left and right, but also showed that pursuing "impossible dreams" could be well worth the effort.
Of course, one couldn't leave Greenwich without doing that most touristy of things -- finding the location of the International Date Line and standing with one foot on either side of it! It's marked in steel on the ground, and once you've got your feet in place, you realize that you're half in the Eastern Hemisphere, and half in the Western; half in today, and half in tomorrow.
We got back to London via launch, and the breeze had picked up so that it was refreshing to be out and about. Back in the hotel, the TV showed that there's a lot of Olympic excitement, as Britain has a chance to sweep one of the track events.
The Queen Mother's birthday is tomorrow! Ma and I have made plans to visit Clarence House and see if we can't snap a few pictures of Her Majesty. They say she comes out on the balcony to meet the people who gather to wish her a happy birthday. Maybe we'll get lucky!
After having had our bus tour yesterday, I looked over our vouchers and agreed with Mom that a trip to the London Diamond Centre and Greenwich in the afternoon would be a nice way to spend the day. We took the double-deck bus near the hotel, and shortly found ourselves in front of a modest looking building. Making our way inside, we were greeted at the reception area by a very nice woman, who was to be our guide for the tour of the premises.
Our first stop was an impressive display of all the world's most famous diamonds. Not the real things, naturally, as quite a few were part of the royal regalia -- but accurate crystal replicas that were very well done, they sparkled almost the originals would. The Cullinan diamond was truly the mother of them all -- there was a replica of the raw stone and the final cut gems; there were at least eleven, if I remember the story correctly. Recognized the Star of Africa and the Hope Diamond from my encyclopedia photo plates. Very pretty indeed!
The tour showed us how diamonds are transformed from lumps of volcanic rock into sparklers. Cutting a diamond was a dicey business -- one slip, a hidden crack inside the stone, and what might have been a lovely gemstone would turn into volcanic dust. There's a legend that the poor man whose job it was to first open the raw Cullinan, all but fainted when his initial slice through the rock made it safely through to the other side!
Every cut -- pear, marquise, emerald, heart-shape, and the much-loved round brilliant -- has to follow a particular facet structure. It is the faceting that brings the diamond to life, each and every angle positioned in such as way as to direct and reflect light into the heart of the stone. A shade too shallow or too deep, and the stone loses its fire, and much of its appeal.
The workrooms, of course, were sealed to visitors, and we could only peer at the work tables through thick glass windows. Amazing to see the decisions, based as much on instinct as on the knowledge of the stone's structure, on which cut to use in order to preserve as much of its size as possible. After all, size does matter, at least where diamonds are concerned. The patience in polishing and then choosing the settings for the showroom pieces makes one see the profession of a jeweller in a new light -- and with a great deal of appreciation.
So, having been taken through the entire process, we were led into the showroom, where we oooh-ed and ahhh-ed and regretfully passed on the chance to acquire a genuinely certified diamond to take home! However, on our way out, the nice lady who gave us the tour, said we were entitled to a souvenir of our visit, which took the form of a one carat cubic zirconia stone. It's not a natural diamond, but rather a man-made synthetic substitute. Definitely a lot cheaper, but with all of the fire and ice one would expect in real stones. Ma and I are going to find settings for these beauties when we get back home, and hopefully nice ones to show off the stones.
The afternoon saw us heading for the Thames, in order to catch the river launch for Greenwich. Another one of those special vouchers from the British Airways tour packet, and we are beginning to truly appreciate just how wonderful this tour package is! The weather is perfect for traveling down the river -- and how the Londoners can do all this business on the river and not turn it into a stinking mess of filth is a wonderful thing. I think of the state of the Pasig River and want to cry, and to think that Jose Rizal wrote about the joys of swimming in it during his days!
Greenwich was once a royal palace, and one can imagine the appeal of traveling by royal barge to what was once a rural area. Apparently Henry VIII spend some childhood years here, and his children (Mary Tudor, Elizabeth I and Edward VI) also spent part of their time in this green and lovely place. The gardens are neat and pretty, and with a little imagination, you can close your eyes and see Henry VIII as a young lad, playing with his siblings Arthur, Margaret, and Mary.
In the present day, the Royal Maritime Academy makes its home in Greenwich. A fitting place, as many a clipper ship set sail for the Orient and India from here. The Royal Observatory used to be here, but alas, the state of London air pollution is no longer conducive to stargazing, and they have moved further into the country.
Two famous ships are berthed in Greenwich. One is the Cutty Sark, named after a famous poem about a young man named Tam O'Shanter. One night, after celebrating a successful market day at the local pub, passes by the church and comes upon a coven of witches dancing in a secluded grove. When they've done dancing, the young man calls out praise for the witch dressed only in her "cutty sark" or chemise -- which of course was not the thing to do. The witches give chase, and Cutty Sark actually has her hand on the tail of Tam's horse when it crosses the bridge leading into town. Fortunately, witches cannot cross water, but the poor horse's tail came off in Cutty Sark's hand. The ship's figurehead immortalizes this moment, showing an angry young witch, dressed in a chemise, holding the horse's tail in her hand.
The Cutty Sark clipper traveled back and forth between England and China, her main cargo the foundation of that charming English custom called afternoon tea. She was built to handle more sail than boats of her time, yet still be sleek enough to "clip" over the ocean in the annual race to bring home the first pick of China tea. Walking along her decks, feeling the breeze coming in from the sea, is a fine thing indeed.
Also berthed in Greenwich is the Gypsy Moth IV of Sir Francis Chichester. I grew familiar with the image of this lovely yacht from perusing the faux woodblock print illustration on the tables at the Automat. The Gypsy Moth IV was built to beat the times set by the Victorian clipper ships for their voyages to Australia - Sir Francis' goal was to be there in 100 days. He made it in 107 days, on a vessel 53 feet long! In doing so, he not only set records left and right, but also showed that pursuing "impossible dreams" could be well worth the effort.
Of course, one couldn't leave Greenwich without doing that most touristy of things -- finding the location of the International Date Line and standing with one foot on either side of it! It's marked in steel on the ground, and once you've got your feet in place, you realize that you're half in the Eastern Hemisphere, and half in the Western; half in today, and half in tomorrow.
We got back to London via launch, and the breeze had picked up so that it was refreshing to be out and about. Back in the hotel, the TV showed that there's a lot of Olympic excitement, as Britain has a chance to sweep one of the track events.
The Queen Mother's birthday is tomorrow! Ma and I have made plans to visit Clarence House and see if we can't snap a few pictures of Her Majesty. They say she comes out on the balcony to meet the people who gather to wish her a happy birthday. Maybe we'll get lucky!
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