Hitler's Emails

Bus, walk, coffee, bookstore, train, and BLETCHLEY PARK. If you've seen Imitation Game, you have some idea of what we had a look at today.

Our tour was jam-packed with information about a variety of code-breaking, key-finding, calculation-saving machines. They turned, they clanked, they blooped, and they flashed. I was in awe of the machines, but, unfortunately, lost to most of the mechanics and mathematics behind them. Our guide mentioned that here at the park, people worked tirelessly and secretly to intercept and decode the electronic messages Hitler's forces were sending throughout World War II: "Hitler's emails," the guide said. 

So here at the park, a 80% woman-operated show, the best minds of the 1940s cracked a code because of a mistake one messenger made mid-war: s/he sent the key, the receiving end didn't receive it, so the messenger sent the same key a second time. The British noticed, and boy did they use that info.

My favorite part of the tour was when we got a quick lesson on how the BOMBE machine worked. It looked almost like a chemical equation, and at the time I felt like I had a decent grasp on its basic function. I'm sure the guide for this part of the tour was a teacher in a former career! I asked him after our lesson how the BOMBE got its name, and he had three possible answers, but we both liked the idea that the word for a beautiful woman in Italian (maybe?) is "bomba," so they named this absolutely gorgeous machine for that.

It wasn't all life-saving and code-cracking: we also had a look at some of the very first computers. In May, 1949, the EDSAC ran its very first program. It was the "first practical stored program electronic computer," and during our visit, employees were working on it to get it up and running once again.

We also saw the "WITCH," a massive calculator that did the work of three people over two weeks in just 2.5 days. 

That one had flashy spinney things. I was bewitched (sorry). 

Stratford-Upon-Avon

Somehow, writing about Shakespeare's home leaves me at a loss for puns and catchy titles.

Today we took an early bus to the Bard's place of birth and burial, Stratford-upon-Avon. Another student and I had some amazing bagels and coffee, then spent the rest of the day wandering around this tiny town. We walked past Shakespeare's home, which has been fenced off and is now a very expensive tourist site. We also found a Beatrix Potter shop and had a little fun.

Our strolling took us to the church where Shakespeare and some of his family are buried. While we didn't visit a library or an archive on this trip, it became clear that the job of keeping famous remains—like Shakespeare's—intact is very much like an archivist's job. For a while, his body was buried in the churchyard, but plenty of thieves and even curious scientists almost got their hands on the bard's bod to sell or study it. The keepers of the remains, like many archivists or librarians with valuable items on their hands, had to find a way to keep the body safe while allowing the public to continue visiting and paying their respects. They placed him in a little alcove in the church, and partitioned it off, but Bill and his relatives have been neatly labeled, and information about each grave is clear to visitors. The little church was lovely, and I was glad we stumbled our way to it.

Shakespeare's House:

Inside the church where Shakespeare is buried. I think these were sort of half-seats you could lean your butt on during long services.

A chained Bible:

The church was a little crooked. I liked that.

"Search me, we're just the knockers!" Labyrinth (I couldn't help myself!)

In the afternoon, we saw a lively and interactive version of "As You Like It," that ended with an enormous puppet (which I love - more puppets!).

Show Me the Mummies!

Whenever I'm in a new city, I usually look for a museum with Egyptian things. While I find it disrespectful, in a way, to move the bodies of mummies out of their burial grounds, I also find it simply amazing how carefully certain cultures prepared the dead for the afterlife. If we think of the way we treat the dead in the US today, it's slightly similar to the Egyptians' methods (in terms of organ removal and preservation), but there's nothing natural about what we do. We preserve our dead for a few extra days so that we can get one last look at the faces we loved, and in so many cases, those faces have been so changed by death and preservation that this seems like a waste. The Egyptians preserved bodies to make sure they lasted through the centuries. They were careful and brilliant, and they didn't do it to make the dead look pretty in a box. I find something comforting about the way they cared for dead bodies, and something plastic and horrifying about the way we do it now.

Thank you for attending my TEDTalk, back to our travel stories.

I set out today for the British Museum, but I needed to find a post office first. For about as long as he's been a human person on Earth, I've been sending my nephew postcards from the places I visit. It's an easy way to let my family know where I am, to show this kid in rural Virginia a little bit of the world, and live out my dream of being a muppet. Remember Uncle Traveling Matt, the Fraggle who explored the world above ground, and was, apparently, left-handed (like me!)? I sign all my postcards Aunt Traveling Karlie. The kid has a stack of these cards now. It's nice.

In looking for a post office, I stumbled upon a major shopping area: Oxford Street. So I had lunch (biryani and 90s rap: I love it when you call me "big papa," too, Biggie.).

Then I looked in a few stores, including one of my favorites, UniQLO. I didn't appreciate what I had in Korea, but gods I love this place. (Spoiler: I'll be back twice in the next 2 weeks to spend ridiculous sums on clothes that I will probably wear to tatters).

Post-shopping, I headed to the British Museum. It's free to the public, and the building is huge and labyrinthine. I went slowly through the Egyptian and other early civilizations' displays on the ground floor, wowed by the sculptures and the hieroglyphics. I found a collection of clocks and watches that was all shiny and coggy and clever. Then I had to pee, and I found the toilet, spent 30 minutes in line, and left for fresher air. I didn't find any mummies, but (another spoiler), I'll discover them later.

I did see Hamm:

And there was this amazing display of artwork that I wish I'd written down a name for. See how each line is words?

I felt I hadn't walked enough, so I spent the next few hours winding home for one last night in my horrible AirBnB. All told, I walked 45 miles this week. Here's a view of the Thames on my walk towards Battersea Park.

Mmmm, chana masala called from the kitchens along the road home. I got a take-away curry, ate in the cluttered back garden, gleefully packed my bags, and read till I passed out. Off to the dorms tomorrow! My own bathroom! Joy!

Dollhouses and Bookhouses

Today I put a SIM card in my phone, used it for a minute, and left for the V&A Museum of Childhood in Bethnal Green. 

I had not added any data to the card, so it didn't work until later in the day, when I endured the worst breath I've ever encountered to get more data and get my phone working. But anyway, back to the real journey (away from the breath...)!

I love this museum. It's very simple, and it's been designed for kids and adults, but mostly for kids. The displays are close to the ground, there are hobby horses to ride, and some items have moving, touchable, turnable parts. It's neat, but because it serves children for the most part, you get a sort of film on you being there.

But that's ok. TOYS! The toys and games and dolls and cards and books and magic lanterns and everything else you can think of makes it all worth it to an adult who is not visiting the museum with a child in tow. Last time I came here, there was an incredibly moving display on the top floor about children who were displaced during the world wars and sent to live with farmers in America and Australia, and how many of those children were terribly mistreated. I encourage you to research this somewhat forgotten side effect of war.

This time, there wasn't a display like that, but there was an enormous display of doll houses. Seeing so many different kinds built up like a city on the side of a hill was beautiful; the video doesn't do it justice.

What I found even more compelling were the singular doll houses that had been owned, for the most part, by single families, and sometimes by adult women. I'm intrigued by the idea of adult women, with, most likely, their own houses to take care of, playing house with dolls. Theories on the gigantic and the miniature tell us that the miniature gives us a sense of control: something that is tiny in comparison to ourselves not only holds an entire universe within it (think of a tiny book), but is completely within our control because it is so tiny. I imagine these women finding comfort and inspiration in the tiny houses they furnished and decorated, posing the tiny people the way they liked, stuffing the tiny people who had pissed them off that day into a drawer.

Feel free to give me a dollhouse any time, dear reader.

There's me in the mirror!

One dollhouse even had a little solarium:

After the museum and some harried navigation (I'd left with no plan, thinking I had data!), I wound up at the British Library, a building that I love not so much for its books (you can't see most of them), but for the promise it makes. There are books here, and if you want, you can see them. It takes a little effort on your part, an effort I haven't made yet. 

I did buy a silly fancy ink pen in the gift shop, along with some nice cards with archival images. Then I headed to Judd Books and Scoob Books, two close by used bookstores. I highly recommend the second for classics and children's books, though the first has plenty of newer titles to choose from.

At home, Paddington Bear was up to bat—I got a copy of his first adventure at Scoob Books, and I was excited to read about him (I'd only ever seen the stop-motion show when I was a kid!). He's one salty bear from "darkest Peru." I do love him.

Bones and Spittle and Love in Stereo

Again, in spite of my ridiculous AirBnB host deciding to knock on my door while I was dead asleep, today went well. She woke me up for a breakfast of British Raisin Bran, instant coffee, burnt croissants, and a shouting match between her and her friend, but they managed to give me a good piece of advice: I'd only have to take a few steps from the door, and the bus would Calgon-take-me-away to the Victoria and Albert Museum.

I was sure I'd missed this museum on my last trip, so I followed their advice, and stumbled upon my absolute favorite museum, probably in the world: the Natural History Museum. It has dina-saws and elephants and whales. It even has a two-horned narwhal, who is my favorite specimen here.

There is a wall of plesiosaurs, all discovered by the same woman, whose information is on the plaque in this photo. She was kind of amazing. One of the fossils even has a pregnant dinosaur.

Two-tusked narwhal!

I mean, come on. This just made me laugh, and I dropped my metal water bottle, and the whole room looked at me in disgust. Ha! I continued to laugh.

This is a view of one of the upper floors. It's just beautiful.

I took some videos from different vantage points. I love the details of the museum. The dinosaur room has reptiles carved into the walls, and all kinds of plants and animals are carved in around the building, even on the outside. I can't imagine the time and thought it took to make this place so unique.

I left, reluctantly, and then I scouted out a sandwich and went to the V&A, sure it would be new: nope. I came here last time, and found it overwhelming. I felt the same this time, so I jumped on a tour that had just begun.

Stop 1: Chihuly sculpture, the most photographed item in the museum.

Stop 2: Marble vs. Porcelain statues, where the tour guide spit on his own face so many times, I had to leave.

Stop 3: Toilet.
Stop 4: Head to Camden Market, eat a vegan pie.
Stop 5: Primrose Park, where I read in the grass and dogs visited me. At one point, a dog sat on either side of me, and their owner came and said, "Oh look, you're being loved in stereo!"

A good day.

Collage College

Day 2, a Monday in London, and though I was awakened by my AirBnB host after I'd fallen into the deep and dreamless sleep of the 24-hour-travel-weary, today was a good day.

My aim was to visit the Tate museums, since I hadn't made it to them the last time I was here. A train ride, a bridge-crossing (the Thames! There you are!), and a walk along the river, I found it, and my hunger. I'm ashamed to say that I went to Starbucks.

But you know what? I still did something that a lot of people wouldn't/won't/haven't/willn't do in their lives: I tried something new. I got a latte (the usual), and a vegan breakfast wrap, which was amazing, and which is not available in any Starbucks I've entered in Missippippi (Sophie Blackall accidentally called it that in a speech, and I will forever spell it that way). I listened to a British dad tell his sons that this was THE LAST sweet they were getting for the day, because they'd had too much (it was about 10 am). I soaked it up alongside caffeine.

The Tate Modern is an enormous building, all steel and concrete, but there's something very warm about it: the sloping walkways, the wooden accents, the strange decor in the various lobbies. I loved it instantly, and hallelujah, it's free. 

I get museum overload. I especially get museum overload when everything around me is "modern art," which I often don't know how to appreciate. I ask myself questions, like you're supposed to, and like the little reminders to school children on the walls told me to, but it takes a toll. What I realized, though, is that I honestly love a collage. 

I found a few in particular that made me feel something deeply, and that seems to be a fair measure of "good art." I'll paste a few photos of what I loved best: you can listen to one of them.

First up, a wall-size collage by Ellen Gallagher called "Bird in Hand." I loved that it was a life-sized pirate, and that his leg absorbed some of the sea life he may have encountered.

This isn't a collage, but it definitely has a collage feel with the many layered items in the painting. I love the colors, too.

I'm calling this one a collage, though I'm not sure the artist would agree. Can a collage be made of sound?