Hyde Park and Kensington Garden, London

Hyde Park

When we entered Hyde Park, I saw gates that were up my alley: on either side stood a rather Art Nouveau curving look of light-colored metal, connected to stone pillars, and in the center was a somewhat colorful and whimsical variation on the Lion and the Unicorn. It reminded me of a poem and characters from Through the Looking-Glass.

The lion and the unicorn were fighting for the crown.
The lion beat the unicorn all around the town.

Walking through Hyde Park, we came to flowers and landscaping, and surrounded by rose bushes was a water fountain with a cupid holding a curling fish. We were in a rose garden, and it even included light purple roses (and I took a picture at that point). A trellis arched over walkways, and flowers clung to the trellis and drooped overhead.

The Serpentine is a long lake in the middle of the park—it has a café, where we had lunch (I had fruit juice, a huge potato stuffed with tomatoes, broccoli and cheese, and a piece of French bread) and we ate indoors but watched as someone eating outdoors fed pigeons and the pigeons surrounded her. Before we went inside, I stopped and walked up to a goose at the edge of the Serpentine, to see how close I could get to it. I got really close, like about a foot and a half away. The goose backed away softly at first but mostly just stared back at me. In the café, I saved some of my French bread and took some of Sally’s left-over tortilla (she had a wrap), and I took these left-overs to the edge of the lake and fed pigeons and other interesting birds—duck-size black birds with a spot of white on their head and with rather round bodies. Afterwards, we walked further down the lake and saw two cranes standing very still across the lake, one standing on a log. We saw up close ducklings—thee ducklings and their mom were really close to the edge and we stopped to watch. One of the ducklings ducked under the water, at the shallow edge, and I gasped; we could see it swimming, with little wings floating at its sides, and it suddenly popped its head back up. It did this several times, and it was quite fascinating to watch. Eventually, four Japanese tourists came along and noticed, and when they witnessed the duckling duck under water, they were so astonished that they simultaneously said, “Aaaahhh!” No translation necessary.

Serpentine Gallery

The gallery is very small, it’s a pretty red brick Georgian building, with one artist’s work on exhibit—his name is Gabriel Orazco. About five rooms. He seemed to be going through a compulsive phase of painting circles and semi-circles, mostly in gold, blue, and red, on found paper. I go through phases myself—such as my current Buddha phrase--not to mention Goddess art—these may of course be more than phases. And of course bright colors are a new and exciting thing for me, especially with interior decorating.

Kensington Palace

We didn’t pay the ten pound thirty to get in, but walking around the palace gardens is free, so we’re doing that. At the moment we’re on a bench in front of an archway formed from curved, controlled trees, and there’s a striking garden and human-made pond (sunken garden) on the other side of the archway, with flowers of many colors. Before we got to the palace, we passed a bandstand on which a band is playing more or less “Boston Pops” type music; right now we can hear them in the distance, playing, “Singing in the Rain.” In any case, we went to the palace’s gift shop and I got a guidebook and a book on historic costume, complete with illustrations of vintage garments on dress forms.

After we were at the palace, we were walking around the Round Pond, because I wanted to get closer to the many swans. By then, we had ice cream cones, and I started to sit down in one of the many wooden and canvas, low folding chairs facing the Round Pond, but a man came jogging toward us and saying that you have to pay to use the seats, so I got up, and we walked a little further and sat on the grass to finish our ice cream cones.

As we walked toward some swans, I smiled and said cheerfully, “Mad King Ludwig would like this—he was very fond of swans.”
The brat said with scathing contempt, “It’s always either Mad King Ludwig or Neverwhere.” Speechless, yet again feeling as if I had been slapped across the face, I just looked at her for a moment, and got a deadpan evil spawn look back, just as has happened at least once before on this trip.

I can't go for an entire day on this trip without her treating me with scathing contempt. How did I ever think I got along with this monster? I could have said just as condescendingly, and with a lot more justification, “It’s always either Doctor Who or Paul McGann.” That was, incidentally, the first time I mentioned Ludwig, and yet she acted as if I had been talking about him every other sentence. As for Neverwhere—the brat has read the novel and has even seen the miniseries, and months ago I was under the impression that she really enjoyed both. Now she acts as if she could care less about Neverwhere, which happens to be one of my very favorite fantasy novels. Another thing: before we left, I told her I reread the book and was bringing it along. If it weren’t for London, there would be no Neverwhere—it is very central to the book and is its inspiration. The entire book takes place in, under, and above London. It is only to be expected that I would think of Neverwhere while in London.

I am mortified with the thought that, over the years, I have confided in this monster as one would confide in a close friend; all along she must have been sneering at me while reading my personal e-mails, and I had no idea. I even thought she had more or less the same sense of humor as I. From now on I shall have to make sure I don’t blurt out my jokes that she finds so unfunny, and I shall make a point of not confiding in her anymore. Acting guarded instead of open and spontaneous won’t exactly make this a dream vacation, but having this insulting, rude, foul-tempered, condescending spoiled brat for a traveling companion has ensured that this is no dream vacation. Without her, it would have been.

In any case, back to the swans at the pond. Some swans stood or sat around the edges, and I walked up really close to one that stood on one leg. The brat wasn’t so impressed with the swans—she commented that they look so graceful when they’re in the water, but not so much when they’re standing. They really don’t look graceful when they’re standing and pooping. I was fascinated nonetheless, and took pictures (without the poop), and gazed at the swans. I also got a bit compulsive about collecting swan feathers.

I’ve noticed, particularly along Marylebone in Regent Park, that sidewalks are made of rectangular concrete slabs, about two feet long by slightly more than one foot wide. Plenty of opportunities for unevenness. Also, many of the crosswalks are not directly on the corner, and sometimes there’s a black iron railing to go around. The pedestrian lights are a red standing figure and a green walking figure, wearing bowler hats.

Quite a few people rode horses in the park, and some of them—the riders, that is---wore the traditional garb, even the rounded hat. Jodhpurs, frock coat, that sort of thing.
Another thing I didn’t already mention—at some point, before we went to the palace, we sat under a tree. Actually, I lay under the tree or at least part of the tree. A cute little brown dog occasionally wandered shyly toward us. I did get to pet her once, though she was a bit timid about being touched. She was actually with a pair of men deep in conversation under the next tree, but it seems that dogs without leashes are the norm in this park—they must be very well trained.

I have to say that the Prince Albert Memorial is pretty obnoxious, in a very Victorian sort of way. Since I’ve been into Victorian art and culture all my life, I wasn’t weirded out by it the way Sally was, and I understood it a lot more. The Prince Albert Memorial is right across the street from the circular Royal Albert Hall, and there are other beautiful buildings—probably seventeenth—around the concert hall.