Amsterdam (Part III): I Need a Built-In GPS

After a heavy first morning in Amsterdam, I decided it was time for a lark. With that in mind, I started walking toward Amsterdam’s infamous ‘Red Light District,’ by way of Nieuwe Spiegetstraat. Of course, I became hopelessly lost en route (not that I minded), and I think the 2km (+/-) walk turned into a much greater distance.

Eventually, I found myself standing in Dam Square, which serves as the city center for all intents and purposes. On the western end of the square stands the Royal Palace, flanked by the Nieuwe Kerk (‘New Church,’ a name given despite its erect in the 15th Century) and another infernal Madame Tussaud’s Wax Museum (*shudder*). Across from the palace is the National Monument, which memorializes the victims of the Second World War.

In Dam Square, with the Royal Palace behind me.

The Royal Palace (left) and Nieuwe Kerk (right)

After spending a few minutes in Dam Square (and realizing that I couldn’t get in to tour the Royal Palace), I confess to wasting some time walking around Magna Plaza, which stands just behind the palace. Basically a shopping mall, I didn’t bother to go into most of the shops—but the building itself was so gorgeous that I couldn’t help ducking in for a bit.

Best mall facade ever!

From there, I continued up Damrak, where my eye was caught by one of those tourist traps offering canal cruises. I had decided ahead of time, at the advice of my Stateside friend AR, to take one of these cruises, but I hadn’t actually arranged one yet. Thinking now was as good a time as any, I ducked in and did just that. (Ironically, the boat I was eventually to take was called the Anne Frank.)

While awaiting departure near Amsterdam Centraal, I stopped off for lunch. With money limited (and since I wasn’t desperately hungry yet), I indulged in another yummy sleeve of Vlaamse Frites. My goodness, I love these things!

LUNCH!

Eventually, it was time to depart. Though our captain-guide was very nice, and the sights lovely, I confess to finding myself a bit bored. The pre-recorded narration was not as informative as I would have liked, and the sun passing through the glass-covering created a greenhouse effect that, when combined with the gentle rocking of the boat, practically lulled me to sleep. 

Nonetheless, I’m glad that I did it, as I did learn some new interesting facts (e.g., the purpose and intent behind the different gables, and how they’re still used today as a means of moving furniture)!

A little over an hour later, our boat docked near the Amsterdam public library. Now, I know this will sound strange to some, but I did go walk around the library for a bit. I had been advised that you could climb to the top for free, and that it offered an amazing view of the city, so I wanted to do that (and I did). 

Upon entering, however, I also discovered that it was one of the most stunning libraries I’ve ever been in! To be sure, nothing has yet topped the beauty of Dublin’s Trinity College’s library. But, whereas Trinity’s collection and styling is clearly traditional and rooted in history, Amsterdam’s is incredibly modern and sleek—it’s like Ikea came in and built all eight floors for them! In fact, it was so striking that I went back the next day, too.

The Ikea Library: 'Do you feel bad for these books? It is because you are crazy.'

By now, it was getting late and I figured I should start walking back toward the hostel. (Though I may have made one brief stopover in a coffeeshop on Warmoesstraat.) 

More than once, I got completely lost while trying to find my way back—much as in Paris, I found that I would be walking in one direction, thinking I was headed south (for instance), only to discover that I was headed northwest (or some other completely wrong way). It also didn’t help that none of the maps I had access to included the smaller streets, which just added to the confusion.

Eventually, I found myself back at the hostel. It was around 5 or 6 PM, my feet were killing me, and I knew I had another full day of walking the next. So, I gave in to temptation and took a short nap (with my poor dogs elevated)…except, that short nap turned into a two-hour nap, and the only reason I woke up then was because someone else came into the room.

Regardless, I felt slightly refreshed, and so I got up and headed back out. Still not completely starved (but knowing that I would be famished later if I didn’t stop), I bought another serving of Vlaamse Frites—and I wonder why I’m fat?—which I ate while walking around my immediate neighborhood some more. 

At one point, I stumbled upon Reguliersdwarsstraat, which was festooned with numerous rainbow flags. Realizing that this was probably one of Amsterdam’s gay enclaves, I decided to walk down the street. I was hoping for some gay-centric shopping (e.g., bookstores and the like), but this particular street was basically just a bunch of bars. 

I did stop by one—a tiny, dead place (it was a Monday night) called Taboo—for two drinks. The first, my typical Vodka and cranberry. The second, a Heineken, which Nic insisted I try while in Amsterdam because, supposedly, it tastes different. (In case you’re wondering, it still tasted like watered-down piss to me—if I have to drink beer, I’ll stick with Guinness, thank you very much!)

And with that (it was around 10 PM by now), I headed back to my hostel and caught some much-needed sleep in preparation for the next day…which I’ll discuss later. :)

Until next time…

Barbecue, Gardens, and People of Iron

What an exciting, fun week it’s been! 

In the last 7 days I have visited France, Belgium, and The Netherlands; spent two delightful evenings and one lovely afternoon with various friends; and proudly watched from afar as my sister graduated from MC to UMBC, my parents celebrated their 33rd wedding anniversary, my partner competed in and conquered his very first Iron Person race, and my Aunt Peggy celebrated her 50th birthday!
 

I’m positively exhausted!

I’ll speak more about my travels anon, but for now I want to focus on a few of the things I’ve done in the London area this week, specifically yesterday.

In addition to being my parents’ anniversary, yesterday was Nic’s big race! I knew I would go stir-crazy if I just sat there refreshing the athlete tracker all day, so I decided to try and keep myself as busy as possible. (This was a wise choice on my part since the stupid tracker stopped doing its job after the 56th mile on the bike.) 

So, after starting my morning off with a 5 mile run—don’t forget, I’m training for my own big race (and still looking for sponsors to help me raise $440 by July, which you can learn more about here)—I took my ever-generous host / flat-mate MM up on his offer to go walk around Kew Gardens, where he works. 

I had been meaning to do this for a while now, but with the recent weather it hasn’t really been an option before now. MM and I spent most of the afternoon there—it’s such a lovely park—but my camera battery was low because I forgot to charge it after I got back from my trip, so I didn’t get many pictures. 

Highlights included seeing: Kew Palace, where King George III lived for part of his reign (and which is featured in the film The Madness of King George); some wonderful sculptures hewn from dead trees and created by Kew’s artist-in-residence, David Nash; and, seeing the amazing greenhouses like Temperate House, which is the largest surviving Victorian glasshouse in the world!

The backside of Kew Palace

Temperate House

By the time MM and I returned from Kew Gardens, it was almost 6:00 PM—yet, with the time difference, I knew it would be another 9 or 10 hours before Nic was done with his race. This meant I needed to find something to pass the time last night as well.

Fortunately, my friend TvH invited me to join him, LD, and KS for a night of frivolity at my favorite London club, Heaven. Since Heaven doesn’t open until 11 PM, though, we had some time to kill and went to Lupo first.

————

I’m going to stop talking about last night for a second, and jump back to Thursday.

On Thursday afternoon, TvH and I met up for coffee at LJ’s so we could catch up on the respective trips we had both taken the previous weekend, while enjoying delicious coffee and amazing (albeit messy) caramel shortbread thingies.

Around 5 PM, we set off for Village, where we were to meet-up with LD for cocktails—and just a few at that, because I was determined to avoid a repeat of the prior Thursday’s sloppiness! Unfortunately LD was denied entrance because he forgot his ID and so, after TvH and I finished our wine, we headed someplace where LD knew he could get in: Lupo.

I had never been before, even though it was right down the street. It wasn’t bad, though most of the clientele seemed to be yuppy straights who didn’t quite know what to make of the three of us, bouncing around flamboyantly on our bar stools to the music. On the flipside, the bartender—a lovely Melbournian named Dominica (Dom, for short)—seemed to adore us, and it was in large part because of her that we wound up staying there as long as we did.

Lupo--we sat at the bar. [NB: This image is not mine!]

Eventually, our bellies reminded us that we were famished, and so we set off in search of food. We finally found this barbecue place called Bodean’s. (BTW, check out that website—it's awesome!)

It. Was. AMAZING! 

Seriously, it was some of the best barbecue I’ve had—far better than most of the stuff I’ve had in the US, even! I swear, they must have imported their sauce from the Carolinas, or Memphis, or some other similar place known for its BBQ! (My mouth is watering just thinking back on it…)

Anyway, back to last night…

————

So, I joined LD and TvH (and later KS) at Lupo. Our lovely bartender from Thursday was on-duty again, and provided us with a series of killer drinks and shots! 

Finally, around 11 PM, it was time to head over to Heaven, where the four of us spent the remainder of the night dancing our little queer asses off. We even made it into the VIP area before the night was over (though I didn’t think it was so great, personally—at least compared to the main floor).

All the while, though, I kept a close eye on the time!

I knew I wanted to be home by around 3:30 AM, as that was Nic’s ‘best case’ finish time, and with the inevitable drama that plays out on London’s night buses travel frequently takes longer than expected. Sadly, despite my careful attention to the time, the buses nearly thwarted my plans last night. 

The bus that would have had me home in plenty of time was too full so I wasn’t allowed on, and the next one—20 minutes later, which would have been cutting it close but still an option—never showed. (I can only assume there was drama aboard and it stopped somewhere until the situation resolved itself, as the drivers are wont to do.) 

Finally, I managed to get on a bus at about 3:13 AM. Since there weren’t many passengers, the trip took a lot less time than expected, and I found myself walking in the door at about 4 AM—happily, I returned just in time to learn of Nic’s successful completion of his race as it was happening!

Whew! What a day, not to mention week—but more on the rest later!

What's Curry Got To Do With It?

I’m back with another entry. Truth be told, everything I’m about to say deserves a lot more ‘oomph’ than what I’m about to give it—but, I’ve spent most of the last two weeks (including most of yesterday and today) writing about discursive representations of the intersection between gayness and AIDS as part of two separate final projects. 

In other words: my brain is so far beyond mush that words do not even exist to describe it.

Nonetheless, there’s a lot that I haven’t blogged about this month, and I’m feeling a lot of pressure from ‘Future Brett’ to document it all in one form or another while it’s relatively fresh in my mind. Thus, I offer the explosion of information presented here. 

Let’s get started, shall we…

On Sunday, 15 April, I accompanied EN to a theatre performance she’s been interning with throughout the semester. The show is called Soul Sister, and is the story of Tina Turner’s relationship with Ike, as told by the former while backstage during her ‘Private Dancer’ tour. 

Most people already know the troubled tale of Ike and Tina Turner, so I won’t go into that here (though I will say that the first act in particular was far more forgiving of Ike than I expected). Instead, I want to focus on two particular aspects of the show: the actress playing Tina, and the ending:

The role of Tina was given to Emi Wokoma (who, ironically, played the sister of Tameka Empson’s ‘Kim’ on EastEnders). The Guardian reviewed Wokoma’s turn as Turner thusly: 

[Wokoma’s] impersonation of Anna Mae Bullock, renamed Tina Turner when she started singing with Ike Turner, is startling. She's got that strange, stiff-legged dance – the one that looks like a man who's left the urinal too soon – and the flutters of the hands. And she's got a voice that can strip paint or sing a lullaby within the same bar. (Soul Sister Review)

I admit that I was a bit concerned with Wokoma at the start. The opening number is ‘Private Dancer,’ one of my favorites. Wokoma’s rendition wasn’t bad by any stretch of the imagination, but it also wasn’t great—I felt as if she wasn’t warmed up yet. Fortunately, after that number, the songs performed are basically in chronological order, and follow Anna Mae’s rise to prominence. This gave Wokoma the chance to warm-up her Turner impression, as her character also developed her unique style. By the time ‘River Deep, Mountain High’ was performed, audiences could be easily excused for forgetting that the real Tina wasn’t on stage.

[NB: This is not my photo.]

This brings us to the other point I wanted to bring up about the show: the ending. As previously noted, the story is told from the point-of-view of Turner, who is relating events to a friend backstage between sets. Upon concluding her tale, Turner returns to her (fictionalized) concert—whereupon the theatre audience becomes a concert audience!

The last 15-20 minutes of the show is just like a traditional concert. There is no narrative: just Wokoma—accompanied by a band, backup singers, and flashing laser-lights—recreating Turner’s early-80s comeback tour. Traditional Tina favorites—such as ‘Simply the Best’, ‘I Can't Stand the Rain’, ‘Help’, and, of course, ‘Proud Mary’—drove audiences to their feet. No lie. There were even encore songs, in true concert style: ‘Steamy Windows’ and ‘What’s Love Got to Do With It?’

‘Awesome’ doesn’t even begin to describe the experience. All I can say is that if you’re in London, and are even remotely a Tina Turner fan, you must see this show!

After Soul Sister, EN and I were ridin’ high, as concert goers typically are right after a show lets out. So, we headed over to Soho and a bar there called 79CXR. This particular bar was billed in one of the local rags as offering gay karaoke, and we thought it might be fun to check that out. 

I’d say we had a decent time: drinks were cheap even if the singing was painful. Also, it wasn’t crowded—almost always a perk. When the karaoke wrapped-up at around 9:00 PM, Bette Rinse (the drag queen emcee) organized a group of fellow queens and locals for a queer version of ‘Match Game.’ Sadly, it was all a bit lost on EN and I, as neither of us were familiar enough with the local drag scene to get the references to specific community members. Ah, well. It was still interesting.

Okay, I’m going to totally change topics now. (Like I said, there’s a lot to catch-up on!)

On Thursday, 19 April, two of my friends from Chicago—TS and his partner, BH—flew in to London for the latter’s birthday weekend. I was fortunate enough to see them on three of the four days they were here.

That first day (Thursday) was a bit rough for me. I didn’t sleep well the night before, and had zero desire to go to school that morning. Nonetheless, I made the long slog there…only to learn that one of my two classes that day had been cancelled. Now, this isn’t a problem in-and-of-itself. The class in question is my least favorite (‘Cultural Power & Resistance in the 21st Century’—not nearly as interesting as it sounds). Nonetheless, the scheduled lecture for that day would likely have been beneficial for my final essay. Ah, well. Then, as if that wasn’t bad enough, I got caught in a downpour on my way home. I. Was. Drenched…and unhappy. 

Unhappy and Soaking Wet.

Fortunately, seeing two familiar faces was just the boon that my spirits needed. We headed into Soho to grab a couple of cocktails at Village, and from there we went to Maison Touareg for dinner. I was uber-excited for this, because I had wanted to check out Maison Touareg since coming back from Morocco, and was merely waiting for the right ‘excuse’ to do so. It was sooooo delicious! Wonderful company was made even better by amazing food and wine. My only complaint is that we were seated beneath the speakers, and the music grew a bit loud when the belly-dancer (whose skills were mostly lost on us) came out. Other than that, it was perfect!

Friday, 20 April, marked the last official day of classes at UEL! My exams aren’t due until this week, but classes have concluded. As my Friday class (‘Realism, Fantasy & Utopia’) was my favorite, this was a bit of a bittersweet moment. I’ll talk more about all that in a later entry, though. After class, I returned to my flat, where my housemates were already in weekend-party-mode. Ugh, it was so loud! For the second day in a row, I found myself highly agitated.

Fortunately, TS and BH invited me to join them once again! This time we went to Cinnamon, an Indian restaurant near Oxford Circus. Once again, I had an amazing time! The food was good (albeit a bit spicy): we shared a plate of ‘BALLS!’ (as listed)—potato, beef, vegetable, and Bangla-Scotch egg—and for the main course I ordered a plate of ‘Old Delhi-style tandoori fenugreek chicken’ (whatever all that means). 

Even better than the food, though, were the drinks. I stuck to water (I had to be up early the next day), but I did have a sip of both TS’ and BH’s drinks—if anyone’s interested, Cinnamon offers the best mojito in the history of forever. After dinner we headed over to the Duke of Wellington (another gay pub) for a last round of drinks going our separate ways.

I’m going to skip saying anything about Saturday, 21 April, as that will get its own entry owing to a trip to Windsor Castle. As for Sunday, I had one last opportunity to see TS and BH before they headed back to Chicago. We met for bagels and coffee at Beigel Bake in Shoreditch. Apparently, this is the oldest bagel place in London. It’s also one of the cheapest places I’ve been in London—but so worth it! I got an éclair (how could I resist?), and it was one of the most scrumptious sweets I’ve eaten since being here! Yummy-yummy! From there, we walked over to Old Spitalfields’ Market, where we walked around for a few minutes before bidding on another adieu! All in all, it was a wonderful visit, and so nice to see friends from home! 

And, on that happy note, I will also say farewell to this entry. I’ve finally gotten ‘Future Brett’ off my back for a bit, and can realx…for now—there’s still a lot to tell about, including my trip to Windsor, the results of my midterms, and my hurried escape from my flat!

But that’ll have to wait a bit longer…

A Big Ol' Gay Blow-Up Man

Time for another exciting(?) entry in ye olde blog—namely because I’m in need of another break from academics. This time the focus will be the evening of Monday, 16 April 2012 (through the early morning hours of 17 April).

But I need to back up for a second. You see, two of my modules over here—‘Realism, Fantasy & Utopia’ and ‘Cultural Politics’—have enabled me to meet some really cool people. In fact, the majority of new friendships established since coming to London have been borne of the former.

One of said-friendships is with a lovely young woman named RAS. I was fortunate enough to snag a seat next to her on the first day of class, and during a group exercise that same day we got to chatting after I complimented her on the fabulous silver scorpion ring she was wearing. The rest, as they say, is history. Over time—and through RAS—I have come to form friendships with most of the others who sit in the front row. (And yes, we do represent the stereotypical front row kids—to the point where DS preempts us from answering her questions by automatically saying that she’ll ‘come back to the front row’ after giving others a chance to answer.)

Anyway, I’ve gone off track…

Relatively early in the semester, I was shocked to learn that RAS has never been to a club before. Ever. Not a straight club; not a gay club. She’s over 21 years of age—how the bloody hell does that happen?

So of course, I set about trying to rectify this grave oversight. It took time, to be sure: a constant mixture of guilt over my impending departure, and reassurance that I would protect her like a drag queen protects her tips. 

Eventually—on 16 April—I succeeded!

That night, we met at Village (which is tied with Heaven for my favorite queer London haunt), where drinks were half-priced all night. The only downside was that the level with the dancefloor was closed off, and the DJ I like so much there (Ray Isaac) wasn’t playing. 

At any rate, we were joined by two others from the ‘RF&U’ module—AR and (later) SV—as well as another of RAS’ friends, SB. Thus, the good times (and drinks) began to roll…

Me, AR, RAS, and SB

 The fact that my London drink of choice was only £2 that night, coupled with the other fact that the bartender seemingly thought I was cute and was therefore being generous with the vodka-to-juice ratio, led to a quickly tipsy Brettsy. Fortunately, I was still fairly in control at this point, and so the pix RAS snapped throughout the night aren’t quite as…problematic as they became later in the evening.

Sober Brett

Drunker Brett

 Eventually, both SV and AR had to leave (they had classes the next morning), and soon thereafter Village started closing down for the night. So, the question became: shall we go elsewhere, or head home? Fortunately, her first venue successfully visited sans-drama, RAS agreed to go elsewhere.

We wound up at G-A-Y, which we didn’t stay at for too long—only long enough for one drink apiece, as I recall. But, at least we could dance for a bit…

After G-A-Y, we still weren’t ready to go, and so the decision was made to walk toward Heaven, where I figured we could dance the night right away... Unfortunately, the lesbian doorguard had other plans. Said-doorguard let RAS and me in with no problem, but for some reason she decided that SB was under the influence and therefore could not come in. (For the record, SB was probably the most sober of us all—I think the doorguard was just jealous of her Troll Doll hairband.) At any rate, we were advised to go to the nearby McDonalds, get food, and come back in 20 minutes, at which point we would be allowed in.

So, we headed to McD’s—something I have avoided them like the plague since coming here—and got a quick meal. We sat there for the required 20 minutes, eating and chatting, and (in my case) being repeated punched in the arm by a drunken Frenchman whose friends kept trying to distract him from beating me and apologizing on his behalf.

Upon finishing, we headed back to Heaven…but, again, the doorguard refused SB entrance (and added insult to injury by pretending that she had told SB specifically not to come back). Well, their loss was G-A-Y Late’s gain, ‘cause that’s where we headed next.

This, our last stop of the evening, turned out to be a nice mix of the earlier chilled atmosphere from Village and the dancing opportunity offered by G-A-Y. We wound up staying until they closed, dancing badly—mostly on the elevated platform—to equally bad songs seemingly chosen by a straight man. 

There’s video of all this, but fortunately (and thanks to a few death threats) it will never be seen. (Apparently, when intoxicated to the point I was that night, I lose all arm and wrist bones, and turn into one of those blow-up figures used to sell used cars…a big ol’ queer, purple one! It’s a problem!)

One of the less-problematic photos to come from this night...

Sadly, the time came eventually to depart. I had zero desire to take the bus all the way back to Newham, and so I took SB up on her kind offer to crash at her place along with RAS. For anyone interested in a fun mental picture: just imagine me—fully dressed, because I wasn’t planning on staying out all night—sandwiched between a straight woman and a lesbian in a full-sized bed. It was quite the sight to behold, I’m sure!

And on that interesting note, another entry comes to a close. I suppose now’s as good a time as any to get back to the academic writing that I should be doing right now… 

Ciao!

Sickness = Unproductiveness

Just a quick update on this, the last day of March 2012. 

Hard to believe, but I’ve only got 65 days left of my study abroad experience. It seems like just yesterday that I was marveling and lamenting over how long it would be until I was home again—and now, it seems like it’s just right around the corner.

At any rate, Easter Break has finally started—hurrah! Two full weeks of relaxation = bliss! 

Alas, I’ve started the break on somewhat of a bad note, as I’ve been laid-up in bed and feeling sick. Fortunately, the stuff I got from the pharmacy earlier today seems to be helping somewhat, so hopefully I’ll be back on my feet soon.

In the meantime, I’ve spent most of today watching stuff on the interwebs: 

I’ve finished the first seven episodes of ‘Modern Family,’ which both EN and Nic have been after me to watch for a bit. I honestly haven’t laughed as hard and consistently at a show since ‘Arrested Development!’ There are so many great lines, and I have to admit that the Cam and Mitchell characters are Nic and I (respectively)—seriously, it’s a bit frightening at times how similar we are.

[NB: Okay, I confess that the above example is a bad one—for the most part, I am far more like Mitchell than Cam. However, ABC has blocked me from seeing most of the clips over here, so I'll work with what I have.]

Taking a break from ‘Modern Family,’ I turned to a gay French flick called ‘Just a Question of Love,’ starring the hot-as-balls and openly gay Cyrille Thouvenin. The story was only so-so, but nonetheless nice in terms of being mindless fluff that I could follow in spite of my medication-induced mental fog…and, it had a happy, sappy ending. And I’m always a sucker for happy, sappy gay love stories…which explains why I then spent the next little bit watching the story of Josh and Nate from ‘Waterloo Road,’ followed by a series of short films along the same line.

So, yeah, not really a productive day.

But, I have lots of things planned for Easter Break, so hopefully there will be some more interesting updates coming down the pike. Since the weather’s supposed to be fairly crappy over the next few days, I’m hoping to do a lot of the indoorsy things that have been on my to-do list for ages, such as: visiting the Victoria & Albert Museum, cruising through the Tate Modern, visiting Charles Dickens’ House, touring BBC, and maybe even getting a drink or two at the Ice Bar. Oh! And I've discovered where they filmed many of the exterior shots from 'Beautiful Thing,' and so I simply must go there and snag some photos!

 

In the meantime, it’s time for my next dose of medicine and so I’ll close. In parting, I leave you with the song that’s been stuck in my head all bloody day…

"Is it Drunk, Ye Are?"

[Yes, that title's a reference to Darby O'Gill and the Little People. It's still practically St Patricks' Day, so bite me if you disapprove of my obscure 'Irish' references.]

I have definitely been paying homage to my Irish roots this weekend, and I know my liver will be quite happy to return to a state of normality over the next few days. But, an awesome time was had throughout, and I was able to engage in some much-needed catching up with friends…

Friday (16 March) found me meeting up with my friend EN—the other student from Columbia who’s attending UEL—for a late dinner. And I mean late! Initially we had difficulty finding anyplace that was still serving dinner because it was after 10 PM. Finally, on the verge of absolute starvation, we stumbled into a place called Maxwell’s in Covent Garden...what we didn’t catch was the blub about it being the “best American restaurant in London.”

Seriously.

After we caught on—somewhere between seeing the large portrait of ‘Aunt Jemima’ that loomed over my shoulder, and the giant, golden Presidential Seal that was visible over EN’s shoulder—I was forced to ask her why it was that we kept winding up in American cafes? (You may remember from this post that the first time we toured around London together we also wound up in such a setting—quite by accident, I assure you!) We never did come up with an answer.

You can actually catch a glimpse of the 'Aunt Jemima' poster on their website! *SMDH*

At any rate, the food was both okay and reasonably priced. Sadly, the waiter sucked—he was so busy schmoozing with the table behind us about his time in Italy that it took almost 20 minutes (I was timing it) to get his attention so that we could request the check. In the end, we didn’t leave Maxwell’s until about 12:15 AM. That’s right: A.M. Suffice to say, I won’t be rushing back to dine there anytime soon.

Freed from Maxwell’s, we headed to Soho—turns out EN had never been to a gay club before, and I was determined to rectify this grave oversight in funness. (Yeah, I know that's not a real word.) Though EN and I had wristbands to get into G-A-Y Bar from earlier in the night, they were already closed, and so we headed to Village instead. We had enough time for exactly one drink, accompanied by a bartop performance of Aretha Franklin’s ‘Think’ (the 'Blues Brothers' version, one of my favorite songs) as rendered by a queen and some scantily clad men, before Village too shut down. Le sigh. A bit disgusted, we called it a night.

Whereas Friday wound up being an early night (relatively speaking), last night was anything but…but I’ll get to that in a moment.

First things first: my Saturday night started off with a trip to Leicester Square Theatre in order to catch the divine (and problematic) Joan Collins in her one-woman show ‘One Night with Joan.’

Two Sexy Bitches?

It was everything I expected it to be, and more! 

Basically, the gist is that you have an auditorium filled with middle-aged gay men who are hootin’ and hollerin’ as Collins sits back and tells them (us) about her sordid life—everything form her childhood, to first-husband Maxwell Reed’s attempt at selling her to “an Arab sheik for £10,000”, to Marilyn Monroe’s advice about the Casting Couch. In all, no big shocks there, and pretty much what you would expect from such a performance.

But it really was funny in that uber-campy way! Her stories about run-ins with the likes of Joan Crawford (her namesake) and Bette Davis were riotous, and she never once hesitated to make fun of her own acting abilities and/or the roles that she's accepted during her career! (And yes, she did make a dig at Linda Evans/Krystle, and joked about the shoulder pads being so large that the women had to enter rooms sideways.) There were so many names dropped during the show that I was tripping over them as I left. Also, putting her ‘bitch’ reputation on display for the audience, Ms. Collins started heckling a drunken guy in the audience during the second act for the way he laughed—that's right, she heckled an audience member. Fortunately he didn’t seem to mind. 

And how could I talk about the actress behind Alexis Morell-Carrington-Colby-Dexter-Rowan-Colby without addressing her ensemble? Ms. Collins spent the first act in a heavily sequined, black, off-the-shoulders number that was highly reminiscent of the Catwoman costumes from the Adam West era. (NB: This is different from the costume seen in the video and picture above.) And then, for the second act, she switched into a white-and-gold gown that could have come from the Dynasty costume department. Awesome!

As for the theatre itself, it was super-small! My ticket—though it was billed as being off to the side and near the back—was practically in the center and only twelve rows back, owing to the size of the place. I could see everything perfectly, including the little puff of smoke (vapor) coming from Ms. Collins’ cigarette. Also related to the performance space, I have to give major props to the Leicester Square Theatre staff for getting in on the fun: the announcer's voice at the beginning—the one that tells the younger people to silence their cell phones and the older people to unwrap their Wearther’s Candies—concluded with, “[If we catch you taking pictures] our staff has been trained to go the 'full Alexis' on you!” HA!

In the midst of my night with Joan I received a text from TvH asking me if I wanted to “drink like the Irish do?” For some reason, at the time this struck me as a challenge to my Irishness by my German friend, so I replied that I would meet him and his friends at Village following the show. Thus began my St Patricks’ Day shenanigans in earnest…

In total, the seven of us went from Village, to another place with overpriced drinks that we never caught the name of (and which  might have been a club for straights), back to Village, to G-A-Y Late (circa 1:00 AM), and, finally, Heaven (around 3:00 AM). By the time I left Heaven and made it to my bus, the sun was coming up.

Shockingly, I got up before noon and didn’t really feel any negative side-effects. Mind you, I also didn’t try to do anything mentally or physically challenging, opting instead to spend most of the day in bed, watching old episodes of ‘Come Dine with Me.’

Then, a little before 5 PM, I made my way back down to central London for the third time in as many days, this time to meet K&M at a pub called The George. The pub’s roots date back to (at least) the mid-16th-Century, and it has been connected to Shakespeare, Dickens, and even Chaucer’s The Canterbury Tales. Of course, I simply had to celebrate the history surrounding The George with a couple of Guinnesses (Guinni?)—it would have been rude of me not to. In all seriousness, though, it was great to finally have a chance to catch-up with K&M—they’re such wonderful people, and have been so kind to this lonely American abroad in so many ways.

The George [NB: This is not my photo!]

So, yeah: crazy-long weekend, but one filled with good times and great friends! 

Paris: Endings and Things

So, I figure: what better way to get everything off of my ‘To Do’ list than by taking time out to write one last blog entry about my Parisian experience? I mean, doing so has been looming over my head—sure, it’s not as important as my midterm essays, but… 

Aww, screw it!  

Who am I kidding? I just want to put the academics away for a bit and focus on some of the fun things I’ve done recently. Plus, I want to blog about my Moroccan adventure, but can’t until I finish with France.

With that said, let’s get right down to it:

On 20 February 2012, after leaving the Eiffel Tower, I made my way to Père Lachaise Cemetery. That’s right, I spent part of my holiday in the world’s (ostensibly) most romantic city in a cemetery—in fact, it’s such a big cemetery, and there were so many people to ‘visit’ that I wound up going back on the 21^st prior to boarding the bus back to London. (In all fairness, the second trip was more the result of logistics—Père Lachaise is only one metro stop away from the bus station.)

Amongst the 1,000,000 bodies who are interred at Père Lachaise are some of the world’s most notable authors and artists. Since I don’t personally know anyone buried there, it was obviously these famous figures that I was interested in.

So who’d I see, you ask? Well, let’s see…

The first one I found was Isadora Duncan. Now, I confess that I don’t really know much about Ms. Duncan beyond the fact that she was a famous dancer. However, I had heard Nic talk about her before, and so I knew she was someone important to him. With that in mind, I crossed my fingers and tried the camera again, hoping there would be enough ‘juice’ left in the battery to get at least a photo for him—miraculously, not only did it give me enough power to snag the photo of Ms. Duncan’s burial spot, but also all of the others that followed over the next two days! Success!

NB: This is not my photo!

After Ms. Duncan, I made my way to the next ‘big’ name on my list: that queer, literary mastermind Oscar Wilde. Now, you’ll notice that there’s a plastic casing surrounding his marker. That’s because there was a tradition of people donning lipstick and kissing/writing messages on the stone. After a while, this began to take its toll on the gravesite, and so they’ve enclosed it within said-protective plastic. I didn’t have any lipstick on me (and had no clue how to ask for some in French), so I just took a quick self-photo alongside the resting place of Dorian Gray’s creator.

NB: This is not my photo!

Exhausted and praying the camera doesn't die!

 Next up: Edith Piaf. Most Americans only know of Ms. Piaf through her famous song ‘La Vie En Rose’ (and admittedly, that was my first exposure to her). But she also led an incredibly fascinating and tragic life. Also, for the record, I like ‘Jezebel’ a bit more than the earlier mentioned song.

The lyrics to 'Le Vie En Rose' are on the green sheet.

Sarah Bernhardt was next. As with Isadora Duncan, my connection to Ms. Bernhardt is a bit more tangential. I knew that she was a silent-movie era actress known for being overly dramatic, but the main draw here (for me) was that we used to refer to my little sister as ‘little Miss Sarah Bernhardt’ when she would throw temper-tantrums and whatnot. (Although, according to my Mom, she called my sister that because her own grandparents had called her that at the same age.)

The other two graves I visited on the 20^th—Jim Morrison and Frederic Chopin—weren’t ones that I necessarily ‘cared’ about per se. I just felt like I should since I was there.

NB: This is not my photo!

NB: This is not my photo!

Shortly after finding Mr. Chopin’s grave, I was kicked out of the cemetery because it was closing time. This was done by a creepy guy who just appeared out of nowhere while I was walking between some graves and told me that the sun was setting and I would have to leave. Not totally convinced that he wasn’t part of the walking dead himself, I did as instructed, returning to the hostel on painfully sore feet—there was certainly no going back out that night because I could barely stand, and so I just watched the French version of ‘Cops’ (which focuses on firefighters instead). 

As I mentioned before, I didn’t have much time on the 21^st to do anything, and so I returned to Père Lachaise for my last hour or two in Paris. This enabled me to snag some of the interred folks I had looked for but was unable to find the day before. That day’s batch included:

The world’s most famous mime—Marcel Marceau—who I remember mostly from I Love Lucy (though I can’t find any record of him ever appearing on there, so maybe they just talked about him?)

NB: This is not my photo!

Mr. Marceau was followed by Richard Wright, the author of Native Son. I actually just read Native Son last semester for my Fiction I class, and it’s an amazing book (albeit very difficult to get through—but then, that’s part of what makes it so amazing). Mr. Wright also shared a friendship (for a time) with another American author living in Paris whose work I read last semester: James Baldwin. (Still more interesting is that Mr. Baldwin wrote Giovanni’s Room, after which my Parisian hostel was named.) Sadly, Mr. Wright’s ashes are interred in a very inaccessible, easy to overlook spot beside a staircase.

NB: This is not my photo!

Quite by accident, I stumbled upon the painter Max Ernst’s resting place as I was walking away from Mr. Wright’s.

NB: This is not my photo!

And finally, I found the frustratingly elusive last two on my list: Gertrude Stein and Alice B. Toklas, the world’s most famous literary lesbians—

Sorry, I have to interrupt for a moment to do this: 

“They were quite regularly gay there, Helen Furr and Georgine Skeene, they were regularly gay there where they were gay. They were very regularly gay. To be regularly gay was to do every day the gay thing that they did every day. To be regularly gay was to end every day at the same time after they had been regularly gay. They were regularly gay. They were gay every day. They ended every day in the same way, at the same time, and they had been every day regularly gay…” ~ Stein, “Miss Furr and Miss Skeene”

—Now, admittedly, I’m not a fan of Stein’s work (which I quoted above). But, I cannot detract from the headway she made in the world in terms of living an openly gay life.

In that vein, I was surprised at first to find Ms. Stein buried by herself. It was well known, even while they were living, that she and Ms. Toklas were living together as partners-in-life. And yet, Ms. Toklas was nowhere to be found. 

 

At first I was very upset—how could they have separated them at the end?

But then, as I was walking away, something caught my eye: Ms. Toklas’ information actually was listed on the stone (albeit on the back), meaning that they were buried together. Crisis solved, and now I could have my Awwww moment, followed by my professing my sincerest thanks for my predecessors’ (including Wilde’s and Baldwin’s) efforts to make my life today a little easier.

Stein (l) and Toklas (r). [NB: This is not my photo!]

Stein's Side

Toklas' Side

Also worth noting at Père Lachaise were the memorials seen below. I found them to be incredibly striking in their grotesqueness, especially when hit by the setting sun.

And so, for all intents and purposes, my trip to Paris comes to a close. Fitting, I think, to do so with an entry dedicated to a cemetery. In case you were wondering (which you probably weren’t), nothing all that interesting happened on the ride back to London. There was a bit of drama at the border (one guy was detained, and I almost missed the bus because I was stuck at the back of the line), but in the end I made it!

Will I ever return? I wouldn’t necessarily rush back, but I wouldn’t turn down the opportunity either. However, I did fall in love with Montmartre, and I really enjoyed the Louvre and what I saw of the Pompidou—ooh, and the crepes!—and so I would definitely return to those parts of Paris!