Whitechapel: Home of the Ugly Building Contest

Catching up on my posting as it's been a busy couple of days. Well, actually most of Saturday was spent in the room doing some editing and trying to let my back and feet rest from the marathon on Friday. By afternoon I was back in the saddle. I took the Underground to Bank Station and then hoofed it into the East End to the Aldgate Exchange (a pub) where the Whitechapel Society meeting was being held. My walk took me through the financial heart of London and on Saturday afternoon it was dead quiet. Come Monday it'll be full of all sorts of black-suited folks, but yesterday it was eerily quiet.

So was Whitechapel, which seemed odd to me. I steered a few lost British tourists toward Brick Lane (home of some excellent Balti restaurants) and then descended into the basement of the pub. I know a fair number of the Whitechapel Society members, but not all of them. We caught up on life since last October when I was last here. Last night the speaker was Sarah Wise who did a presentation on The Old Nichol, a part of the East End located just north of Spitalfields. It's an area I knew nothing about so the talk was of interest. After a pint or two, I headed home at about quarter past ten as I don't like to stay out too late when I'm on my own.

Instead of taking the Tube, I went by bus which means you have to find the right bus stop. Just because the sign says Bus 15 stops there doesn't mean it's the right 15 for you. And not all the bus stops are the kind where bus always stops. You have to know if the sign means they will automatically pick up your tired bum or sail by if you don't wave them down. I did a couple of bus changes (it was drizzling rain but pleasant) and made it to Victoria Station about an hour after I started. The buses were packed at 11 at night. Like SRO (standing room only). Unreal. Probably has something to do with the hellacious cab fares.

Speaking $. I ate at Subway -- six inch Subway Club, crisps (potato chips) and a drink. $9.60 in our money. Wow. I want to thank those in charge (you know who you are) for making our currency Third World.

Okay, my rant for this blog: The contest. Now I suspect this isn't an official contest per se, but I'm seeing a trend in London architecture. I believe the contest consists of the following challenge: "Build us the ugliest damned building you can possibly imagine and you might win a fabulous prize." I jest not. Now The Gerkin (that's it at the top of this post right behind St. Botolph's Church) is downright gorgeous compared to some of these things. Like the one they're building in Whitechapel at present. It's like this: Π

As if someone decided to build two elevator shafts to the moon and then decided they'd best put a walkway between them. It's hugely tall, far above the old Victorian brick buildings in the neighborhood. You half except it to grow feet and start marching across the landscape, crushing cars, buses and humans underneath. I was so appalled I never got a picture of it.

But then there's the Matrix/Blade Runner/I Got The Bad Drugs This Time building (below is both a distance shot and a closeup for your viewing horror.) It really does look like something out of Blade Runner, though a bit more shiny. In contrast to the Victorian building to its right, it seems like an alien who planted itself in the middle of London and is just awaiting the arrival of the Mother Ship.

















So that was my day. Tomorrow I'm off to Waltham Abbey to visit the Royal Gunpowder Mills. Should be fun. I'll post more when I have time. That pesky book calls...

London Day 2: Of Fires and Jews

The picture to the left is a painting of a cabman's shelter in the middle of the winter 1888 by John Charles Dollman (London Museum). I think it's so evocative of the time. They'd take shelter from the weather, swap tales and eat their meals. Unfortunately the horses had to remain outside. There's an still one of the original shelters at Russell Square (Bloomsbury). Nothing fancy, nothing huge. Just respite from the weather and a bit of companionship. Can you imagine the tales they'd tell?

Luckily, we didn't get rain until this evening so today was gorgeous (again). Upper sixties, a little breeze. Perfect for hiking your bum off. Which I did. First thing, I popped into a Starbucks for coffee (£1.60 = $3.20 for a small cup). To their credit Starbucks have public loos and those can be hard to find. If you're about to indulge in a two-hour tour of the East End, find a Starbucks first.

So after fortifying myself with caffeine I began the day with a London Walks entitled The Old Jewish Quarter ("a shtetl called Whitechapel.") Jean, the guide who showed us around the Victorian walk last October, gave us a tour of the "Hebrew" side of the East End. We visited Bevis Marks Synagogue (built 1701) and the interior was stunning. Marble, English oak benches (the original ones) and candles. Lots of candelabras. They have electric lights, but use the candles for weddings. Neat. This is a Orthodox shul (shool = synagogue) which means the woman sit separate from the men. In this case they sit up in a gallery overlooking the main floor. I've attended Orthodox services in Hong Kong and found the women got bored and tended to chat during the service because they had nothing to do. Reform and Conservative Judaism include women in the services. Each to his own.

There was a nice fellow at who gave us an overview of the Jewish community during the past three hundred years. Of course, there's always one in your tour group who likes to stir things up. A lady, a Jew, announced she wouldn't attend an Orthodox shul as they made the women sit separately. I saw no reason for her grumbling about this. You choose which synagogue you attend. Griping at the Orthodox folks about their traditions is like bitching at the Reform Jews because women can conduct a service. The Orthodox are keepers of the tradition. Without them Judaism would be lessened. To be honest, I doubt the Almighty really cares either way.

After the walk I went to the Museum of London for their London's Burning: Great Fire of 1666 exhibit. I was really psyched about this. Alas, it was just okay. Not earthshaking in my mind, but then I've done a LOT of research into this event as it plays into the third book in my series. That makes me a hard sell. What was cool was that I got to hold artifacts from the fire (342 years old folks), including two pieces of pottery that had fused together. To achieve that, according to the museum folks, you'd need at least 1700 degrees Fahrenheit. Steel melts at 1370 degrees. That might explain why the stones of St. Paul's Cathedral actually exploded from the heat.

One of the more touching exhibits, not related to the Great Fire, was the memorial book dedicated to those folks who lost their lives on the July 7, 2005 bombing. There are pictures of the those who died, including testimonials from friends and family. It's heart wrenching. As a frequent traveler to London I know fate could have easily put me on one of those trains or on that bus. I've traveled in and out of those stations on a regular basis. Ironically, the bombers targeted Aldgate Station. A sizeable number of Muslims live in that area and travel by the Tube. They were killing their own. Hate is always blind.

After the museum, I wandered a bit more. I visited St. Sepulchre's Church just down the street from where Newgate Prison used to be located (now the Old Bailey) and also the Central Criminal Courts which always seemed to have the requisite TV cameras across the street. I'll be attending a trial on Monday to experience firsthand the differences between the US and the UK court systems. More wandering took me to St. Paul's Cathedral, but not inside, and then back to the hotel.

Besides all the historical research, something else I noted -- guys. There are some drop dead hunky guys in this city. Of course there's a lot of older English fellows, but some of the younger ones are just so yummy. Don't know what it is, but I noted a LOT of them today (a few in Starbucks). Some in jeans, some in pinstripe suits. All worth a second look. Damn. The Brits have been holding out on us.

Off to the Royal Gunpowder Museum tomorrow in Waltham Abbey, a brief train ride north of London. Should be educational. Tomorrow night is the Whitechapel Society Meeting in, of course, Whitechapel. This time I get to listen to someone else give the talk. It'll be a later night than usual but I'm not anticipating any trouble getting back to the hotel.

And for those of you who do keep track of UK news -- the bomb is still not defused. What bomb, you ask? A WWII Blitz bomb, to be precise. Some workers unearthed it near the Bromley-by-Bow Underground Station, which is also close to the water treatment works. It is sitting on top of a gas main. So the brave folks who disarm things that go boom are working on disarming this one. Can you imagine messing with a bomb that is over 60 years old? Not enough money in the universe for that sorta job. To be safe they've closed some of the Underground east of Whitechapel. Sensible.

Will continue to update you on my various trudgings. Now it's time for editing and some of that Burt's Bees Peppermint Foot Cream. For some reason my feet are very unhappy.