Emily Fleming

This afternoon I visited two famous addresses: 221B Baker Street and Abbey Road.

[caption id=“attachment_89” align=“alignnone” width=“224”] Home of the world’s only consulting detective, who was sadly not at home.[/caption]

The Sherlock Holmes Museum, located at that address, is a painstakingly re-creation of Mrs. Hudson’s flats, complete with period furnishings, souvenirs from famous cases, and even statues of the buildings' more famous residents and visitors. Touching of most props was permitted, although I’m not sure that Holmes' violin was included in that.

[caption id=“attachment_69” align=“alignnone” width=“300”] That funny look on my face is partly because I’m holding Sherlock Holmes’s violin, and partly because I’m nervous that one of the maids might tell me I’m not allowed to touch it.[/caption]

[caption id=“attachment_72” align=“alignnone” width=“224”] Watson’s bookshelf.[/caption]

[caption id=“attachment_70” align=“alignnone” width=“300”] Memorabilia of certain cases, including Holmes’s watch and a medal from the French government–presumably not real?[/caption]

[caption id=“attachment_71” align=“alignnone” width=“224”] The chair in which Arthur Conan Doyle sat to model for a portrait of the detective.[/caption]

After leaving the museum and gift shop, we discovered that Abbey Road was a twenty-minute walk away. We decided that a trip was in order. Once we arrived, we found a dozen people gathered around the familiar crosswalk and–to my surprise and delight–a crossing guard who would happily (and somewhat safely) photograph tourists during the lulls in traffic. Drivers at the intersection seemed to expect delays and generally slowed down so as not to hit any overexcited Beatles fans.

[caption id=“attachment_77” align=“alignnone” width=“300”] One of the pictures snapped of my flatmates and I.[/caption]

[caption id=“attachment_79” align=“alignnone” width=“224”] Can anyone tell me why the Beatles chose this perfectly quiet, normal, residential street for their album?[/caption]

Tonight I and my flatmate ate at my first pub, The Swan, where I had a very English meal of steak, chips, tomato, and ale. We chose the place for its proximity to the Hammersmith Tube station.  The pub was lovely, but not at all crowded–not too many Brits begin dinner at 5:45.

[caption id=“attachment_58” align=“alignnone” width=“224”] The Swan, a pub where I and my flatmate ate dinner tonight before the play.[/caption]

[caption id=“attachment_53” align=“alignnone” width=“300”] ‘They come in pints’. . .which is a lot for my first alcohol purchase. I managed maybe half this glass of ale over the course of the meal.[/caption]

The residents of Hammersmith are keen to establish their connection with Gustav Holst, who lived and worked in the area for years. (In fact, he even composed a piece of music named after the borough.) There were several pictures of him and his music hanging in the first story of the pub.

[caption id=“attachment_55” align=“alignnone” width=“224”] A portrait of the composer, displayed prominently at the Swan.[/caption]

But of course the most exciting part of the day–even more exciting than riding the Underground for the first time–was the play.  Riverside Studios' production of the classic was spare, dark, and violent.  The claustrophobic setting–a modern prison–was augmented by the intimacy of the theatre, which only had seven rows of seats.  (Presumably this was inspired by the conversation in which Hamlet metaphorically declares himself to be in prison.)  The prison adaptation, which mostly felt less like a gimmick than I had suspected, was maintained by added dialogue (most often modern slang) and implied positions for the characters: Hamlet and his compatriots as prisoners, Polonius as the warden, Claudius and Gertrude as visitors, etc.

Most of the small cast were excellent; Hamlet’s most famous soliloquy was particularly well rendered by the lead, lying on the floor of his cell.  Ophelia showed more backbone at the beginning of the play than I anticipated, making her descent into madness that much more dramatic.  Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, whom I remember little from the other version I saw years ago, were the most changed characters.  Instead of well-meaning tools of the king, they were brutal and obnoxious thugs.  In the first half of the play, the duo were used more for comedic effect (which was successful, I admit).  Later, however, scenes were added in which they beat up first Horatio and then Hamlet, scenes which make sense only in the context of the prison story and not at all in the original plot.  Maybe some of my fellow students will enlighten me tomorrow as to the significance of this particular change.

Gertrude’s acting was the greatest disappointment of the cast.  She faded into the background in nearly every scene in which she appeared.

Possibly my favorite part of the play was the performance of The Mousetrap, which was put on not by traveling players but by two prisoners who absorbed the roles of castle guards, courtiers, messengers, and probably a few others.

There’s more I could write about the play, but I’d better get to bed so I can discuss it coherently tomorrow in class.

First full day in London, and first class this morning!  Tomorrow night we see our first play, Hamlet.  After our orientation and class at Winston House (UNC’s base of operations in London, about twenty minutes' walk from my flat), I went out to lunch and then to the British Museum with friends.  None of them had been before, so I repeated a few rooms (no complaints there).

[caption id=“attachment_31” align=“alignnone” width=“300”] A brick wall, excavated in pieces, which originally graced King Nebuchadnezzar’s throne room in Babylon.[/caption]

[caption id=“attachment_32” align=“alignnone” width=“224”] This silver lyre was buried in the grimly named ‘Great Death Pit’ in the royal cemetery at Ur (modern Iraq).[/caption]

[caption id=“attachment_38” align=“alignnone” width=“300”] This winged bull is from the palace of the Assyrian king Sargon the Great.[/caption]

[caption id=“attachment_48” align=“alignnone” width=“224”] A small statue of Ramses, proving that the Ancient Egyptians were Tar Heels, too.[/caption]

As our teacher (Professor Armitage) recommended this morning, we also explored the galleries dedicated to the Elgin marbles, taken from the Parthenon in the 19th century.  These rooms contained some of the actual friezes and statues, as well as plaster casts of some that Lord Elgin left in Athens.  Most of the friezes depict the mythical battle between the Lapiths and a herd of frenzied centaurs (ah, the classics).  The centaurs seemed to be winning.

[caption id=“attachment_40” align=“alignnone” width=“300”] A centaur (head broken off) menaces one of the human warriors while holding a panther skin over one arm–not really sure why, but it’s cool.[/caption]

By this point, everyone in our group of five was footsore and mentally saturated. As we were searching for the exit, however, I spotted a familiar name: Palenque.  (It ought to be familiar, as I wrote an entire research paper about the characteristics of a particular Mayan glyph at that site.)  I had to leave the Mesoamerican rooms for another day…which gives me time to review everything I learned about Mayan writing.  I took just one picture to tide me over until I return.

[caption id=“attachment_36” align=“alignnone” width=“224”] Mayan glyphs and figures from a stone at Yaxchilan, another Mayan city.[/caption]

[caption id=“attachment_34” align=“alignnone” width=“224”] Bonus picture: The experts say this crystal skull is a fake, probably made in the 19th century, but it still belongs in a museum…[/caption]

I used to think that planes were cool, and that the longer I could stay on them, the more fun I would have.  I had ample opportunity to reconsider that opinion on my 8.5-hour flight from Charlotte to London last night.  Some of that time I spent listening to the cheerful and articulate four-year-old in the row behind me.  (Actually, my enthusiasm for flying was as great as his during the first and last fifteen minutes…just not at every intervening moment.)  I finally saw all of Casablanca, which was as wonderful a film as I had inferred from the parts of it I’d seen before.  I slept little, however, even though I set my watch five hours ahead soon after the plane took off.  (“3 a.m. London time?  I don’t feel tired yet.  5 a.m. London time?  I can’t get comfortable in these cramped seats.  7 a.m. London time?  Surely we’re almost at Heathrow…")

[caption id=“attachment_15” align=“alignnone” width=“300”] Tasty plane food![/caption]

After vanquishing the forces of Immigration and Baggage Reclaim, I and the other program participant on the flight took a cab to the office of our flat.  We ditched our luggage there, ate lunch at Caffe Nero, then wandered around the British Museum for a couple of hours.

[caption id=“attachment_13” align=“alignnone” width=“300”] The British Museum, beneath a characteristically cloudy sky.[/caption]

I saw the Rosetta Stone (most of it, anyway; the crowd made it difficult to examine it closely), the Egyptian Book of the Dead, ancient pages from the Iliad and the Aeneid, mosaics from Pompeii, treasures from the Sutton Hoo burial mound, various ancient sarcophagi, and dozens of Greek urns.  Even so, we barely scratched the surface of the museum’s collections, and I’ll be happy to visit it again soon.

[caption id=“attachment_12” align=“alignnone” width=“300”] One of many examples of cuneiform–sadly not the one from the library at Nineveh.[/caption]