Wedding Fever

Regent's Street Is Ready for Kate & Wills

The invitation must have gotten lost in the mail. Guess we'll just have to join the expected one million other commoners who will be packing parks, pubs, and street parties to celebrate Friday's nuptials. Some die-hard royalists started camping along the wedding route on Monday. Even the threat of rain on the big day isn't discouraging the masses. British telly and newspapers have been relentless in trying to ferret out wedding-related stories from interviews with the butcher in Kate's hometown to the couple who found the bride's image on a jelly bean; it's surprising the media haven't been able to find an angle in Libya or Syria, but not for lack of trying!

Semana Santa (Holy Week)

Scenes from Palma's Easter Procession

Londoners take Easter seriously, with both Friday and Monday as official public holidays. But, they can't hold a candle (literally) to the Spaniards, who have raised Easter celebrations to a fine art. We hopped a cheap Ryanair flight to Majorca for the weekend, an island of 760,000 people (and hordes of British and German tourists) off the southern coast of mainland Spain. As night fell on Maundy Thursday, the narrow cobblestone streets of the medieval walled city at the heart of Palma de Mallorca, filled with "penitents" in a three-hour long procession. Each parish in the city has its own group of hooded marchers, bearing four-foot long candles. The robed figures or Nazarenos, whose costume was adopted by the Ku Klux Klan, are  preceded by solemn marching bands and followed by "floats" bearing religious statuary carried on elaborate platforms decorated with flowers. The most penitent of the penitents walk barefoot and/or drag chains shackled to their ankles. Some groups have a coterie of black gowned women, draped in flowing lace mantillas and dripping with ropes of Majorcan pearls, following on the heels of the penitents. Young children in robes, but sans the pointy hoods, carry lighters and make sure the tapers are kept burning. (Apparently their mothers never warned them about playing with fire.) A thin layer of dirt is spread on the cobblestones before the procession begins to absorb the dripping candle wax, and police stretch measuring tapes from side to side along the route to make sure that the bystanders won't be trampled by riders on horseback or float handlers. Still, there are close calls as the parade watchers crowd in to say hello to neighbors or jostle for candy or religious cards handed out by some marches. The whole procession is repeated on Good Friday, and services in the island's many basillicas, cathedrals, and chapels seem to be going nonstop. No bunny rabbits in sight (except on bodega menus). 

Our Neighborhood Museum

The Great Court of the British Museum

Our neighborhood is almost embarrassingly filled with museums - there's actually a street labeled the Mile of Museums.  The grand foundation is the British Museum, home to the Rosetta Stone, the Elgin Marbles taken from the Parthenon, countless souvenirs from cultures across the globe.  Entirely too much sensory overload to absorb in any single visit, we have the luxury, since it's free, to wander through when we like.  It's only a short walk away (I can actually go through as a shortcut between work and other destinations), so we can make it a weekly visit - ancient Egypt last week, and next week?

There Will Always Be An England

No dragons, but lots of flags to honor St. George

How many holes does it take to fill the Royal Albert Hall? asked the Beatles. Dunno. But, the hall remains a fine place to celebrate St. George's Day, which is England's National Day. With about 6,000 other people, we heard the Royal Philharmonic Concert Orchestra and the Royal Choral Society perform a host of English favorites, from the White Cliffs of Dover to Pomp & Circumstance and Rule Britannia. We were probably the only ones who didn't know the words for the sing-alongs (unlike the "old dear" next to us who managed to belt out the tunes while downing a tuna sandwich). Most of the audience was armed with small Union Jacks or the white flags of St. George marked with a red cross; some even sported St. George hats or shirts. A frenzy of flag waving accompanied the patriotic songs, and the finale was capped by a cascade of red and white balloons that came showering down on the orchestra and audience, who popped them with glee, making it sound like indoor fireworks.

Football Fanaticism

Manchester United v Manchester City in the FA Cup Semi-Finals, Photos by The Observer

Although we've been told that the Anglican church is the official state religion, football seems to be celebrated more.  The passion of football (aka soccer) fans is akin to the wars between rival cultures.  Tried to get some tickets, but most matches are completely sold out - still trying.  This weekend sees big matches - the semifinals of England's club championship with four teams from the northwest.  Over 200,000 Manchester fans made a pilgrimage into London (only 100,000 seats in the stadium) for the semifinals, in addition to regular weekend matches.  Thus the streets and pubs were full of young to older men, all with a general shortage of hair.  We've been serenaded all last night and all this morning.  Watched one match in a rather genteel local pub, a sedate, mixed crowd in the afternoon.  Went back later that evening to the same pub to a completely different crowd.  Sat with a small group of Germans who wandered in to watch the evening match between Barcelona and Madrid like me.  Most of the 100+ crowd were obviously backers from Manchester United (the losing side) and were commiserating in loud song and numerous pints.  Teams of Bobbies wandered through the pub every half hour or so just to keep things relatively quiet. Not quite a religious experience, but it was like sitting in a different church pew.

Place for a Pint

Jeremy, Local Pubs, and Rhonda's first Pimm's on the season

Pubs are integral to British life: a place to grab a pint before heading home, watch a football match with your mates, spend a social evening gossiping with the neighbors, or have some plain or fancy grub. The Dolphin, a few doors down from our flat, attracts 20 to 40-year-old blokes who like to start tossing back drinks early on Saturday morning and get progressively rowdier as they get ready for a 3pm kickoff - singing loudly such tunes as Blue Moon, When the Saints Come Marching In, and You'll Never Walk Alone.  The Mabel, a block away in the other direction, has a mixed clientele of all ages, male and female, and different races. Much more genteel. The neighborhood pub that gets the most points for best "back story" is the Jeremy Bentham, which has a wax likeness of Bentham peering down over the bar. According to a plaque on the building's brick exterior, Bentham, a lawyer, philosopher, and a founder of nearby University College, has his mummified head stored in the college's vault. It's taken out regularly for college Council meetings, which record Bentham as "present, but not voting." How's that for a legacy?  

BathTime

Roman Baths with Bath Abbey in background

Even with overcast skies, the honey-colored stone of Bath is magical. The Romans settled this area after Julius Caesar conquered Britain, drawn by the only thermal springs in the country. They built the elaborate network of sacred baths, as well as temples to the water goddess Minerva. The British upper crust rediscovered the healing powers of the waters during the 18th century, and Bath became a center for leisure and pleasure, the first true tourist town. Today, tourists come in droves to tour the baths, sip samples of the warm, slightly sulphur-laden water, visit the Georgian houses that local lodger Jane Austen immortalized, and have a banger & a pint.