Modern Art (makes me want to rock out!)

As Friday rolled around we were struck with how much of the city we still wanted to explore.  This is good I guess, since it gives us lots of reasons to return.  

Just before he rocks out!

We hadn’t seen any art, so Aidan and I decided to head over to the Tate Modern for an hour or so, while Ken and Riley stayed behind to internet.  It was ok, if a bit gloomy – lots of grey cement that must be dreary in the winter.  But it was really cool to see Matisse’s Snail.  

His favorite, because there were so many images hidden inside

I taught an art docent lesson to Aidan’s 1^st grade class on this same work, and I had no idea it was this big!  Then we came across this Venus looking at a mountainous pile of her presumably dirty clothes.  Immediately I was whisked back to the thought of Riley’s bedroom and home for the first time in four weeks. Dang.  Confining her to one suitcase of possessions has been great.

When we got back to the apartment, we found that Ken was a little disappointed we hadn’t really made good use of the underground.  He loved it.  He loved London.  In fact, I think he was replaying his whole adult life in his head, thinking about how he could have transferred to London with Ernst & Young all those years ago.  Riley and Aidan would be speaking with a British accent, and we’d vacation in the States once a year.

We actually wanted to take the train from London Bridge to Kings Cross, so we could go to the special platform 9 ¾ that is set up for photos with a half submerged trolley.  I also wanted to sing, “I was speeding on the subway, through the stations of the Cross.  Every eye looking every other way, counting down till the pain will stop.” It was just always either too late, or more than one transfer, so we didn’t do it.

We wanted to get some football jerseys for Aidan, but were having difficulty finding a store that carried soccer pitch stuff.  So Ken set about to rectify that.  We stepped down into the belly of London. 

I myself am not a big fan of the underground.  It’s hot.  All different kinds of hot.  First is the dry hot that comes like dragon’s breath, blasting at you from the front of the train as it pushes its way through the tube.  There’s also the moist, humid human heat that comes from the combined exhaling of the masses of people in the four levels of tunnels.  Then the too close together, stuffy hot on the inside of the train cars.  The kind that makes sweat trickle down your back when all you’re doing is standing there, maintaining your balance.  And this is when it's only 70 degrees outside, I can't imagine the horror it would be if England was farther south.

I hold the position that if you’re going to sweat you should at least be doing something worthwhile.  Am I right?

Underground: Not Aidan's favorite thing

So up, up we climb, each step taking us further away from C.H.U.D. s, until we break back out into fresh air.  Ken shakes his head at my weakness, and we commence our search for Chelsea gear, since I think Manchester reeks (ha, ha, just kidding.)

We get home.  You might like to know that we took the tube to the Millenium Bridge again, and walked the rest of the way.  We have to pack.  The tension is a little high, as tomorrow we are getting a rental car at Heathrow, and spending the next two days visiting Bath and Oxford.  The idea of driving on the left is a bit unnerving, but it will be far worse than we can guess at this moment.