I.A.M. Musing About…

By this time I really am starting to get the feel for this city. Well, little strips of it. I can get several places and back again without thinking about it. Oddly, while there’s a number of cafés and restaurants in that list, there aren’t any pubs. Okay, one of them’s a gastro-pub, but I think of it as a restaurant anyway.

After a breakfast at the Caffé Nero in Exmouth Market — which becomes a daily ritual, owing to the BT Wi-Fi, the staff, and the human-scaled architecture and pedestrian-friendly area — it is decided that this shall be the day of Conquering a Great Behemoth of Historical and Cultural Merit: The British Museum, located between Bedford and Russell Squares. They have many great things there, and they ought to be seen and appreciated. So, off I go.

There is no way that one can be prepared for the first sight of The Great Court that connects the original Reading Room to the Museum Buildings which surround it [image, right]. Even seeing the images of it in the newspaper when it was opened, or gazing at photos on their official site or in some guidebook or postcard is insufficient to encompass the staggering over-all effect of the size and scope of it. To simply use the words of any language is insufficient, as the sight beggars the connection of the eyes to the mind with the sheer scale of the thing. It’s really really big. No, seriously; it’s really huge! It took me a good 10 minutes or more to get past the area, mostly due to my brain continually screaming ‘that roof is far too wide, too high, and too unsupported for anyone’s good!’ The fact that the roof had already lasted eight years without a single incident had nothing to do with the brain’s image of impending disaster.

The Great Court is, to employ an altogether over-used phrase, one of the truly awesome sights in the world. To see it is as important as seeing the museum itself. Thankfully, in order to see the latter, one inevitably encounters the former.

I espied a map of the museum in toto, and discovered that “The Enlightenment Gallery” is numbered 1, as well as being a display to not only explain how the collection was brought together over the years, it also explains why the various years brought an increasing variety of items from an increasing variety of corners of the globe. The importance of things is influenced by factors economical; political, medical as well as philosophical… and suddenly I’m mimicking some W. S. Gilbert libretto.

Anyway, the gallery has not only an over-view of the entire collection, but details regarding why all of that stuff is there. This seemed a good thing to begin with. Endeavouring to properly comprehend what was available to the visitor, if there was a display tag, it was read; if there was an item, it was examined; things were beheld and appreciated for their historical, scientific, and artistic merits. I was the model of the museum’s modern visitor. Someone suggested a few days later that more than likely this gallery ought to have been browsed in about twenty-to-thirty minutes at the outside.

After over two hours, I left the gallery so enlightened that my brain was straining to remain inside its assigned space.

Seeking something to cleanse the palate, I seek the Elgin Marbles in case events do not permit returning to this building of treasures. This, one would expect, would be an wholly æsthetic experience, and in opposition to the intensity of the ‘thinky’ one in the last gallery which has rammed information and images into the brain to such an extent that there’s a very tiny dripping sound in the ear where the brain matter is seeping out.

Gazing at the re-assembled Nereid Monument in Gallery 17 [image, left], I contemplate upon the craftsmanship as well as the story-telling upon display. Examining the explanatory card, the tale is further detailed as being about a particular event in the aural history of Greece, which was thought to have occurred at least a half-millennium prior to the carving, itself done a full half-millennium prior to the birth of Christ…

The floor is suddenly covered in a spray of brain-goo, and I rush for the Way Out, seeking the nearest sport-pub available. Thankfully, what one has dubbed “the Celebration of Sport” has just taken place in Trafalgar Square and the plaza outside the museum is dotted with over-sized blue hands extending an index finger to inform the world that Britain is once again a mighty power to behold.

I wander aimlessly in the direction of the hotel, amazed at the number of accents available for hearing. The information provided later in the trip that something in the quantity of 500 different tongues are spoken in the Greater London Area doesn’t seem all that surprising after this.

Later, dinner is again a repast at The Union Tavern, consisting of a home-made Cream of Tomato and Basil soup, followed with hand-made cannelloni stuffed with spinach & ricotta served with a tomato / cheese sauce, all accompanied with another large glass of “Raoul’s Red Blend” (and it’s a shame one cannot get this at home). The charming waitress asks if I’ve ‘any room for pudding?’ HAH! Earlier today, I inform her, the British Museum stuffed the head full of information and images; now it is the stomach’s turn to be filed with an impressive amount of very fine things. One is entirely full on all levels possible, and nothing is wanting in any fashion. All this is a good thing to be, indeed.

And so… to bed.

This entry was posted on Monday, October 27th, 2008 at 5:53 pm and is filed under BLOG-O-RAMA, Personal, rant, THINKINESS. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.