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London part 2a: Saturday
(Part two is getting split into bits, because it was getting a TEENY bit long. I should probably try to write less but this is my journal and I LIKE pouring out millions of words. But I also like people to read things I write and I'm aware that most people don't want to open LJ only to be hit with a 400 page novel...)
Bones
Saturday brought a bright and early start. By 9am I had already reached Victoria, dropped my case off at left luggage, and was enjoying a leisurely breakfast before heading on to the Natural History Museum. I figured on getting these just as it opened - that way I wouldn't have any waiting around, but it wouldn't be too busy. After all, how many people would actually be up and wandering round museums at 10 o'clock on a Saturday morning?
Yes. That's right. Children. To whom 10am is the equivalent of three in the afternoon. Which never occurred to me until I jumped on the suspiciously above-ground tube and was instantly surrounded by 'Daddy we're going to see the dinosaurs aren't we daddy, we're going to see the dinosaurs I like dinosaurs we're going to see the dinosaurs aren't we Daddy, aren't we Daddy Daddy DADDY!!"
Now, to be fair, I prefer to measure my proximity to small children in miles, or, if possible, continents. So it's understandable that I'm not that aware of their daily habits. But not realising that a museum full of dinosaurs would be an instant child-magnet? Other child-free people would have worked that out. Small blue beings that live on Neptune would have worked that out. But not me.
Luckily, not many small children rate wildlife photography over dinosaurs, so I figured it was worth carrying on as planned to the Wildlife Photographer of the Year exhibition. This was easier said than done, as first I had to negotiate the miles of pedestrian subways that connect the tube station with the museums. These were longer than most tube lines, full of confusing signs, multiple exits, and tightly packed with fast moving pedestrians. I only managed to make it out in one piece by making a suicidal dive straight across several streams of people, a manoeuvre that would have had me arrested if I'd tried it on a motorway. And even then it was a 15 minute queue to get into the Museum itself. (Note to self: never ever do ~anything~ on a Saturday ever again.)
The exhibition itself was worth fighting through crowds for, the pictures were absolutely breath-taking. Obviously the format helped: I always talked about phtographs as tiny jewelled worlds you could hold in your hands - blown up to several feet across and illuminated, they become more like doorways. And of course the technical skill was superb - split second timing, perfectly sharp focus, incredible angles. And nature in all its soaring, bloody, alien beauty is always going to be impressive. But what really set these photographghs apart was the originality: no cliched animal behaviour, no cheesy anthrpomorphism, no seen-it-in-every-Sunday-suplement-ever compositions. Every shot was a new discovery. Intrigue as well as beauty.
(The quality of the juniors section was also mind-blowing, especially given their ages, although some of the 'how I took this' stories were verging on unbelievable, especially the nine-year old Swedish girl who sat out in the frozen tundra for days waiting for the perfect shot. Then again all Scandinavians are crazy, so this is probably a perfectly normal form of childcare in Sweden.)
I had planned on taking a few hours to explore the rest of the museum, since I hadn't been there since I was very small. (In fact, back then, the dinosaur in the entrance hall was still dragging its tail along the floor.) But a change of plan was now clearly required. The blue whale was closed for cleaning, the queue for the dinosaurs stretched three times round the hall, I was surrounded on all sides by screaming munchkins and the cafe was packed. More to the point, I just couldn't get into the proper spirit. I generally have no problem with dead things, especially dead things in the name of science ('...in the name of science' being nearly as good a phrase to add to stuff as '...from the future!!!!!') But after the brightness, vigour and LIFE of the photography, the static, stuffed specimens were completely jarring. I said goodbye to Darwin and made for the escape tunnels.
I definitely need to get back to the NHM on a less child-frenzied day. I was reminded that the dinosaur bones aren't real dinosaur bones, they're replicas (due to real dinosaur bones being ridiculously rare and fragile). So I decided that if they can pretend that they're real dinosaur bones, then I can pretend that they're real dragon bones. In the name of science.
(Part two is getting split into bits, because it was getting a TEENY bit long. I should probably try to write less but this is my journal and I LIKE pouring out millions of words. But I also like people to read things I write and I'm aware that most people don't want to open LJ only to be hit with a 400 page novel...)
Bones
Saturday brought a bright and early start. By 9am I had already reached Victoria, dropped my case off at left luggage, and was enjoying a leisurely breakfast before heading on to the Natural History Museum. I figured on getting these just as it opened - that way I wouldn't have any waiting around, but it wouldn't be too busy. After all, how many people would actually be up and wandering round museums at 10 o'clock on a Saturday morning?
Yes. That's right. Children. To whom 10am is the equivalent of three in the afternoon. Which never occurred to me until I jumped on the suspiciously above-ground tube and was instantly surrounded by 'Daddy we're going to see the dinosaurs aren't we daddy, we're going to see the dinosaurs I like dinosaurs we're going to see the dinosaurs aren't we Daddy, aren't we Daddy Daddy DADDY!!"
Now, to be fair, I prefer to measure my proximity to small children in miles, or, if possible, continents. So it's understandable that I'm not that aware of their daily habits. But not realising that a museum full of dinosaurs would be an instant child-magnet? Other child-free people would have worked that out. Small blue beings that live on Neptune would have worked that out. But not me.
Luckily, not many small children rate wildlife photography over dinosaurs, so I figured it was worth carrying on as planned to the Wildlife Photographer of the Year exhibition. This was easier said than done, as first I had to negotiate the miles of pedestrian subways that connect the tube station with the museums. These were longer than most tube lines, full of confusing signs, multiple exits, and tightly packed with fast moving pedestrians. I only managed to make it out in one piece by making a suicidal dive straight across several streams of people, a manoeuvre that would have had me arrested if I'd tried it on a motorway. And even then it was a 15 minute queue to get into the Museum itself. (Note to self: never ever do ~anything~ on a Saturday ever again.)
The exhibition itself was worth fighting through crowds for, the pictures were absolutely breath-taking. Obviously the format helped: I always talked about phtographs as tiny jewelled worlds you could hold in your hands - blown up to several feet across and illuminated, they become more like doorways. And of course the technical skill was superb - split second timing, perfectly sharp focus, incredible angles. And nature in all its soaring, bloody, alien beauty is always going to be impressive. But what really set these photographghs apart was the originality: no cliched animal behaviour, no cheesy anthrpomorphism, no seen-it-in-every-Sunday-suplement-ever compositions. Every shot was a new discovery. Intrigue as well as beauty.
(The quality of the juniors section was also mind-blowing, especially given their ages, although some of the 'how I took this' stories were verging on unbelievable, especially the nine-year old Swedish girl who sat out in the frozen tundra for days waiting for the perfect shot. Then again all Scandinavians are crazy, so this is probably a perfectly normal form of childcare in Sweden.)
I had planned on taking a few hours to explore the rest of the museum, since I hadn't been there since I was very small. (In fact, back then, the dinosaur in the entrance hall was still dragging its tail along the floor.) But a change of plan was now clearly required. The blue whale was closed for cleaning, the queue for the dinosaurs stretched three times round the hall, I was surrounded on all sides by screaming munchkins and the cafe was packed. More to the point, I just couldn't get into the proper spirit. I generally have no problem with dead things, especially dead things in the name of science ('...in the name of science' being nearly as good a phrase to add to stuff as '...from the future!!!!!') But after the brightness, vigour and LIFE of the photography, the static, stuffed specimens were completely jarring. I said goodbye to Darwin and made for the escape tunnels.
I definitely need to get back to the NHM on a less child-frenzied day. I was reminded that the dinosaur bones aren't real dinosaur bones, they're replicas (due to real dinosaur bones being ridiculously rare and fragile). So I decided that if they can pretend that they're real dinosaur bones, then I can pretend that they're real dragon bones. In the name of science.
