Two remaining items on my must-see list were the British Museum and the Tate Britain. Looking on my London map, the British Museum was not too far away walking distance, so I set off late morning and had no trouble finding it.
A short aside: on my way there, I waited at a traffic light to cross the street. Three feet away stood the quintessential English nanny -- taller than me, probably six feet, very thin, austere face, probably in her 40s and dressed head to toe in black in that nanny uniform. I should have snapped a photo but couldn't get my camera ready quickly enough before Nanny Stern (the name I made up because she had a very stern, no-nonsense look about her) burst across the street and out of sight. Wow! That lady was on a mission!
Back on track to the British Museum. Here it is from the outside. I was surprised by how large and so very impressive it looked.
I loved this detail above the front entry doors.
This is my self-portrait to prove I was really there and didn't grab these photos off some random website. There were several days that I wore no makeup because the brisk air caused my eyes to water. Excessively. Makeup was then an effort in futility.
The next three photos are the grand entrance hall. Notice in the third photo the hordes of high school age kids on a field trip. At least that's what it would have been in the States. Not sure what they would call that in England.
To be honest, this is the real reason I came to the British Museum, to see the Rosetta Stone. It was much larger and thicker (8 inches!) than I had imagined.
To my delight, there were many, many more things to see of great interest. I've never been a history buff by any stretch of the imagination, but what continued to amaze me was the age of the different artifacts on exhibit. Here are just a few. I wish I'd been able to get photos of the mummies and a few other things, but my camera battery died.
The next three items had me awestruck--look at the dates on the descriptions.
I had to take this photo. It's an Egyptian scarab. Remember my little scarab green car I rented? Hmmm. I guess they couldn't find any brilliant green stone and had to make do with this... Funny, too, since they worshiped this as a god.
How many of us knew that parts of the Greek Parthenon are in England? I didn't. Modern day, Greece wants these back. England argues that Greece didn't do such a hot job of keeping the place intact when they had the chance. So right now, it's a stand-off. This display room is the exact size of the Greek Parthenon, with these different parts in the exact position they would occupy if still intact at the actual Parthenon. Not sure I'll ever make it to Greece, so this was a cool experience for me.
I ate a snack at the museum café just to the back of the grand entrance hall. Then I went upstairs and spent about an hour with the mummies before leaving. On the way back to the Euro Hotel, I walked through a large, beautiful park that had a restaurant on the far corner. I had lunch there. Then it was time to get my laundry sorted and walk over to the launderette (laundromat for you Yanks) just around the corner from the Euro.
About the launderette . . . it's about half the size (or less) of conventional laundromats that you see in the States, and instead of putting your money in at the exact machine you're going to use, there's a central place that you punch in the number of your machine, and put the money in there. Then you go back to your machine and punch in the particular settings that you want, and press start. Same thing for the dryers. The central pay machine requires exact change, and they don't have a change machine. Just F.Y.I. in case you need to do your laundry in London. And bring lots of pound coins because it is expensive. Six pounds (about $10) for one washing machine load. You better believe I jammed in as much as I could into one machine!
Funny story about the launderette. I struck up a conversation there with a couple about my age from New Zealand who were on an extended holiday. Very interesting! Right after they left, there were two or three other people remaining in the place when some guy walked in empty-handed (read, no laundry) and started talking with the other people in the back. I was at the front and couldn't hear exactly what he was saying over the noise from all the machines. Next thing I know, this guy is standing in front of me, hitting me up for a handout. He tells me he's hungry and just needs something to eat, and that I need to give him money. This may sound all judgy-judgy on my part, but he was at least 100 pounds overweight and reeked of cigarettes. My first thought was, buddy, you could stand to miss a meal or ten. And I can talk because I'm not exactly svelte at this point in my life. I told him I couldn't help him out and turned my back to him while getting clothes out of the washer. He then stood there, repeating, getting louder with each statement, "Madam, I'm starving. Do you hear me? I'm starving. I'm starving, Madam. Just give me some money for food. I'm starving, I'm starving, I'm starving."
If his approach had been different--more humble, perhaps? because I've given homeless people money for food--you know, politely asking rather than yammering-away-at-me-to-wear-me-down approach, I might have given him some money. But as a woman traveling alone, I try to be aware of potentially threatening situations. So I continued to ignore him and he left the launderette.
Over the next half hour, I saw him off and on out on the street, hitting up various people for money, and even walking up to cars stopped at the light to panhandle from them. Then I guess he figured there must be a new batch of people to hit up in the launderette, because he came back in, and again went to the back first. This time I could plainly hear him yammering away at some poor guy. Only this time the spiel was that he wanted money for the bus to get home. Poor Guy tried to simply explain to Yammering Beggar that he just had enough money for his laundry with nothing to spare. The guy sounded so sweet and genuine, that I wanted to go back and say, "You don't owe this jerk an explanation. Just tell him to go away." I didn't, though. I kept my mouth shut and minded my own business--incredibly difficult but I managed. And I didn't even think that Yammering Beggar would be dumb enough to hit me up again. But he did.
Big mistake. Big. Huge.
He'd no sooner spewed his "Madam, give me money for the bus, I have to get home," when I nailed him. Not quietly either. Oh, no. Far from quiet.
"The BUS? Is that what your con game is now? When you were in here half an hour ago, you hit me up for money because you were starving, you were STARVING, YOU WERE STARVING!!" Yes, I was that loud. "I'm not giving you any money and don't ask me again. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?" said with my index finger jabbing three inches away from his face.
He was stunned into silence. Gaping mouth and all. I wish I had the photo of his face, but it is etched in my mind. Well, stunned into silence for all of about three seconds, when he then asked, "May I help you with your laundry?"
"NO!!"
He left quickly. As I finished up, I didn't dare look at my fellow launderette people for fear they thought there was a madwoman still in their midst. Five minutes later, I was outta there and thankfully headed back to the Euro Hotel for the evening. And Yammering guy was nowhere to be seen.
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