All of the cool kids have unicorns in their family crests.
THE NEW WASHER/DRYER ARRIVED TODAY.
I toured Buckingham Palace a few weeks ago. Actually, a couple friends and I went the day I moved here. I was trying to think of ways to stay awake that afternoon —jet lag always seems to descend around 4pm when you’re coming from the States— and I realized there’s probably no smarter solution to the problem of remaining conscious when you’re running on 1½ hours of sleep than putting on your classiest pair of jeans and wandering around where the Queen lives. With this (unequivocally brilliant) idea, and two tired friends semi-reluctantly in tow, I set out for the palace with only luck and my unreliable inner compass as guides. (OK—I also had the ‘Maps’ app in my iPad, but no wifi, so really that doesn’t count.)
I live just under 2½ miles from Buckingham Palace, so the walk should realistically have taken about 40-45 minutes, but thanks to some not inconsiderable confusion resulting from London’s splendid penchant for changing the name of a street every few blocks (an affectation of being a city that’s over 1,000 years old, I suppose), it was an hour and a half before we found deliverance in the form of the shining golden beacon that is the Victoria Monument.
The Palace offers audio tours in just about every language imaginable, including Klingon, Elvish, and Baby Talk.
By royal standards, and certainly by comparison to the grandeur within, the outside of Buckingham is rather modest. Massive, definitely, but not in the grand, breathtaking style one might expect of a palace exterior. I appreciate that level of unpretentiousness. Tré Britannique.
We took pictures of the gate and the guards within, and after 45 minutes of waiting around, we made it through security, had our phones turned off, and cameras checked in (they weren’t allowed inside, alas). I was allowed to keep my purse with me though, because security could tell I was harmless. (It’s my sweet disposition.)
We ascended the grand staircase and began the most interesting tour I’ve ever been on since that open top bus tour in Montréal when my shirt flipped over my face courtesy of a rogue gust of wind and the poor decision to stand for a photo as we drove atop a busy highway overpass. Put another way, the Buckingham Palace tour was as delightful as accidentally flashing dozens of French Canadian motorists was humiliating.
The audio tour was a superb accompaniment to the next couple hours of slack-jawed admiration for John Nash’s architectural genius, and the incredible amount of history, priceless art, and stateliness the monarchies managed to fit in there. We walked through the Throne Room, the Ballroom, various Dining Rooms…all of which are considered public “State Rooms” when the Queen is not in residence at the Palace (like most of us, she usually summers in Scotland).
“And since we don’t want to detract from the whole point of the music room, which is to say the chandelier, let’s just go ahead and shove that piano all the way over to the side…perfect.”
My favorite room is the music room. It’s a giant, semi-circular expanse with an enormous chandelier (surprise), and giant french doors that lead out onto the back lawn and gardens. I’m including a photo from Picasa, but no picture does it justice. When you’re actually standing in there, you can see all the green from the windows beyond. This is probably crass, but it reminded me of the scene in Beauty and the Beast where Belle and the Beast put on the Ritz and dance as they’re serenaded by the clock and the candle and some plates. I’m just now realizing how totally bizarre that story is.
Just beyond the music room is the actual formal dining room, though plenty of other rooms are used for that purpose. The room is long and rectangular, with massive windows lining one side, and on the other are five or so oil-on-canvas paintings of nobility that preceded the current monarchy. The décor is almost overwhelmingly red, except the ceiling, which is white and intricate, and trimmed with gold detail. The Queen loves entertaining in this room, and she likes to inspect it herself before the guests arrive, according to the man on the audio tape. She also likes to go over the seating arrangements to ensure that everyone is comfortable. If, while inspecting the seating arrangement, she happens to glance out of one of the windows, she will see the sprawling green lawn that was bombed by the Nazis during the Second World War, when her father was King. As the story goes, King George VI and his wife generally remained at the palace despite the worry that it would be a target (which, evidently, it was). It has also been said that after the bombing occurred, they went around to make sure no one has been hurt, and to survey the damage. Pretty epic. Not even Winston Churchill stayed at 10 Downing Street during the war.
The Palace Dining Room. Elbows OFF the table.
Oh, Churchill! I forgot to mention I also saw the underground rooms where Churchill led the war. That deserves it’s own entry. Stand by.
Back to Buckingham: Once the tour was concluded, we were led to the back garden/yard area. It’s a massive lawn flanked by many beautiful trees and flowers. Contrary to what I would have expected, the “garden” section is rather wild-looking, sort of like a park. I’m sure it’s very well-tended, but it doesn’t appear to be heavily manicured; there is no suggestion of an unnatural facade, which I rather like.
Of course from there, we were ushered into the gift shop, where for an exorbitant amount of money, you can buy washcloths and tea sets and pens with crests on them or, if you’re like me, you can buy 15 postcards for £2.
There’s even a royal ice cream stand. No, you didn’t misread. Royal. Ice cream. Stand. As in, a stand where you can buy an ice cream cone that is presumably ‘royal’ by virtue of being sold at Buckingham Palace. When we passed it, I stopped and did a double-take to make sure we weren’t at a theme park—Buckingham Palaceland or something— we were not. They actually sell ice cream at Buckingham. I hope you appreciate that as much as I do.
Upon exiting the premises, there was a booth where we could have our tickets validated for the next year, meaning when the State Rooms are open, I can go back in for free for the next 300-something days. And that’s awesome, because I’d definitely like to return.
So now that you read all of that, long story short, the moral of the story is this: the best cure for jet lag is to tour a palace. You’re welcome.
Regally yours,
AC
londoncannon 