Crypt galleries and Italian barbers.

The last few days have been full of new experiences.  Monday evening was dominated by the two-hour performance of Madreaus, a Portuguese folk band.  Comprised of a guitarist, two violinists, a cellist, keyboardist, and a vocalist, their songs were haunting and beautiful, and though I couldn't understand the language there was definitely a conveyance of love lost at sea.  Still, the melodies and chord progressions were overwhelming similar from song to song, and although I can acknowledge the talent present in each member of the band, by the intermission I was ready for a nap.  The ethereal, subdued textures of the music make it more of something that I would have playing while I write, as opposed to something I see again in concert.

Nothing was officially on the schedule for Tuesday, at least nothing that we had been told about.  Towards the end of my Writing in The Arts course, Rachel (our resident professor/flatmate) told us she was taking us somewhere.  Following her for a while, we came upon St. Pancras's church, a massive stone building.  Rachel led us around to the side of the building, where deep in the maw of an open mausoleum was a short set of stairs.  She told us that we had arrived at our destination, and began to head down into the dimly-lit chamber.  More than a little confused, the rest of us followed, only to find that we actually were heading into a crypt -- except it was temporarily being used as an art gallery!

(Click here to see some of what I saw)

Although the handful of visitors walking through its arched passages gave the crypt a slightly more "living" energy, the macabre works of art seemed to actually be haunting the place, bringing the creepiness level back to the baseline of "Wow, I'm Surrounded By Dead People." The concept was very effective in its delivery (and just plain cool), but still unsettling enough for me to relish the sunshine and fresh air once we left the exhibition.

As per usual, yesterday was my Wandering Wednesday, so I wandered on down to Greenwich.  Home of the Greenwich Observatory, and the birthplace of measured time as we know it, I was able to stand on the line that "officially" separates the east from the west.

Weird.

Besides that, I was able to visit some neat little markets, AND a genuine meat pie and eel shop.  Seriously, the only thing on the menu were variations of meat pies, eels, and mashed potatoes.  For the value and taste, I'd give it two thumbs up.  Later on I visited the National Maritime Museum (cool ships, poor execution), and Greenwich Park, which would have been much nicer had it not been midway through preparations for the 2012 Summer Olympics Equestrian events.

Today has been a quiet day of class thus far.  We're seeing some modern ballet this evening, and though it's not my forte, I'm doing my best to attend it with an open mind.  One interesting experience from today, however, was my visit to an Italian barber.  The entire event was quick and pleasant.  Never ceasing with "yes sir," and, "of course, sir," the man somehow knew exactly how I wanted my hair, in spite of my awful ability to communicate with barbers.  At the end, he offered my a warm scented towel to clean my face, trimmed the edges of my hair with a straight razor -- I immediately wondered if I was the next victim of a modern Sweeney Todd -- and applied some perfumed oil to my scalp.  He even took my coat and helped me into it!  Such service. . . I don't think I'll be able to get my hair cut in the States again.