Sep 2008

Visiting the Atomium, Mini Europe and Brugges was nice, but I really came to Belgium for two reasons.

Beer and car racing.

September 7, 2008, at the Spa-Francorchamps circuit outside of Spa, Belgium, the Formula One held the Belgium Grand Prix. Formula One is a open-wheeled racing series with races held around the world every year, including the famous Monaco Grand Prix. However, one of the most popular races among drivers and fans alike is the Belgium Grand Prix.

Formula One racing usually is associated with glamour and wealth. It brings to mind images of private jets to watch the race from the private boxes above the pit lane, having champagne and caviar with beautiful girls.

But GregWTravels is having none of that. No, instead GregWTravels does it the independent traveller way.

Instead of the private jet into the nearest airfield, I took the train from Brussels to Verviers.

From Verviers, the rich fly by helicopter to the track. I took a bus. €5 return to stand for an hour and a half on a crowded bus as it slowly inches its way through traffic.

The bus dumps us out about a kilometre and a half from the track, and we have to walk to the circuit.

The rain started coming down, but luckily the line up to pick up the tickets wasn’t too long, and soon enough I had my pass to the track. A bronze pass to all the action.

Once inside the track, it was time for the fancy nosh and champagne. Well, not for me. For me, sausage and beer.

Bronze pass allows you general admission. For those of us (like me) who weren’t smart enough to bring their own seats, we have to find a place to lean against the fence, hopefully with a view of one of the big screens.

And if some of that beer brings you a need to use the toilet, acres of facilities exist.

Just joking around. The circuit is beautiful, set amongst the hills and pine forests of south-eastern Belgium. The course is very long at 7 kilometres, and has been the host of the Belgium Grand Prix more often than any other course in Belgium.

The most famous part of the circuit is the Eau Rouge corner. After coming out of the La Source hairpin after the starting line, the track runs downhill to cross the Eau Rouge stream, before flying uphill and heading through a quick set of turns over a blind hilltop.

With 2 hours before the race, the rain was really coming down. Most of those without covered seating took cover in the shopping area. All the manufactures were out in full force.

There were even a few of the hot grid girl spokesmodels that the teams hire to entertain the guests.

Walking up to the McLaren Mercedes booth, the girls were posing in tiny t-shirts, holding each other’s waists and smiling. I bounded up the steps, but the girls quit posing, quickly grabbing for their jackets with a look on their face that said, “I am not getting paid enough to stand outside in the cold and wind in this tiny t-shirt.”

This Toyota girl said she would pose for a picture. I tried smiling to get her to smile, but she wouldn’t give me anything but this somewhat disdainful look. I assume that the happy, smiling girls were probably inside in the private viewing areas with caviar, champagne and heaters.

The girls sour looks aside, the fans sure seemed to like it.

I headed through the forest towards the other side of the track, near the Fagnes chicane. I wandered up and down until I could find a nice area to view the race, and settled in. Soon the cars came whizzing by in their formation lap, and a few minutes later, the race was on.

After watching the start of the race on the screen, I headed further down closer to the Fagnes chicane, where I couldn’t see a screen but I got some excellent views of the cars.

The cars were loud as they ran down the straight into the chicane, and I captured it on video as I could. The video is not meant to be an explanation of the race, merely a few minutes of images to give you a feel what the sights and sounds of a F1 Grand Prix is like. I was near the Fagnes chicane for most of the race. Some of you may find this a little dull if you don't like cars going zippily past, so for you, pretty girls at 1:42.

The Fagnes chicane also provided the opportunity to view Nelson Piquet Jr. spin out into the barrier. I missed the spin out, but heard the crush of metal on concrete, and turned around to see smoke flowing up into the air.

Having seen the start of the race, I knew that Finnish driver Kimi Raikkonen was leading in his red Ferrari, with British McLaren Mercedes driver Lewis Hamilton in second and Brazilian Felipe Massa behind him in his Ferrari. I would see the Ferrari, McLaren, Ferrari one-two-three pass me, but I wanted to see the end on the screen to ensure that I got the whole story.

After an hour and bit, I figured I should try and find a screen. I figured the race was close to over, so moved back to an area with a video screen. I arrived back with 3 laps to go. It was an excellent choice, given the spectacular ending that was about to occur.

It started to rain, the first rain we’d seen during the entire race. Folks broke out their umbrellas, and I am sure that the drivers and teams were cursing the weather. With so few laps, and slick tires on the cars, it was sure to be a slippery finish.

Hamilton had caught up to Raikkonen, and tried to pass him at the chicane near the start finish line. Hamilton couldn’t pass, and Raikkonen cut off Hamilton’s path (a completely legal move on Raikkonen’s part). Hamilton was forced to go off the track and cut through the chicane. Despite being off the track, Lewis Hamilton came out of the chicane ahead of Raikkonen.

The rules of F1 say that you can’t gain an advantage by going off-track, so Lewis had to back off and give the race lead back to Raikkonen. As soon as Lewis slotted back in behind the Ferrari, he attacked again. Raikkonen tried to defend his position by weaving, but Hamilton got the inside line and passed Raikkonen to gain the lead.

The next lap, as the track got wetter, some teams decided to pull into the pits for wet tires. The top 3 stayed out, though with the order being Hamilton in first and the two Ferrari’s of Raikkonen and Massa. The order changed again quickly, though when Hamilton ran wide in a corner, giving Raikkonen the lead again.

Hamilton and Raikkonen, battling hard for the lead, came up on the slower car of Nakajima. Raikkonen had to run off track to avoid Nakajima, allowing Hamilton to take the lead again. Raikkonen trying to catch Hamilton again, slide off the track and into the barrier, having to retire.

Hamilton was far enough ahead of Massa to carefully drive around the track, avoiding skidding off in the rain to first place. Massa finished second, and Nick Heidfeld, who had switched to wet tires, was able to pass two cars and take third place.

McLaren fans celebrated, while the Ferrari fans in their red jackets and hats hung their heads in disappointment.

With the trophies presented, I left the Fagnes viewing area, and headed back towards the pit area, leaving behind the detritus of the bronze viewing area.

After the race, the track is open to walk around, and fans flood out onto the track to check it out and experience a small bit of what the drivers get to see.

Finally, though, it was time to head back to Brussels. A long walk to the bus stop, and then more than an hour standing on the bus back to Verviers.

A little after I snapped this photo, a buzz went through the bus. Text messages were coming in, and phones were ringing. Lewis Hamilton had been penalized for cutting through the chicane, and had 25 seconds added to his race time. That dropped him from first to third, promoting Massa into the lead. The Hamilton fans at the front of the bus were depressed, but a bunch of Italians at the back broke out into cheers and song.

Despite the horror of standing on the bus for a couple hours in each direction and the rain before the race began, it was an excellent time. The cars were loud and powerful, the racing was excellent and the experience of being close to the fans was very cool.

Next year, eh? Hmm, it was pretty cold and rainy. Maybe next year somewhere sunny and warm.

Rio? Spain? Oh... how about Monaco!

I decided to use my Saturday to go to Brugge. I really knew nothing about the city other than a few people had noted online that it was a pretty little town worth seeing, and that Colin Farrell starred in a movie called "In Brugge." I didn't see Colin Farrell, probably because he was too busy saving lives elsewhere in the world.

I did very little research prior to going to Brugge, other than figuring out what train to take, so upon arriving I pretty much just followed the crowd leaving the train station, hoping that they were tourists like I was, and not a mass of locals all heading to their houses. Luckily, they were tourists, so I ended up getting dragged to the main square and seeing the sights.

From there, I pretty much just wandered around without much of a plan or really knowing anything about the city at all. Mostly I wandered, every once and a while coming across my lifeline... the tourist map.

Usually I would do some research on the place to put all my experience into context, but today I am feeling that I shouldn't destroy my blissful ignorance, so instead I will just present the photos I took with little (if any) commentary, because I don't really know much about them other than they caught my fancy so I took a snapshot.

Behind perhaps only beer and chocolate, the most famous thing from Belgium - Tintin and his little dog Snowy!

Looks like more than just the Atomium is smurfing 50 years. Happy Smurfday, Smurfs!

As you can see, I took quite a tour of Brugge. I walked and looked and walked and looked...

...until I was tired, and stopped into a bar for a pint. That's me downing my drink, reflected in the shiny chrome of the beer taps.

After I finished my beer, I headed down to the train station, and it turned out I had some time to kill before my train, so I grabbed another pint.

All that beer made me sleepy, and not soon after this photo was taken...

...I fell asleep. Luckily I woke up before my stop. I made it back to my hotel, and made it an early night.

I have a big day on Sunday watching cars go very fast in Francochamps, just outside Spa.

I am off to Brussels for the weekend. It’s my third trip to this place in the last 4 years, which if you exclude places I have gone for work means I have visited Brussels more than any other city save Paris and London (which might not even count, because I actually live there). I must really like this place.

Truth is, I do like this place. It is a nice mix of old and new. It is small enough to be human scaled, but large enough to have anything you might want. Finally, as the capital of Europe, it is very international, and you never feel out of place as a foreigner here, for so many people seem to be from some place else.

I got a great deal on a hotel, as well. The Renaissance Brussels Hotel near Luxembourg Square was on for just €99. Having already been here twice and having stayed at hotels near the centre, I decided to stay some place a little less central (i.e. touristy) and a little more “real” (i.e. where there aren’t so many tourists).

The Renaissance is just steps from the European Parliament, so it is usually filled with Euro politicos trying to sway the balance of power in their favour (as politicos are wont to do). The area surrounding the parliament is more residential than the core of the city around the Grand Palace, so it’s both more quiet (i.e. less drunk Brits) and more lively (i.e. more locals out for a Friday night dinner and drinks).

Having already seen the beautiful yet highly touristed Grand Palace and main square, I decided to head out to an attraction that I hadn’t visited on my last two visits.

50 years ago, in 1958, the World’s Fair found itself in Brussels.

One of the displays was The Atomium, a massive construction made to look like an atom, with orbs of shiny silver connected together by gleaming white tunnels. Not much remains of the 1958 World’s Fair, but The Atomium still stands today.

The Atomium is one of those things that seems underwhelming when you see it in tourist guides or city brochures. The pictures of the place always made it look like it’s some crappy 20 foot tall structure in some abandoned car park out on the outskirts of town.

Going there, you realize that all those pictures have failed to correctly capture the scale of the Atomium. In fact, it is 102 metres tall. It is composed of nine steel spheres and apparently is designed after a cell of an iron crystal magnified 165 billion times.

I took a few pictures, for example the one below, which seems to make all the same mistakes as the tourist brochures by trying to get the whole thing in one picture, which ultimately makes it seem small.

Instead, here’s some pictures I took that I hope do present the scale correctly.

The interior of the top orb, the "sky deck", giving you nice view of Brussels

Looking down at another orb from the top of the 9 orbs, with a fountain down on the ground, way below!

The escalator rides between orbs, through the white connectors, can be a bit of a trek.

Looking out on two of the other orbs from one of the centre orbs

Next up, I headed over to Mini Europe! Mini Europe promises (according to the free guide that you get when you pay admission) AN EXCITING VOYAGE THROUGH EUROPE!

Mini Europe is what we would call in Canada a “miniature village.” That is, it is a number of real and imagined buildings modelled at some scale and displayed for visitors.

Ah, you get the idea. Watch this film...

The guide book, in addition to describing the sights, also gives lots of information on the values of the Europe, the economic and political power of Europe, the powers and duties of the European parliament, European budgets and GDPs, European currency and why Europeans can’t make a decent chicken wing in their sports bars.

Okay, all but one of the above topics is covered in the handout.

Finally, headed back to Luxembourg Square near my hotel and grabbed dinner and drinks at Fat Boy’s. Fat Boy’s is a sports bar run by an American, and so I found myself sitting in Brussels, drinking Danish beer, watching British Rugby and eating an all-American cheese burger. I sat at the bar and had a few more pints while sports rotated before me on the televisions screens. American baseball, American football (on the Armed Forced Network, no less - which is just like regular TV, but with more commercials for West Pointe and PSAs on Why Not To Sexual Molest Teenagers In Iraq) and Tennis.

With that image I end, for it seems a fitting one for Brussels, a mix and match of cultures coming together in one place. I have never been to Brussels before it became the European capital so perhaps this is too grand a statement to make, but I think it was an excellent choice. It seems like a place where anyone, no matter where they are from, can come and project themselves into without seeming out of place.

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Edited to add: I realized I never explained the title of the Blog - Brussels Happiness. Brussels Happiness is the name of the series of events that Brussels has or is putting on from April until October of this year to celebrate the 50th anniversary of the World's Fair in 1958, including a number of exhibits that I saw at the Atomium and the creation just down the street of The Pavilion of Temporary Happiness, made (fitting for Belgium) of 33,000 beer crates. A list of all the events can be found at the Atomium website, in the event you are going to be in Brussels and want to see the world's largest atom juxtaposed against the miniature version of Europe housed next door to it.

I also added the picture of the TV showing the tennis which I meant to originally include, but somehow managed not to at the last moment.

Finally, I realize many people have already read this, and will never see this addendum. Such is life.

Into the dark shadowed spaces below us, while we watched, whole batches of incendiary bombs fell. We saw two dozen go off in two seconds. They flashed terrifically, then quickly simmered down to pin points of dazzling white, burning ferociously. These white pin points would go out one by one, as the unseen heroes of the moment smothered them with sand. But also, while we watched, other pin points would burn on, and soon a yellow flame would leap up from the white center. They had done their work - another building was on fire.
- Ernie Pyle, World War II correspondent, Pulitzer Prize Winner (source: Eyewitness to History )

On the afternoon of September 7th, 1940, 348 German bombers, escorted by 617 German fighter escorts flew over the east end of London, dropping a massive amount of bombs on the port of London. While the attacks that day were aimed at the port to deliver an economic blow, a number of bombs fell off target and 448 Londoners died that day in what became locally as “Black Saturday.” It was the first day of 57 days of sustained bombing of London and the United Kingdom, and the first phase of a bombing campaign that lasted into the Spring of 1941, eventually killing 43,000 civilians across the United Kingdom. It is known now as The Blitz.

London has long been a port city, with easy access to the sea via the Thames River. As the British Empire expanded, the city became the central hub for the shipment of goods from around the Empire. To handle this increasing trade throughout the 19th and 20th centuries, a number of docks were built to the east of the City of London proper, starting with the West India Dock in 1802.

West India Dock, opened in 1802, today home to the Dockland's Museum, bars, restaurants and a very nice Marriott hotel

With the Nazi’s take over of France in June of 1940, the Nazi’s turned their attention to the United Kingdom. On the 18 June, Prime Minister Winston Churchill, in a speech at the House of Commons declared, "The Battle of France is over. I expect the Battle of Britain is about to begin."

Statue of Churchill, sitting beside Roosevelt on a bench near Bond Street

The Battle of Britain began with a bombing campaign by the German Luftwaffe against military targets, specifically air fields, and industrial targets in Birmingham and Liverpool. On August the 24th, some German bombers strayed off target and dropped bombs across the north end of London. In retaliation, the British Royal Air Force carried out attacks on Berlin which killed 10 people. Hitler was apparently very upset at the attack on Berlin, and on September 5th ordered the attacks on London and other major British cities.

As Hitler had ordered attacks that would disrupt the life of London and the United Kingdom, it is no surprise that the docks were one of the major targets of the German bombers. By 1939, London was one of the busiest port in the United Kingdom, handling 60 million tons of goods which accounted for 38% of the entire trade of the United Kingdom.

Cranes at West India Quay. Previously used to load and unload cargo, now used to give the place a little nautical atmosphere

That first night, on Black Saturday, over 1000 bombs had hit the Docklands, causing an inferno that covered 250 acres of land. The fire was so strong at the Surrey Docks that glass in buildings not on fire started shattering from the heat. Firefighters were brought in from all over London and even from out of town to fight the fires.

Not only were the buildings on fire, but also the contents of the many warehouses holding trade from across the British Empire. A firefighter described how some of the goods from far away corners of the British Empire made fighting the fires even more difficult.

“There were pepper fires, loading the surrounding air heavily with stinging particles so that when a fireman took a deep breath it felt like breathing fire itself. There were rum fires, with torrents of blazing liquid pouring from the warehouse door and barrels exploding like bombs themselves.” source: Port Cities UK

Memorial erected in 1991 by artist John W Mills, dedicated to the 1002 firefighters who died fighting fires in London during the Blitz. It shows three firefighters - two holding a hose and one directing operations. It is just across the street from St. Paul's Cathedral

The next 56 days saw nightly bombing of London, and many Londoners found shelter in the deep stations of the underground. The area of the port was bombed repeatedly, and many areas were completely destroyed.

The bombing campaign continued through the winter and into the spring of 1941. May 10th, 1941 saw 500 German bombers drop over 700 tons of explosive on the capital, killing close to 1500 people.

The churchyard of St. James' church off of Piccadilly was laid out after the 2nd World War as a Garden of Remembrance to commemorate the courage of Londoners during the Blitz. This statue holds a olive branch, and on the base says Peace.

May 10th was the last night of the bombing campaign as the Germans turned their attention eastward to Russia. By the end of the blitz, over 25,000 bombs had fallen on the docklands, destroying 11,000 homes and many commercial buildings. Across London, 1.4 million people were homeless.

In St. Mary-Le-Bow church, one of the stained glass windows on the north side of the church shows St Paul with his Epistles, surrounded by bombed City of London churches. This church, while not technically in the east end of London, is said to define one of the most enduring images of east end London, the Cockney. A "true" Cockney is someone born within earshot of the Bow Bells, the bells in the church's tower.

Despite the end of The Blitz, London and the docklands still suffered from bombing and rocket attacks for the rest of the war, including V1 and V2 rockets. The port continued to operate, however much of it’s traffic was diverted to other ports in the United Kingdom.

Looking at the docklands today with the large towers of Canary Wharf, the condos and ExCel centre around the Royal Victoria Dock and the part surrounding the East India Dock, you might think that the German bombing campaign was the end of the docks as a port.

It wasn’t the German bombs that did in the docks. Much like the rest of London, which was rebuilt in the image of pre-war London with minor improvements in some places (like indoor plumbing), the docks were for the most part rebuilt as a working port once the war ended, and by the mid-1950s the part was fully operational again. By the mid-1960s the port was back to its pre-WWII levels, handling 60 million tons of cargo.

Eventually though, it was a combination of shallow water, twisty bends and small docks that did in the docklands as a working port. By the late 1960s, more and more cargo was being handled at the larger downstream port of Tilbury, as it could take the large container ships that were becoming the norm in the industry. By 1980, all the docks within London had closed.

A Japanese container ship glides through the Panama Canal. These ships, built to just fit into the canal, were much too large to fit into the docks in London, and there was no room for the large cranes needed to unload the boats.

In 1999, a memorial to those killed in air raids during World War II was unveiled at St. Paul’s church. Designed by Richard Kindersley, the memorial is a low circular stone inscribed round the sides with the words, “remember before God the people London 1939-45.”

Atop the stone, at the centre are the words

In war, resolution: In defeat, defiance: in victory, magnanimity: in pace, goodwill

London is teeming with werewolves. You can hardly escape them.

I just missed capturing in full view this werewolf as he strolled down Piccadilly Street. He was about to attack the woman with the rollerbag suitcase, but saw my camera and dashed out of the frame. I clicked quick enough to just get a partial view of his hairy face in the frame.

I was reminded of this fact recently in of all places Toronto. I was listening to the top-40 radio station that was previously called The Mix but has now been rebranded as Virgin Radio. Sir Richard Branson slaps his Virgin logo on yet something else. He’s almost has hard to escape as the werewolves.

The radio was playing a new song by Kid Rock which seemed to consist of Kid Rock singing over the music from the verses of Werewolves of London by Warren Zevon and the chorus of Sweet Home Alabama by Lynyrd Skynyrd. Hearing the bits of the Warren Zevon song got me thinking about all the places named in Werewolves of London, and I decided I should go and check them out, keeping of course a gun loaded with silver bullets and a vial of holy water handy, just in case.

For those that don’t know the song, or those that know it and after being reminded of it want to hear it, you can listen to it on youtube and check out the lyrics at this site.

I saw a werewolf with a Chinese menu in his hand
Walking through the streets of Soho in the rain

In the centre of the West End is the area of Soho, a diverse area of high street shops, pubs and clubs (for both the gay and straight crowds), sex shops and residences for both the rich and the poor.

The area’s name comes from the 17th century, when the area was used for hunting. “Soho,” the hunters would call, “there is the fox.” No wonder werewolves stalk the area, they are looking for payback for the hunting of their canid brothers.

Soho seems a fitting place for werewolves, really, given the number of places that seem to cater to our most animalistic of desires, those for food, drink, sex and dance music.

He was looking for a place called Lee Ho Fook's
Going to get himself a big dish of beef chow mein

If a werewolf was stalking from beef chow mein, Soho would be a good place to do it. There is some debate whether Chinatown is part of Soho or not, but it certainly is very close to it.

Lee Ho Fook’s is the name of a Chinese restaurant in Chinatown, on the pedestrianized Gerrard Street at numbers 15-16.

The next part I wasn’t so much looking forward to, that of the eating of Lee Ho Fook’s offerings. Perhaps werewolves, used to supping on the raw flesh of the wiry “little old ladies” that they mutilated last night, aren’t too particular about their asian cuisine. However, the fully human customers who had reviewed the place online were unanimous in their view that the place sucked. However, as any great artist suffers for his art, I was prepared to suffer through a meal at Lee Ho Fook’s.

By art, I mean my writing, and by writing, I mean this blog. Many will dispute that this blog constitutes art. In fact, there are probably a group that would dispute the assertion that this is even writing, but I digress.

Luckily for both my art and my stomach, Lee Ho Fook’s had this sign posted on the door.

Saved by renovations!

I did, however, go to another Chinese restaurant and get a beef and noodle dish, just to keep in the spirit of the thing.

He's the hairy-handed gent who ran amuck in Kent
Lately he's been overheard in Mayfair

While the song is about London, there is this one mention of someplace that is actually not in London. Kent is a county to the south-east of London which includes both the white cliffs of Dover and the entrance to the channel tunnel. I haven’t been to Kent, other than travelling through it on my way to Brighton and France. I mean, it sounds a scary place, what with werewolves running amuck.

Canterbury is in Kent, which is the seat of the Archbishop of Canterbury who is the chief Bishop of the Anglican Church. The current Archbishop is one Rowan Williams, who if you look at pictures of him, you might think him a rather hairy individual. Hmmm, werewolves in Kent and a hirsute bishop. Coincidence?

Unlike Kent, Mayfair is in London. Mayfair is just to the west of Soho and bordered on the other side of Hyde Park. The area, named after the annual fair that used to be held in the area, was one of the most fashionable residential areas in the 17th and 18th century.

Over the years the area has converted to being a mostly commercial district, including being home to a number of the most expensive and exclusive hotels in London, including places like the Ritz and Claridge’s

Well, I saw Lon Chaney walking with the Queen

Mayfair is bordered on the south by Green Park, which, along with St. James’ Park forms the beautiful park area surrounding Buckingham Palace.

Now, I have never seen the Queen out walking, and in fact right now she is off on summer vacation, but I think if she was to walk, she would probably take a stroll along The Queen’s Walk in Green Park.

The Queen’s Walk was built by Queen Caroline, wife of King George II, as a walk towards the Queen’s Basin, a large reservoir in the park. The reservoir is gone now, filled in by Queen Victoria (I guess she wasn’t a fan of water), but the walk still exists today.

I saw a werewolf drinking a pina colada at Trader Vic's
His hair was perfect

The Trader Vic’s in London is in the Hilton Hotel just north of Hyde Park Corner in Mayfair, one of the many previously mentioned luxury hotels in the area.

While this was my first visit to the London brand of Trader Vic’s, I had been at a Trader Vic’s before when I was in Beverly Hills. No werewolves in Beverly Hills that I saw, though the place does have a few monsters of it’s own. Reconstructed by plastic surgery and kept alive by injections of platypus’s placentas and nightly sleeps in their oxygen chambers, some of the old codgers weren’t much more than Frankenstein’s Monster with better credit. The place is so image conscious that I can’t imagine a werewolf would have to spend long in Beverly Hills before someone would be suggesting a “really good doctor” to apply a course of laser hair removal treatments.

Trader Vic’s in London is much like Trader Vic’s in Los Angeles, in that it is a tacky Polynesian theme.

I had a Pina Colada, though I don’t think anyone mistook me for a werewolf. After spending a morning wandering around in the rain in Soho, my hair was much less than perfect.

Better stay away from him
He'll rip your lungs out, Jim
I'd like to meet his tailor

I don’t know where werewolves have their clothes tailored, however if they really have perfect hair and hang out in bars in Mayfair, then they probably wear bespoke. In London, the place to buy your tailor made suits is Savile Row. Werewolves shopping in one of the many tailors along Savile Row could find themselves rubbing shoulders with Prince Charles, Daniel Craig and Jude Law.

Savile Row used to be a posh residential area, but like other areas in Mayfair, turned to commercial properties in the 18th century with tailors starting to populate the area. The area became well known for bespoke tailoring by 1846, when the “founder” of Savile Row, Mr. Henry Poole inherited his father’s tailoring business at No. 32.

As we continue into the new millennium, though, Savile Row is in danger. The rise of men’s fashion houses in France and Italy along with the rise of rents in central London threaten the existence of the tailors along the row. So get out there and buy your suits now, while you still can.

Good thing it was only a half moon. A full moon and I probably would have had my lungs ripped out.

Enjoy London, lycanthropes
Werewolves of London