Tourist Sites

As if driving on the other side of the road, making most every intersection a roundabout and making people driving through London pay a congestion charge wasn't enough to confuse the heck out of tourists, how about the following?

You are driving south down Westferry Road in London, passing under Westferry Circus and come out to see the following in the middle of the traffic island.

No, it's not a traffic control device. It's art.

Created by Paris born artist Pierre Vivant and funded by the Public Art Commissions Agency, the piece stands in the middle of a traffic circle on the Isle of Dogs. There are two trees behind the traffic light tree. They are London Planes. A third tree used to stand on the site, but died. To replace the tree, Pierre Vivant's Traffic Light Tree was erected.

Designed to mimic the shape of the London planes behind it, the structure has 75 traffic lights, flashing red, amber and green in a never-ending sequence. It is meant to represent the "eternal energy of the Canary Wharf area."

The roundabout runs just like any roundabout without lights - cars in the circle have right of way, and those coming into the circle need to yield. But I can't help but think that it would be very confusing to any motorist approaching the circle to see all those lights.

People wonder why London has such bad traffic...

Since getting back from Paris, I've had a bit of a stressful week and a half. Not bad stress, just a busy calendar running errands, going on job interviews and planning for my upcoming move, so when I saw a free day on my calendar and a weather report from the BBC that said sunny and clear skies, I decided I deserved a little beach holiday. So on Thursday I packed a towel and my swimming trunks and caught the train to Brighton.

Brighton is due south of London, about 80 miles from where I live right now. The first order of business was figuring out how to get there. London and the surrounding area has a dizzying array of transit options. Most people are familiar with at least a few of them - the iconic black taxi cabs, the red double-decker buses and the extensive tube network are known even to those that have never been here. I admit when I first arrived in London, I was a bit of a tube snob. If I went anywhere, I went by the London Underground.

As I have settled in, though, I have figured out that there are a few other options to getting around that can be quicker, cheaper and more comfortable than the tube. Specifically, I figured out that there is a train station called Cricklewood which is as close to my house as the tube line, and has frequent trains that run into the city and beyond. In fact, I could have saved myself some time had I known when I went down to Wimbledon, instead of taking two underground routes that stop frequently, I could have taken a commuter train straight through the city to Wimbledon station.

The trains are run by First Capital Connect, which sounds like a bank but is really a train company. A very popular one, it seems, as the first time I tried to take one of their trains was from St. Pancras to Cricklewood after returning from Paris. Ticket in hand, my train pulled in. It was only four cars long and full of people. Despite the 100 or so people on the platform trying to cram on the train, we weren't all going to fit, and a large number of passengers, including myself, were left on the station when the train pulled away. The next train wasn't for another 40 minutes, so I hauled my stuff all the way across St. Pancras station to the tube line.

Luckily, I had no such trouble getting on a train yesterday. I even got a seat once we'd passed Farringdon station, though I didn't get to sit long as I had to change at Blackfriars. Normally I wouldn't mention something as tedious as changing trains, but I wanted to mention how much I like Blackfrairs station, which is partially out over the Thames river.

There was a woman standing on the platform across from me who was staring out at the river. She may have been happy for all I know, but for some reason I got it in my head that she was sad, sitting there staring out at the water and wishing that her train wouldn't come today, so she could go back home and go to sleep.

A few minutes later a train pulled in and three of her friends got off. They walked away smiling and laughing, so it turns out my imagination was wrong. My train pulled in, and off we went.

A little over an hour later I was in Brighton. The walk to the sea-shore from the train station is about 10 minutes downhill. You pass the clock tower and a few minutes later, the wind off the ocean is hitting your face.

The beach is incredibly rocky and the water is testicle shrinkingly cold, but that doesn't stop the masses from coming out to the beach. Because the water is so cold, few people venture into it, and if they do, it's usually only for a quick dip and then out into the sun again to let the sun dry you off.

There are two piers at Brighton. Well, at least there were two piers at Brighton. The west pier has fallen into disrepair, and is mostly just rusted metal pilings and beams in the water now.

There are development plans afoot to build a massive tower and pier where the ruins of the west pier is now. The plans are nice enough, but I feel it's a bit of a shame really. I like the rusted and derelict nature of the present west pier. It's like a piece of art, a statement on the transitory nature of all things.

The east pier is definitely not in a state of disrepair. It is a lively tourist attraction with amusement, arcades, casinos, bars and restaurants. There are also a lot of signs reminding you to make sure that you put out your cigarettes thoroughly so you don't burn down the mostly wooden structure.

Seeing the Helter Skelter put The Beatles tune in my head.

If the fear of a flaming wooden pier keeps you from going out above the water, there are still lots of amusements along the beach to keep you interested.

Heading east from the pier, you find the Volk's Electric Railway. Operating since 1883, the electric train runs from the Aquarium and pier in the west to the Marina in the east.

The eastern most station, by the marina is called Black Rock. I've been watching Lost on DVD all this week, and one of the key locations at the end of the 1st season is the mysterious Black Rock. Seeing the station name replaced The Beatles Helter Skelter in my mind with thoughts of the TV show. Damn media infiltrating my brain! Can't I just enjoy Brighton without having to contextualize it within some media-created framework.

I didn't take the train. There was a big sign on the train station talking about how important it was to get exercise, and that it's a good thing to walk, which persuaded me to hoof it to the Marina.

If I was going to walk all that way (it's about a mile), I figured I needed something to power me up, so I grabbed some lunch. Given the seaside nature of where I was, I figured I should eat from the ocean, so fish and chips with mushy peas was on the menu.

There was a place just down from my lunch spot that was selling muscles and cockles, and it made me think of Sweet Molly Malone, calling "Cockles and Muscles - Alive-Alive-Oh!" Another song in my head...

The marina is just that, a marina, with boat slips. There is also a number of restaurants and shops.

I wandered back to the beach and settled into a spot on the beach at Duke's Mound, just to the west of the nudist area. Yes, there is a nudist area. No, I didn't take any pictures. I did take a peak into the spot. Mostly it was clothed people sitting around looking at the few brave, naked and male souls.

There were no change rooms close by, so I changed into my swim trunks using the old towel round the waist method, and headed into the water. It was freezing, and as the tide was high the bottom was all rocks. Further out, or when the tide is lower, there is a sandy bottom, but when I was in, all I could feel was cold water shocking my system and rocks stabbing at my feet. I was out of the water in less than a minute.

I lay down on my towel and let myself air dry, every once and a while sneaking a peak at the two beautiful Indian girls sunbathing topless just down from me. Much better viewing than the male-heavy nude beach.

As the waves washed in and out, it moved the rocks on the beach, sounding a lot like someone carrying a bag of marbles. That's the sound of the ocean in Brighton - waves, gulls and rocks banging together.

Once dried off, I headed into Brighton. Lots of little shops and some nice pedestrian areas for strolling.

Not interested in buying anything, I eventually made my way back down to the sea front and found myself a table at the Gemini Lounge and Beach Bar. The place has a huge patio with a band playing, and a built in temperance mechanism in the form of some of the slowest service I have ever received.

I slipped off my sandals. My feet were killing me. Not only did I walk a few miles in sandals (not the most supportive shoes for hiking in the world) and have the rocks of Brighton beach stab at the bottom of my feet, but the tops were lobster red from the sun. Actually, only half of the top of my feet were lobster red. The parts that were under the sandal straps were alabaster white. There is an interesting red-white zebra stripe on my feet now.

I settled back, resting my feet and sipping on my beer (once it finally arrived). The band announced that they were going to play one more song before coming around to collect donations and then taking a break. In honour of the sunny weather, they played Beautiful Day by U2. Despite the fact that the singer didn't seem to know any of the words and mostly just mumbled a tune, I still gave them a pound when they came around with their collection bucket.

I sat back and let the sun shine on me (while keeping my feet safely under the table in the shade), and just watched the people roll by. The beach may not be white sand, the water may be somewhere close to the freezing point, the service may be slow as molasses in January and the band may not know the words to the songs they sing, but no bother. The sun was shining and I had a day off, without any stress, and that was a damn fine thing.

When I was in Paris back in 2005, some people, mainly female, would often comment how exciting it must be to be in Paris and go shopping. I couldn’t disagree more. Frankly, shopping is something I do because I need to. If I have no milk for my cereal, all my underwear has holes in it or I wind up at Wimbledon in the beating sun without a hat, I say to myself, “well, I guess I have to buy something.” I try and make shopping as quick and painless experience as possible. Get in, buy what you want, get out. No dilly-dallying or looking at other stuff.

In Paris, I was doubly dissuaded from shopping, as the strength of the Canadian dollar against the Euro back in 2005 was, to be kind, poor. Everything in Paris was twice the price as back home. In my 7 weeks in Paris in 2005, other than food, drink and train tickets, I bought one pair jeans on sale for €15.

However, for many Paris is the shopping capital of the world. I was reminded of it while watching the Bastille Day parade, when 3 massive army trucks stopped on the Champs Elysee. Despite their power and might, they were overshadowed by a massive Yves St. Laurent sign on the building behind them. The might and majesty of the France military is nothing compared to the power of Paris’ fashion.

While I may see shopping as just function, I understand that for many shopping is more than that. For some It is form, a see and be seen, get the right stuff and flaunt it. For others, it is sport, deal and bargain, shop and compare, search and find until the goal is achieved at the lowest price with the highest quality. For even others, it is therapy, a way to forget their troubles and feel good.

For a select few, it is religion. For those few, Paris built Galleries Lafayette.

In three large buildings, just north of the Paris Opera is a massive shopping complex. On entering the largest of the buildings, one can’t help but gaze up and gasp in awe. You are in a massive dome with picturesque stained glass and detail work on the many balconies to rival the biggest religious houses in Europe.

This is the Cathedral of shopping.

I work my way up the floors of the main building. Floor 0 is perfume. Floor 1 is designer fashion. Floor 2 contemporary fashion, as well as the bridge to the men’s building. That’s right, this is just women’s fashion in the main building. Up to Floor 3. “Seductive fashion,” including lingerie. Floor 4 has an oxygen bar for those tired from the trudge up the elevator or breathless from the skimpy outfits from floor 3. As well, floor 4 has outdoor fashion. Floor 5 is children’s fashion.

Finally floor 6, and my destination, one of the many restaurants in the Galleries Lafayette. I buy lunch and beer for a wallet rocking €17. I decide to suffer it though. After all, when one is in a church, one is expected to tithe a little of their earnings to the power that is.

In this case, the Gods of Shopping.

When we last saw me, I was wandering a field in south-east England. A few hours later, after taking a circular route that saw me walking through more fields, a small forest and getting cut up by even more thistles and thorns, I wound up back at the train station as clouds started to roll in. The train arrived just in time. After 15 minutes later the rain started to come down.

Riding back, my plan had been to take the train to Blackfriars Station and then the tube home, but looking at my train schedule a name popped out at me and I decided to take a detour. Elephant and Castle.

The name Elephant and Castle was familiar to me, as it is the name of a chain of British pubs in North America with locations in Toronto, the rest of Canada and the US.

It wasn’t until I arrived recently in London and looked closely at my tube map that I realized that the name Elephant and Castle wasn’t just two randomly squeezed together words (as pub names often are), but the name of an area in London. It’s the name of a tube station as well as a national rail station. The road between two round-abouts in the area is called Elephant and Castle, as is the shopping centre adjacent to road. In fact, the whole area has started to take on the name Elephant and Castle, replacing the previous name Newington in even official documents, like this website outlining a regeneration project in the area.

I pulled out my tube mapped and confirmed that I could still get home without issue, taking the Bakerloo line, which has its terminus at Elephant and Castle up to Baker station and then transferring to the Jubilee line.

The rain was really coming down when the train pulled into the station, but luckily the covered platforms let right down in to the Elephant and Castle shopping mall. I puttered around the mall for a few minutes, waiting for the rain to let up. The mall, I later find out, was voted the ugliest building in all of London by Time Out readers in 2005.

Soon it was a mere drizzle outside, so I left the confines of the indoor mall and stepped outside and into a very lively multicultural market place. There were tons of stalls crammed into the small space of the moat that surrounds the mall.

Heading up from the moat I come across a pub called the Charlie Chaplin. A sign outside provides a brief explanation of why the pub is named after the famous comedic actor. He was born in the area and lived there until moving to the USA to become a famous movie star.

The rain starts falling again, so I decide to grab a pint at Charlie Chaplin and wait for the rain to stop. The bartender serves me my pint, and I pop the question.

“Why is this area called the Elephant and Castle?”

She cocks her head to the side and slightly shakes her head. “I don’t know. I’ve lived here all my life, and I have no idea,” she admits, before turning to face a man down the end of the bar. “Hey Robbie, why is this place called Elephant and Castle?”

Robbie laughs. “Nobody really knows. There’s lots of rumours, but no one knows the truth. It’s been lost to the mists of time.”

I plop some coins in the juke box and after selecting my songs, spend time doodling in my notepad, drawing an elephant and a castle, very poorly. The elephant comes out looking like a dog with a long nose, and the castle is just a box with some teeth at the top. I have to colour in the elephant with a red pen so it stands out from the castle wall, giving it a faintly pinkish tint.

“Hmmm, I guess that makes sense. Pink elephants. I can’t imagine there being any other kind in London.”

The rain clears up and I move on. Under a subway tunnel and across the street I find a pub called the “Elephant and Castle.” Surely they’ll know the truth.

A sign out front says that the pub sits on the site of a theatre dating back to the 1600s. I walk in and find a modern looking restaurant, complete with a Thai menu. I take a seat at the bar, not at all the cosy, old English pub I was expecting, but clean and the staff seemed friendly, so I popped the question again.

“Why is this area called the Elephant and Castle?”

Another bartender with no answers to offer, as she admits she doesn’t know. Luckily, she also has a regular she can turn to. “Tom, why is this area called the Elephant and Castle?”

Unlike Robbie in the Charlie Chaplin, Tom has a definitive answer. “Prince Louis. He brought the elephant here from France. Kept it in the palace grounds, thus you had an Elephant in a Castle.”

Seems a sensible answer, so I jotted it down in my book and closed the case. At least until I got back to my apartment and could do some research on the internet.

Despite Tom’s definitiveness with an answer, it appears that in fact Robbie had it right. No one quite knows why the area is called Elephant and Castle. There are lots of theories, most of which are examined in this thread from a local London internet group.

There are a few popular theories:

• The area is named after a pub called the Elephant and Castle. The pub was converted from a blacksmiths in 1790. The blacksmith was affiliated with the Culter’s Company, a maker of swords, knives and other cutlery, who often used ivory in their handles. Their crest has three elephants on it, including one with a howdah on the back, which is a seat used by hunters when riding an elephant. The howdah is shaped like a castle.

• The name is a bastardization of the words Infanta de Castile, and references a Spanish queen or princess who visited the area. Most often Queen Eleanor of Castile who was the wife of King Edward the first is the one mentioned in this story, though other names can be found. An infanta was the eldest daughter of a king, something that Eleanor was not. Variations on this theme have Infanta meaning young, as the princess in the story was only a teenage when she was married.

• The name is a reference to the King's menagerie (zoo) located at the Tower of London, thus you have Elephants in castles. A variation on this theme was the theory that Tom from the Elephant and Castle pub was espousing with his Prince Louis and his elephant.
  

What is right we will probably never know, so the case will remain open but cold, I guess. Much like the beer at the Elephant and Castle pub in Elephant and Castle, South London, England.

I live in Brent. Now some of you are probably saying, “wait, Greg, I thought you lived in London.” I live in London as well, at least in the Greater London administrative region. London, as most of us would think of it, is in fact one of 33 different cities, Royal Boroughs and Boroughs that make up the Great London area. The “City of London” is just one of these, a smallish bit near the river which contains about half of the interesting touristy-stuff, the other half with the interesting touristy bits being in the city of Westminster.

So my saying I live in Brent and I live in London is a little like how someone from New York can claim to live in Manhattan and in New York. Well, perhaps not Manhattan, given Brent’s outer borough status - maybe it would be more like someone saying they live in Staten Island and New York City.

As a “marketing professional” (at least in my previous job), I do take some interest in marketing stories when they appear in the news, doubly so if they are about something of interest to me. I am always interested in marketing stories that deal with travel and tourism, given my love of travel.

That’s why I was interested to read recently that the Brent Council is thinking of changing the name of the borough. Brent is named after the Brent River which runs through the borough, but the council feels that there is a more important landmark that the place should be named after.

This thing:

That thing is Wembley Stadium.

Wembley is a 90,000 seat stadium, which means that in my New York analogy I would probably be better off saying that I live in Rutherford, home to Giants Stadium, home of both the NY Jet and NY Giant's football teams.

The Giants, last year's Superbowl Champion, who played in Wembley during week 8 game of the 2007 season, facing off and winning against the Miami Dolphins. The Giants went on to win the Superbowl (the ultimate trophy in American football).

2008 sees the NFL returning to Wembley, with the New Orleans Saints set to take on the San Diego Chargers. San Diego is right now at 8 to 1 to win the Superbowl, behind only the New England Patriots, Indiana Colts and Dallas Cowboys, so it looks like the gambling world has picked up on something - teams that play and win and Wembley are likely to win the Superbowl. Hey, so far it's 1 for 1.

(Note, this is based on one online book at time of writing, odds change all the time and it depends on who you bet with, so don't take anything here as advice or anything else that could, in some way, wind me up being libel for your gambling losses).

Wembley is around the 20th largest stadium in the world. May Day Stadium in North Korea is in first place, by the way, with a reported seating capacity of 150,000. But unlike Wembley which sells tickets to willing participants, the North Koreans probably don't have a choice when they come out to watch Kim Jong-il's Karoke Night of Stars!

Wembley is best known here in England as the home of the English national football team, and the stadium (not this specific incarnation of the stadium, but the previous one) was the site for England's only World Cup victory back in 1966, lead by captain Bobby Moore, who is immortalized outside the stadium with a statue.

For those from outside England, Wembley is probably best known as a concert venue. It held one of the many Live Earth concerts in 2007, twining it with the previous Wembley Stadium, which was one of the venues for 1985's Live Aid Concert.

Wembley is probably the most famous thing in Brent, and according to this news report, “In a recent newsletter by Brent Council's Chief Executive, Gareth Daniel, it is revealed the borough could be renamed to capitalise on the world renowned 'Wembley' brand.”

Why risk the anger of the residents of the borough on the expense of changing all the street signs and potentially alienating residents in areas not in the area of Wembley? To increase overnight visitors and tourist share of wallet, of course. Tourism is huge business now, and places are always looking for any edge get people to come a little sooner, spend a little more and stay a little longer.

I’m neither for or against the move. I see the potential of a tourism pitch from the council of Wembley to come to the Borough of Wembley, but think they could probably accomplish that without having to spend millions of pounds to change all the street signs.

What this story did do, though, is got me thinking about how cities which do get a lot of visitors, like Paris, New York or Tokyo probably didn’t take into account overnight visitors or share of wallet when naming there cities.

Imagine, if you will, the founding of Rome with the additional drama of having to attract tourist dollars...

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Stupid Dream Sequence / Historical Flashback With Highly Fictionalize Pieces Starts Here

B.C. 753. Romulus is standing atop Palatine hill, watching the work unfold on his grand city. His brother, Remus, enraged and saddened that Romulus is to be king, leaps over a trench meant to fortify the city, embarrassing Romulus by suggesting that his city is easily breached. Romulus, enraged slays his twin brother, declaring , “So perish every one that shall hereafter leap over my wall!” Sadly from Roman citizens some 800 years later, this incantation didn’t apply to the Visigoths, but that’s still a ways away.

Romulus looks over the scene, wipes his brother’s blood off his sandals by dragging them along the grass and declares, “I shall call this city Roma!”

Romulus heard a voice from behind him. “Sir, if I may interject something here.”

Romulus turned to see Innuo and Acquiesco, the two “marketing gurus” his brother Remus had made them hire. Romulus rolled his eyes. “What it is?” he asked.

Innuo spoke up, “Roma? Rome? You think that’s a good idea?”

Romulus would have slew them on the spot if it wasn’t for the fact they had an iron-clad contract that paid them double in the event that they were run through with a Gladius while on the job. There lawyer, Lex Legis was famous for his posthumous contract clauses.

Romulus puffed out his chest, “Of course I think it is a good idea! Why would naming your city after your king be a bad idea?”

Acquieso stepped forward, “Ah yes, you are a very great and powerful man, sir. But it’s just that Rome didn’t play well with the focus groups.”

“Focus groups?” stormed Romulus.

“Yes, yes,” said Innuo. “Rome sounds exactly like roam, which makes people think of leaving the city. It’s not at all good for increasing overnight visits. We want people to come and spend their aes graves here in Rome, and not somewhere else...”

“...like with the Sabines,” Acquieso proffered, scrunching up his face to show distaste.

Innuo nodded, “Exactly. We want visitors money flowing into the city, not leaving because they are thinking of ‘roaming.’”

Romulus sighed, staring at the heavens. “Is this some kind of revenge, brother? Are you already among the gods toying with my fate?” he thought.

Acquieso continued, “in addition, though Obviously I think...”

“...we think,” corrected Innuo.

“Yes, yes! Though obviously we think...” said Acquieso, nodding and smiling at Innuo. “...that you are great and powerful and deserving of a city to be named after you, the focus groups found it... umm, what was the exact words they used, Innuo?”

Innuo looked down at a sheet of parchment, and read out the results of the focus groups, “arrogant, unwelcoming, and uninviting.”

“Unwelcoming?” asked Romulus.

“Yes, they find feel that a city named after the King will be more focused on the King’s needs, and not so much on theirs as potential citizens or visitors,” said Innuo.

Acquieso nodded and agreed. He seemed to do that a lot. “Yes, exactly. I believe one lady said she felt that she would rather go to Padua, who apparently put on a very nice horse show for the guests and have excellent market selling woolen goods.”

Innuo cited another example from the focus groups, “there was a man who said he’d rather take a nice Mediterranean cruise instead.”

Acquieso smiled, “Ah yes, that nice man Ulysses. Fine chap.”

Innuo frowned, “Acquieso, remember the focus groups are meant to be anonymous.”

Acquieso shook his head and splayed out his arms in a sign of forgiveness, “sorry, sorry. Anyway, with that feedback, Innuo and I did some brainstorming last night, and came up with some suggestions. Instead of Roam, what about Stay.”

Innuo smiled, “Yes, what says ‘increase overnight visitors’ more than a town named after what overnight visitors do, stay?”

Romulus started to pull out his sword. Innuo put up his hands, “hey, we are brainstorming here. There are no bad ideas. Criticism, especially of the fatal kind, is not allowed in brainstorming sessions.” Romulus, confused, let his sword slip back into it’s sheath.

Acequieso continued, “well, if you don’t like Stay, how about naming it after a colour. People like Yellow, how about Yellow?”

Romulus rubbed his head, “the only colour I can see right now is red!”

Innuo frowned, “No, I think red is to aggressive. We need something calming, like a light blue or pastel peach.”

Romulus, Innuo and Acquieso brainstormed late into the night, and that my friends is how the the Eternal City of Comfortio, now capitol of Italy was founded.

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If you are interested in touring Wembley Stadium, information can be found at the majestically named Venue of Legends website. For £15 you'll get to see the the door leading to David Beckman's box, what the view looks like from the top level, the dressing rooms, the pitch, the royal box and you'll get to snap a picture with this replica of the FA cup.

If no interesting events are going on while you are visiting, you might even get to see them re-seeding the grass of the pitch.

For information on tours of Wembley Stadium and to find out what the borough of Brent has to offer to the tourist beyond Wembley stadium, please see:

http://www.brent.gov.uk/tourism

They do have the largest Hindu temple outside of India (I should check that out) and a ton of curry restaurants.

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Update: 2008 06 30

The Londonist blog has an entry on the story of The Borough of Brent's possible name change, along with a link to a news report stating that Boris Johnson, Mayor of London is contemplating unearthing a number of rivers that have been buried underground, including Brent. So, on one had we have the council of the Borough moving to new offices near Wembley Stadium in the town of Wembley, and on the other hand we have the re-emergence of the Brent River from it's underground concrete path. Hmmm, interesting times!