Day Forty-Five

Friday, August 7th, 2009

Months ago when I was in the beginning planning stages of this trip, one of the first things I looked up were shows that were going to be playing in London while we were there. The next day, I think I burst into the green room, nearly tackled Abbie to the floor, and told her in one breathless sentence “Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod, they’re doing Waiting for Godot and guess who’s going to be in it?! PATRICK STEWART AND SIR IAN MCKELLAN!!!!!!” Abbie, though excited, didn’t share my slightly manic reaction to that particular nugget of information.

Initially, we were going to be touring Europe BEFORE starting our session in Ireland, thus allowing us to see the play, then closing sometime in July. However, after whining about wanting to spend my birthday in Chico (totally worth it by the way) we changed it to after Ireland, thus crushing the hope of ever seeing these two gods of acting perform live.

That is, until a few weeks ago when I discovered, as I had secretly been hoping all along, that the production had been extended and would be playing the first two days we were in London. “It’s happening,” I would say emphatically every time the subject of the play was brought up. We were going to get tickets. I was going to see these two men perform a Beckett play. Failure was not an option.

That was why, on a day when we had particularly nothing to do, after waking up early for the past week, after long days of travel, my alarm went off at 7 a.m. The show was sold out, naturally, but every day the theatre would release a certain number of tickets that they had held back. I hustled Abbie out of bed, quickly got dressed, and made sure we were on the Underground within a half hour. By the time we navigated our way from Piccadilly Circus, it was 8:15 (the box office opened at 10) and there was already at least 15 people queued up. I heard a rumor that there was only 10 tickets to go around, but tried to not let my spirits get dashed.

Abbie went to Café Nero (a better version of Starbucks) and got us breakfast while I held our place in line. The giant poster of the play hung over the theatre and seemed to taunt me mercilessly. The only consolation was that, unlike I had thought, there was still one more performance before the closing night, so we would have a second chance if our efforts failed that morning. And if so, I would be there at six in the morning the next day.

The box office opened and I felt my pulse racing as the line slowly stumbled into the foyer and everyone in front of me got tickets. Surely, I thought, there was no way we were going to manage this. It was finally our turn, and we went up to the teller, asking him if there were any more tickets for that night and not really wanting to know the answer.

“Yes,” he said. “In fact, we’ve still got the best seats in the house.”

Under pain of death, I will never admit how many Pounds I put down in that booth that day, but even now, it was still worth it. We got our tickets, I tucked it safely into my wallet, and feeling elated at a successful mission, we decided to head down further into central London. When we emerged from the tube station, we merely had to turn around to be confronted with the hulking image that was Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament. Even though we were literally right next to the famous clock, Abbie and I both agreed that it seemed a little…less impressive and imposing as we had been expecting. To be sure, it was large and mighty and beautiful…but just not as much as we had been picture our whole lives.

We later decided that this was yet another case of Disney corrupting the minds of young children…in the scene where they are flying off to Neverland in Peter Pan, the children fly around Big Ben. And in that scene, Big Ben looks MASSIVE. Yet another Disney falsehood. But, putting aside all that, we crossed the River Thames in order to better photograph the clock and the Houses of Parliament. After walking the length of the building, we crossed back over and decided to head up to Westminster Abbey.

I’ve wanted to go there my entire life (okay, let’s face it, I’ve just wanted to go to London my entire life), and I admit The Da Vinci Code may have influenced me just a tiny, tiny bit. We bought our admission tickets and picked up our complimentary audio tour before really taking stock of the church. Let me be clear: Westminster Abbey, is not your average church. To begin with, it is CRAMMED FULL of marble statues, tombs, and decorations. There was even a little corner near the exit where it looked like they had just shoved all the large statues they couldn’t fit.

In addition to being crammed with of statues, it is also crammed full of history. Elizabeth I is buried there, along with Mary whom she had beheaded (they’re buried next to each other), a couple of the King Henry’s are there. Dukes, Duchesses, Lords, Ladies, Kings Queens, Handel, Charles Dickens organists, and the odd commoner all lie at rest in Westminster Abbey amongst plaques honoring Shakespeare, Laurence Olivier, Louis Carroll, Jane Austen, and the Bronte sisters. This is also the place where Elizabeth II—and every monarch before her—was given their crown. In King Henry’s Chapel, underneath the stunning lace-like ceiling, the Knights of the Order of Bath hold their meetings. Pausing halfway through our tour, Abbey and I took the Eucharist because…if you’re going to go to church and take communion, it might as well be in Westminster Abbey.

We literally spent nearly five hours in the church and I still feel like I didn’t fully appreciate it enough. But eventually, we called it quits and headed back to Adanna’s flat to rest and get changed for the performance tonight. Adanna, being the responsible person that she is, has a job and was therefore only really able to take us around for one day, just in case you were wondering. Her mum was there when we got back and made us a delicious dinner (really, they were all too sweet to us) before we headed back down to Piccadilly for the play.

And we really did have some of the best seats in the house—middle orchestra, slightly off to the right. The set was barren and slightly industrial looking, with a naked tree providing the only color on the stage. From the first moments when Sir Ian crawled out from behind a piece of set, I was absolutely spellbound. I may have a bit of an unhealthy fascination with Sir Ian (Sir Ian, Sir Ian, Action: WIZARD! THOU SHALT NOT PASS!), but that wasn’t why I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him onstage. He and Patrick Stewart both were breathtaking performers, but even Patrick Stewart had his moments where he looked a bit stiff—whereas even just standing staring out into the audience with his hands in his pockets, Sir Ian was awe-inspiring.

This, of course, strengthened my desire to get them to sign my poster after the play had ended. I nearly ran to the stage door, and much to my dismay, even though Abbie and I were some of the first people there, Sir Ian (dressed in his highly festive pajamas) was already halfway out the door and running to the awaiting van. Had I been a lesser person, I would have run tearing after him, begging for an autograph. But I had far too much respect for the man to belittle myself so, or even take a picture of his dramatic flee to add to my collection of Those Who Got Away (JAMES EARL JONES).

So, I was forced to accept the fact that it was just not meant to be, but at least I had gotten to see him. It was about another twenty minutes before the next actor emerged—Mr. Patrick Stewart. He was very personable and readily greeted and signed the programs and posters of everyone. I was stunned at what a low-key affair this was. Everyone was sort of mulling around, murmuring congratulations or best wishes. Had this been Broadway, there would have been barricades set up and people would be mobbing each other just to try and take a picture. I got the signatures of the other two actors, both of whom were equally as talented, just not fortunate enough to have the star-power name.

After all the excitement died down, we headed back to the tube and home to Adanna’s, where it was decided we would, mercifully, be sleeping in the next day.