London 2010 – Day Four

I just can’t seem to get into this time zone properly. After going to bed at 3:30 AM last night, I spent a tortured sleepless night having horrible dreams until I finally sunk into a real snooze around 7:30 AM. This meant I didn’t get out of the apartment until noon today. What a go-getter!

I hopped on the bus and got my favorite seat: on the top level, right in front, and directly above the driver. Spent about 45 minutes on the bus on the way to Hampstead. Jumped off along the way when I spotted a really massive old cemetery called Hampstead Cemetery. Turns out it is over 26 acres and over 60,000 people are buried there!

 

I bought a really pretty bunch of flowers to leave on someone’s grave – the florist said they are called “caps” and they kind of look like some sort of coral sea creature. I spent about an hour walking around the cemetery grounds in the soft rain and enjoying the solitude, the birds and all of the picturesque sights. I only saw a few other people while I was there – which was both relaxing and a little creepy. One woman was walking a very playful (and soaking wet) black lab who kept running up to me and dropping a tennis ball at my feet.

Back on the bus, I shortly found myself in Hampstead and wondering how on earth I would track down the Crepe stand that my friend recommended – when lo and behold – I spotted it. It was almost miraculous considering I was just going by a casual verbal description from a couple of weeks ago and nothing else… but that’s how I roll.

It’s called Creperie de Hampstead and it was SO worth the special trip. I had a dark Belgian chocolate and butter crepe. It came folded into a triangle and stuck inside of a handy paper cone. A very unique piece of plastic cutlery accompanied it: a cross between a knife and a fork. I’m still trying to decide whether to call it a Knork or a Fife. The actual crepe itself was so delectable that next time, I going to get it with just butter.

Whew! Already a full day, but next I headed to… the mall. I hate to admit I’m visiting such a magnificent city and here I am going to the mall, but it’s true. And what a mall! It’s called Westfield London and it’s immense, chock full of cool shops and restaurants… and gorgeous to boot. It’s in Shepherds Bush. I just mention that because I never get tired of contemplating the meaning of this name.

Now, the story starts to get ugly. I was feeling horrible. Browsing around in Topshop, my head started pounding like someone banging an anvil and I felt all icky. It occurred to me that I was running on maybe five hours of miserable sleep, sustained only by a chocolate crepe. I’m not sure I even had a sip of any liquid all day. So I went and got myself a coke (with extra ice) and sat down trying not to faint. Fifteen minutes later, I was feeling human again.

I headed back to the apartment, but found out Jose was tied up in a late meeting, so decided to go to alone to the puppet show we had tickets for: Three Good Wives. It was at the Little Angel Theatre and it took three tube transfers to get there – and by the time I got above ground at the final station, I was already 30 minutes late for the hour long show. Then, I discovered the theatre was a 10 minute walk to the station. Oh well. Glad the tickets were only £11 each… but I really, really hope we have the opportunity to get there again before we leave London. Next time, I’m taking a cab, though!

 
So, I think I got a massage from a hooker. I just had to blurt that out. After the theatre debacle, I decided to head to Chinatown again and get a chair massage from one of the massage places I’d seen last night. Ever since the plane ride over, my neck has been incredibly sore and stiff. I went up to the elderly lady barker outside of the first massage place I passed. I asked about chair massages, since I didn’t see any in the window and she acted really weird about it and then said, no, the only had massages upstairs. I’ll admit, at this point, I thought – hookers? – but also thought, well, i don’t see a chair in the window, so maybe this is just not the appropriate place.

The night before I’d actually seen people in the window of a massage place getting chair massages. It had shelves full of chinese herbs in boxes on display. It really did seem legit. And, I could really, really use a good massage. I kept walking until I came upon the place I saw the night before. I went inside. Here’s the scene. Clean, well-lit, two massage chairs in the window, shelves of herbal medicines neatly organized, a middle-aged woman behind the counter, a big burly British man sitting in a chair off to one side of the shop, an older Chinese woman sitting on the other side along with a little kid, and a staircase at the back.

I asked about chair massages and she handed me their menu of services. I told her I wanted a 15-minute head and neck massage. It was £15. So I said sure. She had me sit in one of the chairs and then the true nature of this place started to become perfectly clear to me. A couple of the masseuses came up front… young, pretty women in short skirts. Hmmm… From what I could gather, none of these chicks wanted to give me a chair massage. The burly British dude made some comment about how they were fighting over me, but I could tell, they didn’t want to waste their time with a “real” massage. At the same time, they were all keeping up the pretense as required by their front as a legitimate massage and herbal medicine shop. Finally, some woman agrees to do it, and comes over to start the massage.

I knew I was in a very weird situation, but I didn’t see how it could be harmful and I’ll admit, it was totally ridiculous and I’m into stuff like that. I was totally chuckling to myself as I was putting together the whole picture in my mind. And, I really was in need of a massage, so why not? While she was giving my massage, another “client” of this masseuse came into the shop. She told him she was giving a chair massage so he would have to wait. The way she said “chair massage” was so funny. You could almost hear her winking to him. It was just so absurd that everyone there was stuck pretending that this place was legit… me, the staff, the hookers, the bouncer, the “clients”… and what the heck was that kid doing there? When I told Jose the story, he thought the older woman was babysitting the kid for one of the prostitutes, which makes sense to me.

I almost fell out of the chair laughing when a client came down the stairs and told the woman at the counter that he wanted another 30-minute massage with the same girl, but he wanted to go outside and smoke a cigarette first.

The woman actually gave a good, professional massage. She did seem rushed though – in spite of the fact that this was a timed massage. Rushing through things might work with her other “massages” but didn’t make mine end any quicker.

Oh, and the bouncer creepily offered me a glass of water after my massage. He said it’s good to have a glass of water after a massage. I declined firmly.

Hope you don’t find this story too horrifying, but it’s one of those rich experiences that I just have to share. I’ve never been one to believe that there is such a thing as “too much information.” As soon as I got out of the shop, I grabbed my cell and called my mom: “Guess what?! I just got a massage from a hooker!” My poor mom.

Night not over yet, but my next adventure at Pizza Express is just to mundane to recount now.

 

 

Related posts:

1. London 2010 – Day Three
2. London 2010 – Day Five