London, Free and Easy

My wife and I visited London in Jan 2001, after the successful conclusion of my high-pressure campaign to splurge and take a trip sans children. Paradoxically, but not surprisingly, a major outcome was a desire to come back with the kids. That put an even higher premium on being sensible with our time and our money; hopefully all the reading and planning that preceded this trip will be of use to you, too.

It’s overwhelming to think about just what to pick out of the lifetime’s worth of things to do in London. Let the fact that there are few bad choices, and absolutely no way to do everything, set your mind at ease a little. This journal focuses on free attractions and experiences from our five-day trip. Our hotel, our dining choices, and nearly encyclopedic thoughts on getting around London are in my London Necessities journal; things that cost money (and advice on paying less) will be in the final installment of this three-journal set.

In 2001, admission to the national museums was eliminated, making available, free of charge, an unbelievable set of cultural collections and experiences. In two visits to London, we have yet to reach all of them, and in those we’ve reached we’ve still only scratched the surface. The National Gallery and Tate Britain; the British Museum and the Museum of London: these places are a fantastic trip through the world’s history, London’s story, and (especially with the Gallery and the British Museum) sites I’ll return to again and again.

Quick Tips:

Two of my favorites in London are the British Library and the Imperial War Museum. As a book lover, it’s a thrill to see the compact but unbelievable collection in the Library’s Ritblat Gallery. Shakespeare folios, the Magna Carta, da Vinci, Galileo, Newton, Hardy, Wordsworth, Austen, Mozart, the Beatles… fold in the exhibits that allow you (electronic) hands-on examination of selections from throughout the library, and I can’t imagine how you’d skip this place if you knew about it.

Across the Thames in Lambeth is the Imperial War Museum is, easily reached by bus from Westminster across Lambeth Bridge. Established after the Great War, it now houses exhibits related to any conflict in which British troops have been involved, examining the Holocaust, war posters and propaganda, Londoners’ trials during the Blitz, and the suffering of children in wartime. Don’t be put off by the cannons and rockets in the entrance: this is far more than a collection of war memorabilia.

The Houses of Parliament probably dominate your mental London skyline. On my first visit, we just walked by this landmark on several days. Thankfully, one of my kids was insistent that we take a shot at getting in to the visitors gallery for one of the Houses. You’ll get in much faster if you choose the House of Lords over the Commons—within 15 minutes, we were in the visitor’s gallery.

As you think about your days in London, I’d suggest trying to plan an itinerary geographically. London attractions don’t have lengthy opening hours (10am to 4, 5 or maybe 6pm is typical), and you won’t want to spend your time criss-crossing town. We headed to St. Paul’s and the South bank one day, Westminster and Whitehall another, the Tower and East London the third. If you’re headed to the theatre in the evening, 7:30 and especially 8pm show times will give you time to get to the West End or other places after the doors close at the museums. There’s evening hours at several of the museums; it’s a great (and cheap) alternative to spending every night at the theatre.

Best Way To Get Around:

A lot of people tout the tube. As a lover of subways (which has a whole ‘nother meaning here: a ‘subway’ sign just leads you through a tunnel to the other side of the street), I’m naturally inclined (declined?) to head underground to move around town. But there are other options worth investigating, principally the extensive bus network, which is an even better option as the congestion charge clears out the streets of central London a bit. In fact, after our first 9am weekday Tube journey from Moorgate to Bank to St Paul’s, my kids were more than a little intimidated by the crowds in the station, the crowds in the platform, and the crowds on the trains.

So we switched to the bus as our first option, especially in the mornings, taking the tube back home in the evenings if at all. Be sure to get a Central London Bus Services map at any tube station (you can also download one from the web, but the print is a little small). Some parts of town aren’t well served by the Tube (Tate Britain, for example), and chances are you’ll get in enough walking without having to head into those areas by foot.

Unless you want to, of course. London truly rewards walking. No other city could possibly have its heritage as well marked, so no matter where you go, you’re constantly encountering one of the thousand blue plates that mark some place as special, or another beautiful church by Christopher Wren, or an alley dating from the 16th century. In addition to the famous London Walks company that leads a dozen two-hour excursions a day, there are a host of free walks you can find and print online. Taking a few such itineraries with you is worth the cost of lugging the paper around.

When you’re ready for public transportation, make sure you get an Oyster card for paying your fares as you traverse the ‘Transport for London’ system. Whether you load an Oyster with cash and pay as you go, or put a 7-day Travelcard on it, the system is built to ‘encourage’ you in this direction. For example, a single Tube ride in Zone 1 is £4 (!) if you pay cash, but only £1.50 if it’s deducted from your Oyster card.

There are an unbelievable number of quirks and details to the system: youth prices, price capping, river discounts, peak and non-peak Travelcards…. The fare guide is an intimidating 36 pages long. If you’d like more information (at only slightly less length), check out the Transportation entries in my London Necessities journal.

It’s worth planning parts of your trip at TfL’s Journey Planner. You can rule modes of travel out or in, select the day and time of your trip, and get maps of the route and the areas surrounding your starting point and destination. It’s probably worth exploring the more complicated trips you may have on your itinerary even before leaving home.

Near Euston Station, and adjacent to the newly renovated and resuscitated St. Pancras Station, sits one of London’s best places to visit. The British Library is the UK equivalent of the Library of Congress, but only received its own building in 1998. Until then, it was housed in the British Museum, which cramped both institutions.

The new building is about a mile straight north of the British Museum, and its size makes it hard to imagine how it could ever have been relegated to sharing space. The website claims it was the largest building 20th century building constructed in the UK, but for most visitors, it hides its size well. You enter through a gate off Euston Street, with ‘British Library’ repeated three teams in wrought iron, which seemed an appropriate entrance for a building full of texts. In the courtyard, a large bronze Newton crouches, measuring some small piece of the world. It’s a strange turn on an image from Blake, who hated Newton’s worldview (which, as an alchemist, was not quite what we think of as scientific). I thought it was an odd image when I first saw it in 2001: I envision Newton looking outward at the world and the universe, not peering at the ground. Understanding that the sculpture is an insult turned into an heroic image (as noted in this this insightful post) makes the pose understandable, if not the sculptor’s thinking—or the Library’s thinking in making this highly ambiguous statement a centerpiece of the building.

Inside, a large lobby opens to a set of stairs. At the top sits a four-story glass room that seems suspended inside the building. It appears to house rare books, with catwalks around the exterior aside the glass walls. In front, on your left, is a statue of Shakespeare, and an announcement that HM Queen Elizabeth dedicated the building. The excellent bookstore is directly on your left, and in between this and the Queen is the entrance to the Sir John Ritblat Gallery, which holds the "Treasures of the British Library."

‘Treasures of the world’ is more like it. Collected in this modest space is a comprehensive look at texts, maps and cultures from around the globe. Of course, It is the British Library, so there’s no shortage of authors and artifacts from the Isles: Shakespeare is well represented, with a copy of the First Folio, the Sonnets, and his mortgage displayed on the left of what’s likely to be the first case you encounter in the gallery. On the right are letters from by QE I, responding to the strong suggestions of many peers that she find a husband and ensure a clean line of succession. (She vows to do so; what might have happened if she’d kept her word?) Behind you are an amazing collection of volumes from English literature: manuscripts from Austen and Bronte, Hardy and Conrad, and—most impressive to me—John Milton’s Commonplace book, opened to pages where he makes notes and ruminates on the nature of kingship (would this have been written if Elizabeth had married?).

In other displays are sacred texts, including a Gutenberg Bible. The 8th century Lindisfarne Gospels were unfortunately rotated off display, to return in October. Also missed was William Tyndale’s Bible, the first in English. But leaves of the Codex Sinaiticus, the earliest complete Christian Bible, are also here. The Diamond Sutra, a 9th century Buddhist document from China, is likely the world’s oldest printed object.

At the back, there’s a separate room for the Magna Carta, which is more of a hallway. The lights are lower in here, to preserve the documents. Unfortunately, the 1215 version was off display during our visit, but other less historical copies are there, along with a good exhibit on what the Carta is (and is not). Particularly interesting to me was a copy of a papal bull denouncing the Magna Carta.

The exhibits continue on into science with copies of Galileo’s masterpiece Sidereus Nuncius, Newton’s Principia, and a letter from Newton to his archenemy Robert Hooke (OK, so he had more than one archenemy). Da Vinci, Harvey and others are also represented, along with a letter to Igo author Idler's hero, Alfred Russel Wallace, from that other evolutionary thinker, C. Darwin.

In the music cases are manuscripts from Bach, Mozart and others, and a libretto from phileasfogg’s dream concert, the first performance of Handel’s Messiah. My teen Beatles fan was engrossed by the dozen or so items on loan from the Fab Four, including what looked like handwritten compositions or lyrics for In My Life, Ticket to Ride, Help, and Yesterday. She didn’t know this was coming, but it was one of the Beatles stops we’d hoped to make during our trip.

We all got so engrossed here that we nearly missed the other highlight of our first day in London: a London Walks outing on Harry Potter. If we hadn’t scurried out to catch the Tube at Euston Station, we could easily have spent another hour here. As it was, we only lured one of our kids out of the bookstore with the possibility of a second visit, which unfortunately won’t come to pass until the next trip.

If you were some millennial Rip Van Winkle, waking with a need to catch up after missing most of human history, where would you go for a crash course? Should I ever be asked to provide such a recommendation, there’s no doubt about the answer: The British Museum is your only real choice. An amazing byproduct of empire, this nearly overwhelming collection has something to offer on every great civilization our planet has known—in fact, it probably has more to offer on every culture than can be found anywhere else.

It’s well known as home (at least so far) to the Elgin Marbles, the beautiful metopes and friezes removed from the exterior of the Parthenon by Lord Elgin in the first decade of the 19th century. This major exhibit on the Museum’s first floor is a highlight of any visit. It’s amazing to see the realism with which Greek sculptors captured human (and not so human) form, especially those in movement or tension. It’s also tantalizing to imagine the Parthenon with these treasures restored, and better yet, with this temple to Athena intact and in full splendor—which includes bright colors on the white marble. There’s no avoiding the question of whether the Greek nation is entitled to the return of pieces of such importance: the Museum tackles the question head-on with a pamphlet that rather unashamedly makes the case that the protection and exhibition offered in London is a superior choice.

For the record, we weren’t convinced, although I do give Elgin some credit for ensuring their preservation. The 19th century was still discovering the importance and value of antiquity, and given that the Parthenon’s use as an Ottoman ammunition dump had nearly led to the temple’s destruction in 1687, I think his decision is a supportable one. Not everyone agreed: for example, I’d hate to have any of my decisions questioned in verse by Lord Byron. Plus, as the pamphlet points out, he brought them out of Athens with the agreement of the authorities. But the situation is a little different two centuries later.

All these pieces are displayed in a space that’s the Parthenon turned inside out: the marbles face the interior of this room, while in their original locations, they were on the temple’s exterior. The metopes from the Parthenon’s four walls each tell the story of a different battle: on the north side, the Trojan War; on the other three sides, mythical battles that portray ‘civilized’ Athens’ (the Lapiths in the South Metopes) conflict with ’uncivilized’ Persia (the wild, half-animal Centaurs).

On your way to this alternate Parthenon, you’ll probably pass by the Rosetta Stone. It’s breathtaking to turn a corner and see this iconic piece, which is as important as a symbol of archaeology and antiquity as it is for its role in deciphering hieroglyphics. It’s enclosed in a modest glass case, but that’s all: you can get within eight inches of it. It’s easy to see the three different languages—hieroglyphic, Demotic (a late Egyptian script from about 500 BC), and Greek—whose message is a mundane, self-promoting decree from one of the late Egyptian rulers around 200 BC. If you look carefully at the top section of hieroglyphics, you can see the sets of characters circled in a lasso-like enclosure: these are incidences of Ptolemy’s name, which required a phonetic ‘spelling’, since they were Greek words. They were Champollion’s first key to ultimately deciphering the stone and the hieroglyphs. (For a terrific account of his life and this major accomplishment, I recommend Daniel Meyerson’s The Linguist and the Emperor.)

And then there’s Egypt, Babylon, Assyria, Rome, Africa, Asia, … the Museum’s collection from the middle East is awe-inspiring. Expeditions from the 19th and early 20th centuries uncovered long-buried cities such as Ur, Nimrod, Nineveh, and others, and brought the Epic of Gilgamesh back into the world after centuries of absence. The major results of that work are all here. If you have an interest in any of the world’s great civilizations—or are looking to discover one—you’ll find it hard to leave this place. I spent an unplanned 30 minutes learning about jade and its role in culture and trade, which I stumbled upon in a long hallway on the second floor.

And since the millennial opening of the Great Court, the building itself is worth visiting, too. For years, the British Library was also housed here, finally given its own deserved building in 1998 (about a mile north near Euston Station). It’s the largest covered square in Europe, whose tessellated glass roof creates the neatest indoor site I know to experience a sunset. Unfortunately, the Museum has decided to solve a problem by taking over the famous Reading Room here in the central column of the Great Court: in 2001, when we visited, it was open to the public; now it’s been decided to use it for special (i.e., charging) exhibitions. The Terracotta army from the tomb of China’s first Qin Emperor were in residence during our trip, with £12 tickets sold out long in advance.

Best of all, the rest of the British Museum is free. I can’t get over that. My biggest regret of both visits to London is that I haven’t left myself nearly enough time to explore this place.

We arrived in London on a cold, rainy Sunday morning. My plan to take the number 15 bus across town to our hotel in the City on a nearly free tour of London landmarks hadn’t yet collapsed behind the foggy windows of the upper deck. We left Victoria Station, turned east, and there were the Houses of Parliament, behind Westminster Abbey, and in front of the Thames. It was true—we were in London. My exhausted kids promptly fell asleep.

We returned to this area two days later, walking along the Embankment to Westminster and Whitehall, my family heading off without me as I stopped to take picture after picture. After touring neighboring Westminster Abbey in the morning, emerging for lunch across Parliament Square at Methodist Central Hall, and then heading around the corner to the Cabinet War Rooms, we passed Parliament again in mid-afternoon. Jet lag was still in the picture, creating a formidable mix with my teens. We were headed south to the Tate Britain, but it was clear that passing by Parliament wasn’t very popular with one of us.

A few hours later, as it neared 6 pm, we hopped off our northbound bus to remedy the situation. Tours of Parliament were out of the question—it’s UK residents only, except during the Summer Opening, when Parliament isn’t in session and tickets must be purchased. But the visitor galleries for both the House of Commons and the House of Lords are open weekdays otherwise, and as we walked up to the entrance, it didn’t seem like the lines were too long. I’d read that a good strategy for beating the crowds is to request to see the House of Lords, which (due to its reputation as the appendix of lawmaking) is far less popular than the House of Commons. As we entered the gate, the friendly security guard offered her advice: “If you want to see a lot of famous politicians and have a long wait, choose the House of Commons. If you want to see a beautiful chamber with a short wait, take the House of Lords.” When we wisely opted for the latter, she immediately waved us into the checkpoint, which is essentially a stringent version of airport security: x-ray for all bags, coats removed, pockets emptied, and a high chance of being wanded.

In minutes, we were walking through Westminster Hall (the only part of the Palace of Westminster that survived the 1834 fire), and into Parliament itself. We were a little giddy as we were shown to seats in the long hallway. We were the only ones there, and within a minute we were then taken through the Central Lobby and into the Peers Corridor outside the House of Lords. This hall, and its partner Commons Corridor across the Lobby, was lined with large paintings showing critical incidents in the history of Parliaments (with a whole lot of focus on the conflict with Charles I). We sat here for about five minutes, with only one or two other groups, before being ushered through the doors into the Lobby, where security guards gave us forms to fill out, and extracted pledges that we would not be disruptive.

Then, it was up a set of stairs and into the Gallery, where we joined about three dozen others. A debate was taking place over the details of a climate change bill, but it wasn’t what held our attention. The room itself was elaborate, with every bit of floor, wall, ceiling and benches decorated or ornamented. It was a gorgeous room to look at, and we had a hard time identifying all the personages shown in the panels atop the walls. Inscriptions circled the windows in a script too gothic to decipher. The number of peers present for this debate was roughly equal to the number of visitors in the lobby, although our conversation with the security guard who checked our bags confirmed that there are hundreds of peers, now appointed for their expertise in particular areas. He gave the impression that this Chamber still fulfills it role as a check on the popularly elected house, but perhaps not quite as a staunch defender of the status quo as it did in ages past.

We glanced at the debate and studied the surroundings for about 20 minutes before retracing our steps to the Central Lobby. The four archways into this impressive chamber represent the four original pieces of the United Kingdom: England, Wales, Scotland and Ireland. We briefly debated taking Rick Steves' advice and sneaking over into the line for the House of Commons, but we were feeling pretty pleased with our spontaneous adventure, and didn’t want to ruin it with an arrest.

No pictures are allowed inside Parliament—just inside Westminster Hall—so we stopped for postcards and guidebooks at the small shop in St. Stephen’s Hall. I was out of cash, and trying to compile £5 of merchandise to meet the minimum charge amount. We were the only ones here, and the clerk and security guards were good naturedly chatting as we finished up our shopping. “How about a picture of Maggie? Can’t go home without one, can you?”, suggested the guard. That made it £5.10, and the sale was complete.

We exited through Westminster Hall, originally constructed in 1097, and the scene of the trial of Charles I, one of many events marked by a brass plate in the floor. Kings and Queens lay in state here following their deaths, as did Winston Churchill, each of their funeral biers marked with a plate. We left through the north side, off to dinner at Trafalgar Square, feeling like we’d just added something pretty special and unexpected to our trip.

If you’re planning a visit to London, this place might not be on your itinerary—but it should be. I’ve visited the IWM during both of my trips, and each time I’ve left wishing that I’d been able to spend more time here than I did. And this time, with my kids along, they had the same feeling, much to their surprise.

If your first reaction is (much like a friend of mine confessed) ‘thanks, but I’m not that into tanks and guns’, then you’ll miss out on one of the finest museums in a city of great museums. However, the approach to the building, and the collection in the entry hallway, won’t initially dispel your concern: a massive two-gun pair is poised to defend the entrance, and just inside you encounter a V-2 missile, a biplane, a tank, and a number of other implements of warfare from the two World Wars.

But if you stop here, you’ll truly miss out. The exhibits in the museum are very strongly thematic, and focus much more on the experience of troops and civilians in times of conflict. Founded to collect and display material from the ‘Great War’, the doors opened in 1920 at a South Kensington location. Ironically, the Museum is now housed in the former ‘Bedlam’ (Bethlem Royal Hospital), the world’s first psychiatric hospital, where it moved in 1936. Its purview was expanded to include any conflict in which British forces have been engaged, and it uses that to touch on a wide range of issues and approaches to conflict and war.

The highlight is the Holocaust Exhibit, which opened in 2000, and where I spent all of my time on my first visit in 2001. This split level exhibit opens with photos and stories from several Holocaust survivors, some shown on video, describing Jewish life in 1930’s Europe before Hitler’s genocide began. Their stories are augmented—here and throughout the exhibit—by personal photos and other artifacts. The displays then describe the end of World War I, the consequences of the Versailles Treaty, the long-standing roots of anti-Semitism, and Hitler’s rise to power. A major part for me was learning just what information about the Holocaust made it off the Continent and into the British press and other outlets, which was well beyond what I thought was known at the time. Another painful section chronicles the refusal of Britain, the U.S., and Europe to accept Jewish refugees from Germany and Central Europe, as they focus on their worries about this influx might do to their economies.

The second floor follows the grisly details of the German planning, ending with attempts to cover up the killings as Allied troops close in from east and west. It’s not as extensive as the National Holocaust Memorial in Washington, D.C., but it equals that institution in quality and in power. My kids’ biggest regret about London was that their time was limited here. Parents are cautioned against bringing kids younger than 13, and a staff member reminds each person entering the exhibit to turn off cell phones and refrain from taking pictures.

I ended my visit in the Holocaust Exhibit, after seeing a temporary display on ‘Weapons of Mass Communication’. This extensive set of war and propaganda posters from World War I through Vietnam includes German, American, British, Russian, Japanese and other materials, showing how image and text were used to rally support, inform the public, raise funds, and vilify the enemy. It’s too bad this exhibit closes in April 2008—it deserves to be a permanent part of the collection here.

Another exhibit closing shortly is an installation by artist Steve McQueen, entitled ‘Queen and Country’. McQueen has taken photographs of over 100 members of British forces killed in Iraq, and laid out each as a mock postage stamp, complete with the standard silhouette of the Queen in the upper left. Each is reproduced in a full sheet of stamps, and in the margin are details about the serviceman or woman, their unit, and the dates of their birth and death. The large sheets contain several hundred identical stamps, each displayed in the pullout cabinets typical of philatelic exhibits. This exhibit was commissioned by the IWM, and McQueen chose this route to connect the conflict and those lost in it with everyday British lives. Each photograph was used with permission of the families of the soldiers, and knowing that they chose the photograph that was used gives the work even more power. McQueen is currently working to have an official set of stamps issued in honor of those lost in Iraq.

In the basement are major exhibits I still haven’t seen, tracing the origins, development, conduct and consequences of World Wars I and II. I’ve had a growing interest in the Great War and how it frames so much of the decades that followed its conclusion, so I did race to this level for a brief, closing-time walk through the highly realistic ‘Trench Experience’, which is aptly named despite the theme-park like character of this moniker. This recreation of a frontline trench at night is filled with sounds, voices, artifacts and mannequins. Alone in this dark, scary, and completely believable environment, within 10 seconds I felt I understood more about this hellish time than any reading had given me. The prospect of being asked to charge out of the trench and into the shelling outside must have produced a terror in both German and Allied troops that was easy to imagine.

Directions
The Imperial War Museum is on Lambeth Road, a 15-minute walk east from Lambeth Bridge, and about 10 minutes walk west down St. George’s Road from the Elephant & Castle station. Buses 3 and 344 stop run along Lambeth Road, and stop right in front of the Museum (the 3 will take you here from Trafalgar Square or Westminster).

I didn’t know about this museum until a friend raved about it before I first visited London in 2001. Now, I wouldn’t skip it. After a half-day exploring a terrific exhibit about Roman London, as well as the permanent collection, it was high on the list of places we wanted to take our kids on a return trip. It’s a great introduction to London, and although the lowest level (from the Great Fire of 1666 to the present) is closed through 2009, there’s still plenty to see.

The Museum is directly north of St Paul’s, a 10-minute walk up Aldersgate. We left the Cathedral and circled around it to the north along Paternoster Row, stopping to admire the recently relocated Temple Bar. After lunch at Pizza Express, we headed west back to the Museum, enjoying one of several (but limited) periods of bright sun we had that week, stopping to admire the remain of the Roman Wall just east of the Museum.

The Museum uses the foyer for a series of short-lived, topical exhibitions. “Weather Permitting: London’s Changing Climate” was playing in that space during our visit, which looked at the variety of weather-induced events, average temperatures, and human effects on London’s weather and air quality over time. Famous floods of the Thames, length rainstorms, and long-lasting impenetrable fogs are all highlighted.

After a brief orientation from one of the helpful staff, we headed into the Museum, each going our separate ways. Just to the right of the entrance, “London Before London” used artifacts, animation, and maps to look at the series of prehistoric cultures that occupied London and southern England before the Romans came. These cultures go back surprisingly far, and the archaeological evidence supporting those claims is nicely laid out. I hadn’t realized the extent to which ice ages and their corresponding impact on sea levels changed both the coastline of England, and the course of the Thames. Go back far enough, and England is physically part of Europe!

“London’s Burning” is the temporary exhibit in the center of the first floor. Beyond it’s nod to The Clash, it brings home the utter disaster that befell the city in 1666, destroying the home and livelihoods of 100,000 people. The exhibit combines the recollections of Pepys and others, paintings of the disaster, relics discovered in excavations, and hands-on displays aimed at children. It tackles the rumors and lies told about the fire (such as, ‘it was ordered by the Pope’), and the city’s recovery from the disaster—which, not surprisingly, took years. I’d never really thought about what happened to the residents in post-fire period. Evidently, large and raucous tent cities developed on the fringes of the area. I kept thinking of post-Katrina New Orleans all through the exhibit, and wondering if 17th century London didn’t recover faster.

Only the first floor was open, and even less of that than promised. In addition to the post-fire London exhibits closure, the post-Tudor section of the first floor was also closed that day. The remaining galleries include extensive sections on Roman London, some of which I remembered from the ‘High Street Londinium’ exhibit that was there on my first. The ‘Medieval London’ galleries end in 1558, and that’s where my two-hour tour of London’s history ended also, as workmen had sealed off the last section.

The gift shop is one of the best in the city, with a great combination of books, posters and cards related to London and history, as well as fun items and above average souvenirs. Two of my kids found London-map-embossed bags and wallets here, which prompted an admiring comment from a bus driver the next day.

On our first trip to London, we ended up in the Trafalgar Square area on the first day, fighting jet lag in late afternoon. Looking for something help us stay conscious, we popped into the National Portrait Gallery, and decided to save the National Gallery around the corner for a later visit.

And we never made it back. I was determined not to let this happen again. As the website matter-of-factly states, the National Gallery "houses one of the greatest collections of Western European painting in the world." Botticelli, da Vinci, Michelangelo, Rubens, Rafael, Rembrandt, Vermeer, Velazquez… and you have yet to reach the 18th century. Even with two short visits this time, I went home wishing we’d had at least a half-day here (although that may have taxed my teens’ patience).

Like many London attractions, the Gallery has conventional 10am–6pm hours, plus late opening until 9pm on Wednesday evenings. After dinner at a Wagamama several blocks away, my oldest daughter and I charged through the backstreets for a much-shorter-than-planned tour of the Museum’s highest highlights.

There are many. Foolishly trying to balance two books and the Museum map, we succeed in skimming the richest cream off the top of this collection. The Gallery’s website has two-page list of the most significant works. Looking back, I did fit in a number of them. On Wednesday evening, my daughter and I mainly worked from Rick Steve’s 2-hour tour of the Gallery’s best known works, hopping out of one room and into another, which I usually hate doing. But it proved to be lots of fun to do together, sharing with her what I knew (and/or what Rick knew) about each work, and helping her see find the Impressionists she was anxious to see. We bounced from Van Eyck’s Arnolfini Portrait to Michelangelo’s Annunciation and Entombment to the Impressionists. As the hour wound down, we ended up with Van Gogh’s Sunflowers which, as advertised, is practically three-dimensional with its thick application of paint. It’s a great illustration of how much different a work can look in person, with its large, colorful flower practically leaping off the canvas.

The next day, after a mixed experience in the Café for afternoon tea, we split up for another short jaunt through the galleries. This time, I sought out the few Turners that are here. They are significant, though, and include The Fighting Temeraire. This ship was part of Nelson’s victorious fleet at Trafalgar, and Turner shows it under tow to the docks at Rotherhithe on the Thames to be dismembered, flanked on the right by a glorious setting Sun. A steamship is the tug, and this new technology adds to the sense of time passing. 170 years later, it also says something about the end of empire as well.

If, like me, you’re glad to be here but wouldn’t find a friendly, knowledgeable voice at your side, you won’t find much help in the galleries themselves. The titles and descriptions are barebones at best, and one of my guidebooks cautioned against renting the audioguide, which allegedly provides that text and nothing more. With a little more time, I might have popped into the gift shop to seek out a printed guide, or joined one of the many free tours.

My plan to remedy the dearth of galleries on our visit was in trouble. We’d arrived at the Tate in late afternoon, after finishing a visit to the Cabinet War Rooms and Churchill Museum, where I had to cut my time short in favor of family unity. We were all in need of a little solo time, so we split up in the Tate’s foyer, and I headed off to the north wing and the fantastic collection of J.M.W. Turner’s work. I splurged on the multimedia guide, which featured a special addition for the Turner galleries. Loaded on a handheld, it really was a great supplement for the tour, and I thought it was reasonable at £3.50.

Somewhere around my third painting—an early work that was probably his last with a person figuring prominently in the composition—the unnerving sound of a fire alarm came over the loudspeakers. The recorded voice sounded so calm, but with my family scattered all over the museum, I wasn’t feeling reassured. Not to worry; my kids were already outside the main entrance by the time I arrived, and my wife joined us a minute later.

After 30 minutes there, I know that entrance and its steps very well. (A faulty sensor in the boiler room was blamed for the alarm). Better, in fact, than I know most of the museum: by the time we re-entered, I did have time to finish the Turner Galleries, a special exhibit on Turner’s experiments with color and line, and a just few more things.

Turner was my main objective here, and with the fire alarm, almost all I managed to see. Born in Covent Garden, the son of a barber, he drew and painted at an early age, and began studying at the Royal Academy at the age of 14. He played a major role in moving painting outdoors and out of the history books, which made it surprising to see some of his early works before he made that transition.

I’ve always wondered how the bulk of one artist’s work could end up in a single place. Why aren’t Turner’s paintings scattered around the private collections and galleries of the world? Evidently, he had trouble letting go of his work—so upon his death, with much of his oeuvre still in his possession, he bequeathed it ‘to the nation’, which took awhile to house and display it.

But dozens of his works now reside here in the north side of Tate Britain. It is unusual to have rooms filled by the same artist, and that chronicle was instructive. You could see his interest in landscape, and of course the sky, develop; you could see how it figured in a wider range of subjects than I’d anticipated. British current events, ‘Grand Tour’ landscapes, Roman history, and eventually an interest in modern technology (although the best example of this, Rain, Steam and Speed actually hangs a mile away in the National Gallery). The small exhibit upstairs on color and line emphasizes his role in changing the art of printmaking, and his interest in modern theories of color.

The Tate holds a lot more: my only other experience was the ‘Drawn from the Collection’ gallery that you pass through on the way to the Turner Galleries. It apparently features a changing selection of sketches and drawings, ranging from sketches by Barbara Hepworth for sculptures to drawings by Turner and Henry Moore, landscapes in the Himalayas and churches in London. My favorites were a 1990 Leon Kossof drawing of Christ Church, Spitalfields, and an early 20th century sketch of workmen and scaffolding in the dome of the British Museum Reading Room.

But Gainsborough, Constable, Moore, Blake, Hockney… I missed ‘em. And there was a Blake exhibition that runs through June 1 2008. Plenty to return for, I guess.

Directions
This museum isn’t the easiest place to reach. Among all the prominent attractions in central London, it’s probably the only one not well served by a Tube stop. Pimlico, on the Victoria line, is the closest but still almost a half-mile away. And it’s probably at least one change, unless you happen to be coming down the Victoria line. Bus service is better, with route 87 running from the Strand, Whitehall and Westminster, stopping right in front of the Museum. Even river access is better than the Tube: you can take the Tate-to-Tate boat from the Tate Modern on South bank to Millbank Pier just in front of the Museum (or vice versa). It’s £4 (£2.60 if you have a Travelcard), runs every 40 minutes, and also stops at the London Eye.

I’m not alone in picking this as one of my favorite places in London. Particularly after walking the narrow, claustrophobic side streets (or even the wider Strand), the open space here is exhilarating. Admiral Nelson sits atop his column at the south edge, so high up (150 feet) that he might only be a natural part of your experience if you’re back by the National Gallery on the Square’s northern edge. Otherwise, you’ll be craning your neck to see him. He’s amply guarded by a quartet of dark, metal 20-foot lions. The square honors his most famous victory at Trafalgar in 1805, which saved Britain from invasion in the Napoleonic wars, but cost Nelson his life.

The current version of the Square was assembled and renovated in pieces. It sits at Charing Cross, the junction of the Strand and Whitehall. This was the site of one of 12 Eleanor crosses erected by Edward I. These marked the spots where his beloved wife’s body rested each night as he returned her to London after her death near Lincoln in 1290. John Nash, author of Regent’s Park, was hired by the same client to renovate this area, and Charles Barry completed his work in 1845.

Admiral Nelson arrived in 1846, his 18-foot statue topping the granite pillar. Twenty years later, Landseer’s lions took up their positions around the Admiral. Behind him is a pair of fountains, renovated just before World War II. St. Martin’s-in-the-Fields is in the northeast corner, and at the north edge of the square leads into the steps to the National Gallery, which despite its dome, seems not quite up to the task of framing the square.

Around the edges, Canada House and South Africa House help close the loop. The whole square tilts gently upwards towards the north, where—following the most recent renovation—a new set of stairs ascends to the National Gallery (where, in an odd pairing, James II and George Washington stand on the lawn).

Long before the Square existed, Edward’s original cross was replaced by a statue of Charles I (poor trade, I say), who still sits at the south end of the square. He’s not the only equestrian in the area: four plinths sit more or less in the corners of the square, the one occupied by George IV. Two generals from the India wars sit on other plinths. The northwest, or fourth plinth, sat empty for years, after plans for a statue of William IV fell apart (the square was originally to be named in his honor). A rotating set of pieces has occupied it since then, the most recent being a work of parallel, brightly colored Plexiglas planes by Thomas Schuette entitled Model for a Hotel 2007. I liked it, but had some trouble reconciling it with its surroundings.

Especially now that Mayor Ken Livingstone drove off the pigeons, this is a great place to hang out. We were handicapped on our second attempt to do so by the rainy weather, and congregated under a bus stop while we waited for our bus to the British Museum. It’s a great place at night, too, and has people passing through or sitting still at all hours of the day.

If you’re looking for places to eat in the area, there are a few choices nearby. We had dinner one night at a Pret on the south side of the Square. On a previous visit, we lucked into The Chandos Pub off the southeast corner. Café in the Crypt is in the basement of St. Martin’s in the Fields, in the northeast corner. We stopped in there for a late afternoon snack. The National Gallery has a café at the east end (where we had afternoon tea), and the National Dining Rooms in the western Salisbury Wing.

For English-speaking Christians, London isn’t quite Jerusalem, but it’s close. Even if you’re not Episcopalian (and I’m not), there’s a lot of history and practice that makes London’s churches and history worth exploring. On our first visit, one of the highlights was exploring places beyond Westminster Abbey and St. Paul’s: St. James Piccadilly, St. Martin’s in the Fields, All Hallows by the Tower, and especially Temple Church (in its pre-he-who-will-not-be-named anonymity) were among the places we visited. Of course, you could spend a whole visit just chasing down Wren’s repopulation of the city worship spaces after the Great Fire (and it did occur to me to do so).

When I saw on a map that our hotel was just down the street from Wesley’s Chapel on City Road, I was excited. Half my childhood was spent in the Methodist Church, an inheritance from my father’s family, and although that’s not my denomination any longer, my opinion of Wesley has only grown in the intervening years. We wouldn’t be spending any prime tourist hours in the vicinity of our City Road hotel, so I figured my one chance to visit would be during the brief Sunday opening hours after worship, between 12:15 and 1:45.

After a bus/tube/foot journey to our hotel, we checked into our room early, and while the other four immediately lay down for a 90-minute nap, I rushed up the street to Wesley’s Chapel. It was Palm Sunday, and the 11am service had concluded not long before. The congregation includes a segment of London’s West African community, and the bright, colorful outfits of those waiting for rides were a nice contrast to the grey, drizzly skies.

A statue of Wesley stands just inside the gates off City Street, with the Chapel set back about 100 yards. On one side is Wesley’s house, which I was interested in seeing, but not as much as the church and the museum in the crypt. The sanctuary is fairly simple, but quite pretty, with lots of wood and an altar that’s quite different from what I’m used to: the Lord’s Prayer and other texts are painted on large wooden panels facing the pew boxes.

On the back wall by the central door is a plaque commemorating the re-opening of the church in 1978 by HMQE2. In the early seventies, structural problems required that the Chapel be closed, and after the renovation was completed, it re-opened on its 200th anniversary. Wesley built this church to replace The Foundery, where he initially preached in London. A small chapel to the right of the sanctuary holds a pew from that original space, and offers a small place for reflection and prayer.

The 20th century renovation was the Chapel’s second: it had been redone in 1891, the centenary of Wesley’s death. Wesley had described it as a place that was ‘neat but not fine’: the pillars were originally made from the masts of wooden ships that were donated by the monarch, George III. That modesty suffered a little bit in the first renovation, as marble pillars donated by Methodist churches throughout the world replaced the original wooden versions.

In the basement is the ‘Museum of Methodism’, which was staffed by some people who were clearly hoping to head home on Sunday afternoon. I hustled downstairs, and they agreed to give me a little time in the museum, which traces both Wesley’s personal story and the development of the Methodist church. ‘Methodist’ was originally an insult given to Wesley and his followers, and it was interesting to see the negative reaction that this new church provoked, especially among those higher up in English society. I suppose that happens when you break away from a church that is both Church and State.

Wesley’s tomb in behind the Chapel, but I didn’t make it back there. But across City Road from Wesley’s Chapel is Bunhill Fields, a resting place for his mother and another estimated 120,000 souls (but only 2,000 with markers), and the chief burial ground for ‘non-conformists’. The name is a contraction of ‘Bone Hill’: those 120,000 were interred over a period of 1,000 years.

Even though it’s in the Borough of Islington, it’s owned and managed by the City of London, and is a pleasant green and tree-covered space in the city. I wandered through for about 20 minutes, finding the graves of Daniel Defoe, John Bunyan, and William Blake. It’s gated, and only open during daylight hours: the boards say 7:30, but it was often still closed when we came out to catch our morning buses elsewhere in London. Gates into the burial grounds themselves are locked, but information boards on the caretaker’s hut indicate that they can be opened by request. Those bounds also have fliers on the grounds, and the plants found in the Fields. There are guided walks at 12:30 in summer months.

If you’re following Wesley in London, the spot of his ‘conversion’ is marked with a large scroll containing his written description of that experience in Aldersgate. It’s immediately outside the main entrance to the Museum of London, in a planter on the right side of the doors.

It’s odd to have a place with a collection as worthy, extensive and well-known as the British Museum charge nothing for admission, and then hand over £16 to see the Tower of London. Other attractions and museums in London fall rather neatly into these same two categories: free, or really expensive. The list of places that charge nothing is so long, and contains such treasures, that you could build a wonderful visit just from this list. That is, if you could cope with not visiting all those other sites that aren’t free. (Just try to imagine leaving after a first visit to London, never setting foot in St. Paul’s, Westminster Abbey, or the Tower of London).

But if you’re willing to give it a shot, you have an impressive list to draw on. Since 2001, every ‘National Museum’ in the UK has had free admission. In London, that includes such major sites as

The British Museum, home of the world’s foremost collections of culture and archaeology

The National Gallery, one of the world’s leading art galleries (if not the gallery)

The National Portrait Gallery, a one-stop British history lesson via faces

Tate Britain, home to the world’s leading collection of Turners and more

Tate Modern, modern art mecca, whose revamped art-deco power plant setting is an attraction in its own right

National Museum of Science and Industry (I hear it’s great.)

The Natural History Museum (Ditto. On two London trips, I have yet to see it.)

The Victoria and Albert Museum, a gigantic collection of design and decorative arts across the centuries

The Museum of London, an underappreciated introduction to London and Britain

The Imperial War Museum, my pick for London’s most underrated museum

The National Maritime Museum in Greenwich, the naval equivalent of the Imperial War Museum: better than its name might suggest

Any of these could fill at least a half a day, and if their subject is right up your alley, you could spend a day or more at most. Plus, many of them offer guided tours, some free, and other a few pounds—which makes even more sense if your entry was gratis.

If that’s not enough, smaller but worthwhile (and still free) collections include

• The Geffrye Museum, focusing on English decorative arts
  
• The Wallace Collection, a ‘modest’ family collection of the finest 18th century French art and more
  
• Sir John Soane’s Museum, the private collection of a great architect and collector—sort of a mini-British Museum

Of course, the visitor's galleries at the Houses of Parliament are free, too, and like many of the museums, open evening hours some days. This is a terrific alternative to dropping a small fortune on a show—especially true if you’re buying five tickets (ouch). Free is good, but a post-dinner visit also extends your sightseeing hours beyond the conventional but all too short London primetime of 10am-6pm (or even as narrow as 10-4 at some places).

That list is:

• Wednesday: National Gallery until 9pm
• Thursday: British Museum until 8 pm
• Thursday: National Portrait Gallery until 9pm
• Friday: National Portrait Gallery until 9pm
• 1st Friday: Tate Britain until 10pm
• Friday: Tate Modern until 10pm
• Tate Modern until 10pm
• Victoria & Albert until 10pm

The British Museum, the National Gallery, and the Portrait Gallery are central enough that you might pop in more than once during a visit. My oldest and I raced over for a 45-minute tour of the Highlights at the National Gallery on a Wednesday evening, taking in Van Gogh, Michelangelo, Turner, Van Eyck, and others before they turned out the lights on us. The next afternoon, the whole family came back for a more leisurely exploration.

If you’re a museum aficionado, you’ll be here at least a month before you run out of options. But no matter who you are, any attempt to see the best of London—or simply to find worth things that hold your costs down—will lead you into several of these great places during a visit of even the shortest length.

The weather had held off at least long enough to ride the London Eye. We'd boarded first thing at 10am, and our 30 minute spin was under overcast skies, but with decent visibility. We looked down on the Palace of Westminster, and then headed upriver to Westminster Bridge for one last look at Parliament. We stopped midspan to trade pictures with an Italian couple, and then turned up Whitehall as the Sun came out.

We were in the center of English government, with white stone buildings trimmed out with shiny brass plaques flanking either side of the Street. In the middle stood the Cenotaph, the somber, empty tomb honoring the millions lost in the Great War, just south of the statue of General Haig, who led British forces during the conflict. As we passed the entrance to Downing Street, we encountered a crowd, and a pair of motorcycle policemen pulling into place, apparently prepared to stop traffic. We joined the crowd peering down to the Prime Minister's residence, hearing just enough banter between the police at the gate, arriving messengers, and others to convince us that surely Gordon Brown would emerge any moment, and we could add a sighting of the Prime Minister to our list of London accomplishments.

Not long after that, a bicycle messenger pulled up, whose earphone, behavior, and continue presence further convinced us that something was up. Soon we overheard the phrase 'he's 10 minutes late already'. A grandma with a stroller in tow told us how she'd given up too early on such a gathering at Clarence House, and missed Prince Charles by five minutes. In for a penny, in for a pound: eventually our patience was rewarded, as a swarm of suits exited 10 Downing St, a phalanx of cars formed, and the leader of Bahrain ("The King, I guess?" said the policeman) raced off with his entourage.

Oh, well; it was worth a shot. And it made our timing immaculate: we turned into the Horse Guards Parade, just in time to step aside as a young guard yelled "Changing of the Horse Guards!" and three silver helmeted, scarlet-chested horsemen paraded into their positions under the arches. We exited into the east end of St. James Park, with the arc of the Eye visible over the top of the building.

It was a beautiful spring day in London, one we hadn't expected: the flowers were blooming in St. James Park, and we scouted for a park sign to find a cafe for a mid-day snack. Looking up to Carlton Place Terrace at the northeast corner, we turned into the center of the Park, passing pelicans, plenty of fellow tourists, and scores of kids. Everyone was taking advantage of the sunshine, and even waiting in line for a slice of lemon cake and a cup of tea seemed like a perfectly pleasant thing to do.

We crossed the lake, exited on the Mall, and were admiring the elaborate Royal seals on the gates. Just about the time I was getting to thank generations of royalty for their insistence on maintaining hunting grouds, we realized we were at the Victoria statue in front of Buckingham Palace. "What's that music?", asked my wife. "It's got to be the changing of the Guard." We quickly climbed the steps to see the band come marching out of the gate, clad in more demure blue-green full length coats instead of their warmer weather scarlet jackets. We hustled up to the street's edge, grinning a bit that we'd caught the one ceremony we'd vowed not to invest any time in waiting to see.

By now, the sunshine was gone, and as we crossed Birdcage Walk sprinkles began to dot the lenses of my glasses. My kids had been put off long enough on souvenir shopping, and across from the Royal Mews we took the plunge into keychains, coasters, t-shirts and other trinkets.

Emerging relatively unscathed, we now faced a more typical March day. The rain wasn't heavy, but the wind turned our weak umbrellas inside out. Near Victoria, we caught a bus for Hyde Park, providing temporary shelter and allowing us to hope that the weather would quickly revert to the morning's sunshine. It was slow going through Kensington and Knightsbridge, and when we exited at the Prince of Wales gate into Hyde Park, the wind was unabated and the rain was harder.

We gamely struggled across the grass in search of the Princess Diana Memorial, passing a field of soccer players whose dedication really impressed my kids. The rain let up a little as we neared the Serpentine, but just about then everyone agreed that it just wasn't a day for walking in the park anymore. We pointed the umbrellas into the wind and headed back to Carriage Drive, looking for a bus stop and a number 9 bus. As the classic red Routemaster doubledecker pulled up, I realized that the 'H' meant it was a heritage route, served by the last remaining original red buses in London--one last traditional London experience as we headed for Trafalgar Square and the National Gallery.