Intercultural Skills, The Tower of London, and Phedre

Professional Development today was actually not a snooze-fest! Miracles happen! (Has anyone else noticed that my entries are becoming more and more sarcastic as the weeks go on...?) Seriously, through, the topic was Intercultural Skills, which I find interesting anyway. We discussed differences between various cultures relating directly to the business world as well as differences among age groups (Veterans, Baby Boomers, Generation X, and Generation Y). The hand-out also had a pretty detailed chart of differences between Generation X and Generation Y, which was surprisingly enlightening.

After Professional Development, I headed over to the Tower of London for the afternoon. When I arrived, I had just missed one of the Beefeater Tours, so I checked out the nearest tower (which contained replicas of rooms in a medieval castle, including Edward the Confessor's bedroom) before making my way back to the main gate to catch the next tour. Our guide, as all the Beefeaters are, was delightful and hilarious, and I had a blast. I remembered a couple of the stories from my last trip here, but since I am now ten years more worldly, I think I appreciated them with a new light. :) After the tour, I went straight for the Jewel Tower, passing the time in line with my copy of "The Other Boleyn Girl"...ironic, eh? The Crown Jewels were just as impressive as I remembered (my favorite was Queen Victoria's small diamond crown). I went to the special exhibit about Henry VIII afterwards (with my opinion of him slightly tarnished by my book), which was interesting...he was certainly an insecure man at heart, as represented in his armor by a codpiece to match his ego. Enough said. As closing time quickly approached, I managed to make my way into the Bloody Tower and around to some of the other smaller exhibits. I was there for three hours, but I still felt like I could have been happy just wandering the paths.

Even if the Tower had remained open, I had little time between my sightseeing and my evening plans...just enough time to run back to Nido, change clothes, and devour a makeshift dinner while standing in the kitchen before hopping on the Tube to Covent Garden. Tonight, I saw Helen Mirren in Phedre at The National Theatre, and the production was breathtaking. The set was simply beautiful, and designed like the edge of a Mediterranean beach. The lighting, likewise, was entirely void of spectacle, but so effective in tracing the various positions of the sun over the course of the day. Helen Mirren, of course, was incredible, and although I was in the third to last row of the theatre, I felt every word she said. And yes, I cried this time. I was unfamiliar with the story prior to reading the program, but I am familiar enough with the style of the Greek tragedy to know the outcome as soon as the characters first appeared. However, this fact did not draw from my connection to the characters whatsoever. I felt tears welling up because Phedre struck a chord with me, and I am not even sure what that chord was. Although this was Ted Hughes's version, rather than an original Greek text, I was glad to be able to watch the action unfold, knowing the ending without specific details. (I loved this version...within five lines of the first scene, I thought, "I have to read this again later...") I never had the luxury of seeing Oedipus before I had read it or been told the outcome by someone else, and I have often wished that I could have had the opportunity to truly experience a production and discover the truth with the protagonist rather than knowing his fate the entire time. Thus, I felt refreshed by the opportunity to watch the action of this similar story unfold, knowing the end but not knowing which path we would take to arrive there.