19 July 2001 - out there on my own

Next day, it was pissing down all morning, which didn’t encourage me to go out of my room until about 11:30 a.m.

Walked to nearby Covent Garden, which Ange warned me woule be full of shoppers despite the rain. The place did have a wide range of shops, from designer labels to quaint bookshops to a gadgets store to a line of stalls that sold exotic fabrics (mostly Asian patterns), jewelry, candelabras, picture frames, etc.

I needed to find a place to eat but couldn’t find a restaurant that was both cheap and not packed with people. So decided that first order of the day was getting to an Internet Café because I was waiting for some work-related emails. There was one at Covent Garden that charged £1 per 15 minutes and was open until 10 p.m.

After a bit more walking, I eventually had a non-eventful lunch, and lounged around a bit. There were street performers here as well and they were quite inventive. One of them was doing a Charlie Chaplin routine which please the crowds, while another was a tenor who sang “The Marriage of Figaro” to the customers having lunch at the patio.


I decided to take the Underground and buy that £4 one-day pass so I can go to as many sights I could with what daylight the clouds above would allow.

The Covent Garden Station was rather unusual because you had to cram into these elevators to go down to the platforms. The attendants keep reminding people on the PA system that if they took the stairs keep in mind that there are almost 200 steps to go and that it’s the equivalent of a 5-storey building (or is it 15? I forget). Apart from that the stairwell looked really dark and grimy and creepy, I think people just die of a heart attack there and lay undiscovered.

Once on my way back up, there were some passengers who were so impatient with the elevators that they decided to climb the stairs – I can’t help but imagine how they felt when they got to the street…if they did.


The London Underground is much cleaner than the New York or Chicago subways, but the corridors turn and go up and down that it feels like a maze – albeit a brightly lit one.

The trains were comfortable though, they actually had cushioned chairs! But that also meant they had less standing space than other, more practical subway trains. And worse, you can’t just go from one train car to the next. So if the car is really packed and someone stinks, you’re pretty much stuck there unless you get off.


My first stop was the Marble Arch. I knew not the story behind this but it looked good when I passed by it earlier this week. Besides, I figured it a good parallel to the Puerta de Alcala I fell in love with in Madrid.

Next I got off at Notting Hill Gate. Now, to be honest, I wanted to go here because of that Julia Roberts movie and that’s it. There I admitted it. But I was aware that I had no idea where the scenes were filmed and wasn’t able to do much research on where to head in the area.

So when I got out of the station, I passed a used-CD shop and figured, heck, this is a good enough stop. One hour later, my fingers were gray with dust after sifting through the CDs in three shops – and I had spent £12 on CDs that cost between £1-2, quite a deal. However, by now the sky got impatient and it started pouring again. When it let up, I walked around a bit and saw some really nice apartments. But nothing from the movie.

So by 3:30 p.m. I was off to Kensington.


My objective was to see Kensington Palace, the residence of the late Princess Diana.

However when I got off the station I found myself in yet another busy shopping district – and once more I got distracted and found myself using up what time I had to do some window-shopping.

When I did want to go to the Palace already, I had a bit of trouble finding it. Surprising as it may sound, considering it’s size. But eventually I stumbled upon the gates to Kensington Gardens and after a short walk through this park, I beheld the Palace in its serene grandeur.

I suppose it’s like apples and oranges, but I started comparing it to Buckingham and how this palace felt like a home. Make no mistake that it was big, but it was flanked by rows of trees that hid most of its wings, hence only revealing parts of it at a time. And with a whole park next to it, you feel like you’re in an estate away from the city – even though you are right in the middle of London. You can actually go inside the Palace but of course, I was too near closing time that it wouldn’t be worth it.

It was already 5:15 p.m. by the time I got to the Natural History Museum. This was the ornate building that I first saw when I arrived from the airport. And Angela and my boss’ boss did warn me that a day won’t be enough to go around it. I suppose it was futile but I went inside with the 30 minutes I had until closing time – they waived the entrance fee anyway.

The lobby was as expansive as a grandiose train station, but look up at the stained-glass and arched windows by the staircase and you feel like you’re in Notre Dame (well, not that I’ve ever actually been to Notre Dame at this time, but I imagine it would be). You were greeted by this imposing dinosaur skeleton – a Diplodocus – whose head juts out beyond the ticket booths as if to smell every visitor that goes through the door.

Dinosaur exhibits always thrill me. There was a phase of my childhood when I was so obsessed with dinosaurs, I wanted to be a paleontologist. Good things that didn’t last otherwise I’d be Ross, my most hated character in “Friends.”

Funny thing is I’ve never actually seen a dinosaur skeleton until this year. And as if to make up for the lost time, I’ve seen quite a bit – the T-Rex and the Brachiosaurus in Chicago, the Apatosaurus and the large collection of dinosaurs in New York, and now this in London. Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to wander around. I had barely fifteen minutes left, so I just went up the staircase and looked at what exhibits there were near the lobby. Truth was, the interiors of the museum itself amazed me more. It was such an intricate Gothic revival building, with fine details in everything from the stairs to the walls to the pillars to the windows.

Took some photos and bought a postcard at the souvenir shop, then headed out with the rest of the crowd.

It was almost 6 p.m. and most of the other sights would be closed – Harrod’s included. I decided to just head back to Picadilly Circus and Leicester Square to grab some dinner and maybe look for some CDs at Tower, HMV and Virgin Records.


Night fell and I was wandering around Soho. I decided that tonight I’d go to a surely gay club and won’t be the loser that I was the night before.

Went back to my hotel, showered up and checked out my guidebook. I marked down two clubs to go to, mapped out how to get there and turned on the telly and lazily watched “Big Brother” while waiting for 10:30 p.m.

It was drizzling when I got out of the Tottenham Court station. I was heading for the Astoria, an old movie theatre converted into a club. At first I had trouble finding it, until I encountered a couple of loud queens – one of whom shouted “Hello!!!” at me when he passed. I was sure they were headed my way so I followed them and saw the place, and the queue that was forming outside.

The Astoria having been located, I went down the Underground again and rode to Charing Cross Station.

By the banks of the river Thames was a club called Heaven. It’s supposed to be London’s most popular gay club and filled three floors. It wasn’t difficult to find either. There was a large mob of people outside the door. Everybody was cordoned off and a bouncer and this guy with a clipboard were playing God, deciding who goes through and who doesn’t.

Most of the people in the crowd were in really spiffy suits and looked like they went shopping just for tonight. Lots of gorgeous men and women. I made my way to the side just to watch the proceedings. I was in an all black number myself, but I was certain that I still dressed too casually to get in.

This Italian looking guy was next to me. Strong jaw, five o-clock shadow, dusky features, broad shoulders – all the works needed to make it to a Calvin Klein pictorial. He puffed a cigarette beside me and for a while I was wondering if by some miracle I’d be so lucky. Of course not. After a few minutes, he spotted his companions and joined them. I’m sure they’d get in. I wasn’t too bitter. I’d be too self-conscious in this place even if I did enter. So with a shrug, I headed back down to the tube and went to the Astoria. My £4 day-pass was so worth it.

The place was called the Astoria but the club itself was G-A-Y. I didn’t realize this until I went inside. The place was indeed a cinema. They still used the ticket booth at street level. You went up and the coat check was where the popcorn stand used to be, and you go up the stairs. Enter the swinging doors and you were at the main theatre. There was a dance floor where there used to be seats and the DJ was playing right in front of the screen which still flashed images and ads. (Among which was the announcement that the 80’s band Human League would be playing this Saturday! Damn, I’d miss it.)

As soon as I entered the door, this guy suddenly tapped my shoulder and started talking to me. I was a bit weirded out and I think he realized he got the wrong guy. Or maybe that was a come on, I’m not sure. But he said sorry, I said it’s ok, smiled and just left. He didn’t look bad but wasn’t my type.

I was downing a vodka and tonic again and took my spot by the dance floor. Saw quite a number of cute guys and was relieved that at least tonight I don’t feel so alien in the crowd. There were even a few other Asians in there – some of which could have been Filipino like me.

After getting used to the place I started dancing. There were girls in there as well, mostly butch. In truth some guys were eyeing me, but I didn’t eye them back. Now if only I could get someone I like for a change.

About an hour later, this drunk fellow with a beer belly suddenly put his arm around me and was about to hug me. “Whoa! Hahaha…,” I laughed as I not-so-gently pushed him back. He was still at it and this time going for a kiss. Pushed him back again and quickly got out of there. Good thing he didn’t follow me.

I left the club an hour later. It was 3 a.m. Walking home, I phoned up my close friend and club-hopping mate in New York. I got her voice mail and just said that I was feeling down and very alone and wished she was here.

Back at the hotel, I needed to phone up Hong Kong and Malaysia for work. It was an insane thing to do, and the people I called told me so. But at least the night was productive in that way. Yes, work. Work is good. And my lovelife sucks more than I do – oh yes, a whole lot more than I do.