Thursday, June 30, 2011

London Calling.

This is a story of everything going more or less exactly to plan. There is no dramatic betrayal, no ancient love sweeping me off my feet, no unexpected Hollywood twist at the ending. It starts with a very simple drive in a very simple jeep with a very simple goodbye. I am only leaving for a week after all. It continues with a very simple check-in process and a relatively easy shuffle through a security line. The thing about airports that you have to remember is that they are nowhere near as terrible as they are stereotyped to be if you give yourself time. The other thing to remember about airports is that their food is ridiculously expensive.

Boarding takes longer to get underway than I would have liked, but again, being in very little hurry made this mean little more than an experience in prolonged boredom. On the plane, I am seated next to two Scandinavian men who are possibly Finnish. I don't get the chance to ask, as at this point I am in a bit of a hurry. To sleep. And sleep I do. For the entire flight, with an eye to being able to stay awake until a reasonable hour on Thursday.

Entering England is just as simple as leaving Canada, with no hurrying, no theatrics, no drama. The same goes for leaving the supposedly demonic Heathrow airport. Paddington makes for a friendly architectural face as the Express brings me into London. Ticket kiosks and tube lines are just like greeting old, friendly acquaintances. They grow, they change, but they're still that familiar old thing you left behind all those years ago. This makes for a simple journey from Paddington to King's Cross.

While this isn't a story with any drama, hopeless love, or unexpected twists, it does still have struggles. Struggles such as walking from the tube station to the hostel. This isn't a struggle of epic proportions, just one of inconvenience. With a heavy duffel in tow, I walk an area of London I have never walked before, to a destination that I'm not entirely certain of. Once I find it marks the end of the struggle, the end of rereading my directions just for an excuse to set down the duffel, the end of constantly shuffling the thing between hands in order to avoid blistering.

Leaving my bags at the hostel relieves me of a very heavy burden and frees me to return to the Underground and ride the tube until I find the right station to bring me to a long overdue reunion. Being me, however, I arrive a few hours early. It is important to realise that this is not a bad thing. Far from it, in fact. It allows me to take frivolous pictures of things I have seen countless times before. It also gives me the time to sit under the Hungerford Bridge and just watch and listen to the living city. Behind me there are a group of buskers playing jazz-influenced music, to my left is the mighty river Thames, and to my right is a bar on wheels. Tourists, school children, and business men alike walk past as I am reminded why I fell in love with this city in the first place.

The music stops and I can hear the soft, faint 'whish whish whish' of the Thames singing her gentle song in the background. In the foreground, happy children scream a melody of delight while hurried business men walk down the Queen's Way, their dress shoes providing the percussive beat to this amazing experience swirling around me. The wind picks up and the Thames sings louder, joining the children in their melody. This is London's song.

Having lost myself in the music of London, time rushed by me, running a marathon of spite and glee. For now it is time for that long awaited reunion. Smiles shine and sparkle through eyes of fatigue and excitement. Jubilance, friendship, and trust spread across grinning conversations. Long-standing friendship, compassion, and a loving history spread with an eager embrace. It's lunch time and the clang-clang-clink and scraping of plates provide a fitting high-tempo soundtrack to this giddy reunion. Words fill the air, providing a streaming narrative to a picture-perfect lunch. Like in a fairytale, I am welcomed back to London officially by a friendly face and a caring friend.

After being sent on my way, I embark on a hunt for forgotten souvenirs and missed opportunities from when I last lived here. The train jostles and creaks, forcing me to dance to its percussive chug-a-chug beat. Like many others around me, it tries to lull me into a gentle sleep, an unlikely lullaby making my eyelids droop downwards like melting clocks painted on a canvas. But the day is not yet over and I mustn't give in to the DLR's jostling embrace.

I arrive in Greenwich too late for any of my touristy ambitions to come to fruition. Market vendors tiredly pack up their businesses as I meander through the empty market floor. With all of the shops closed I am left to wander this amazing little town. Modernity punctures the historical landscape with deep honking car horns and the wailing scream of an ambulance's siren.

Creeping along the water's edge, the naval college stands proud, stern, and weathered, just like the sailors it has produced. Walking through the grounds, a light rain traces my skin, giving me a small chill as it tries to wake me up. For a moment I am lost in the history of the place, with a woman singing in an operatic voice somewhere above me it becomes easy to imagine this area before cars, before phones, before computers. While I missed out on the museums and the shops, I am still able to leave contented and happy to have made the journey.

On the weekend London is an entirely different beast. It sounds different, it looks different, it breaths differently. As the night blends seamlessly into day I am left to wonder exactly how much sleep I managed to scrape together on the Night Riviera. Since Reading I have been shaking like a leaf in a summer storm. I want a bed, I want a blanket, and I want to be welcomed by some sense of normality. But it is now Saturday, and as I said, on the weekend London is anything but normal.

I manage to make my way back to the old courthouse that I have called home for the short duration of my stay. Crawling into a neglected bed, under the cold covers, I look forward to a quick rest before I begin this, my last day in London. A snooze that was not in fact a snooze has left me hurried for the second time in as many days, forcing me to race in order to put myself together and return to the Underground. Weekends in London means nothing runs as it is supposed to and I will be lucky to find my way into an area of town woefully unfamiliar to my eyes.

With surprising success, I have found the Olympia and the Doctor Who Experience with no fuss and no complications. Walking through the Experience makes me feel giddy as a child. After all, I get to save the Doctor. The Daleks sneak up behind me, making me feel nervous, and for the first time I am properly afraid the these villains. Still, they do not terrify me as much as the Weeping Angels as I am forced to walk  down a dark pathway surrounded by these serene statues, which are the stuff of my nightmares.

The exhibit leaves me confused with a giddy sense of curiosity and excitement, combined with a sense of disappointment. Costumes, props, and monsters surround me, give me a sense of history. Sadly, the artwork behind some of these monsters, which I know to be beautiful, is made to look forgetful and bland by poor lighting. The overall impression of the place is redeemed by smiles and friendly conversation from everyone I encounter throughout the building.

Leaving the Olympia, I make my way back to the familiar area of London. The Tube brings me to the DLR and I am flushed with an overwhelming sense of deja vu as I make my way back to Greenwich. The empty market of Thursday has been replaced by a bristling, busy social environment, one that is nearly impossible to walk in. Mentally, the hunt has begun as I make my way through the market.

In the streets I find success, spotting a little nautical shop on the corner, from which I manage to find a suitable British tankard for the military officer I call a brother. From there I am disappointed to find the park under construction as they try to prepare for the summer olympics. Thankfully the meridian line and the planetarium are left untouched, allowing me to walk through their exhibits, learning the history and the science of the area. The planetarium offers a show, providing a look at asteroids and comets as part of their Impact Season. The plush reclining chairs, dark room, and soothing narration have me struggling to stay awake, and despite my best efforts, I find myself dosing off in the middle of the presentation.

With my last day in London being very nearly over, I have decided to be unapologetically touristy and meander to the London Eye. At first, the long, tangling lines frighten me away, but with a little mental coaxing, I decide to go all out and treat myself to a champagne experience. With this slightly more expensive ticket, I am able to avoid the long, winding line as well as the overcrowded capsules. Instead, I find myself in a capsule with 8 or 9 other people, each treated to a flute of champagne as we go around in a big circle, getting a view of the city that is otherwise impossible to find. Cheers.