Being a Tourist In London

I don't know why London fascinates me. Since I have lived in Colorado, I have come to be uncomfortable in large cities, or even in large groups of people. But I love London, and have since the first moment I stepped out of Victoria Station in 2000, when I brought my mother here, onto the busy, crowded, crazy, dirty, smelly streets of this city where humans have lived for over 20,000 years. Perhaps this is just a place on the earth where people OUGHT to be. Whatever the reason, this city owns a little piece of me. I don't want to live here, but I will never pass up an opportunity to visit and merge with the pulse of this place, if only for a day or two.

The last 2 days have been affirming. I was going to say "wonderful" but that word is too generic. Which is not to say the past 2 days haven't been wonderful, indeed, they have, but there's also a deeper significance to them as well. It took me a while to settle on my time of travel for this pilgrimage. First, I planned to leave in the middle of September, but it seemed too close to Sept. 11. Then, G.'s much awaited knee surgery was set for mid-October, so I thought I would go in late August to give myself enough time, but I really didn't want to go in August at all, so that had me all in a twist. After some deep and true discussion, G. assured me that she would survive her surgery with the help of our good friends, so I was back on again in September. But when? A few years ago, I had traveled on Labor Day, and it had been quite pleasant, so I decided that might work again. Labor Day it was, depart on Sept. 3. Then, my friend M. told me that she might be doing her annual house sitting in London around that time. I told her my firm dates, and lo and behold, she would be there at that time, and I was welcome to stay with her for my few days in London. It seemed like it was meant to be.

My flights to London from Denver to Toronto and from Toronto to Heathrow were smooth and easy. I actually had empty seats next to me all the way, and a bulkhead seat to London with enough room to cross my legs! That alone is quite enough to be thankful for these days. Once I arrived at Heathrow (30 minutes early!), I got to the customs cattle call, and waited. However, everyone was in the same boat, and the line moved along pretty well, considering. After I got through, I thought I had better give M. a call to let her know I was here, and what our plan of meeting should be. Lo and behold, she tells me there is a tube strike that day, and that only a few of the tube lines are running. This could be a serious thing, as Heathrow is a good distance west of London City, and a taxi would probably be more than the price of a hotel room!

I tell her I had planned to take the Picadilly Line to Green Park, then switch to the Jubilee Line into London Bridge Station and we would meet here. Amazingly, which lines of the tube were the only ones running? Picadilly and Jubilee, of course! Thus, despite being packed into the train closer than your average sardine, I made it to the London Bridge tube/train station in good order. M. had said to meet at the food court, so I followed my nose, and there she was. From there, we took an eastbound commuter train to East Dulwich (pronounced "Dull-itch"), and 4 stops and about a 1/2 mile walk later, we were at our digs. I was incredibly happy to just drop my backpack and carry-on, which I had lightened considerably at the airport by putting on my boots and adding a few more things to the backpack. After catching my breath, I looked around the house and the yard. Like most city houses in London that I have had experience with (admittedly few), from the front, it was unassuming. The back yard, however, while narrow (maybe 30 feet wide), goes back probably 50 to 75 yards. There's little grass, but many plants--fuscias, asters, goldenrod, begonias, a good stand of blackberry bushes, an apple tree offering a nice big apple, mimosa trees in pots, and a magnolia tree that is currently in bloom. Magnolias in London! Who would have thought?

After my tour, we "picked up" with some fruit, cheese, and bread, and I met Hampton, the 20 year old cat that came with the house. He didn't seem too impressed, as he didn't wake up long enough to meow. We discussed what we might want to do, and settled on doing a "Ghosts of London" walk given by London Walks that evening. But first, I had to have a rest. I knew I couldn't afford to actually sleep, but I did need to lie down. So, off we went. And, since it is hearly 11:30 p.m. here now, I am off as well, to bore you with more London tales tomorrow.

Sleep well!

Crone