I remember when I first arrived in London on a chilly February afternoon in 2008 for a working-holiday. I intended to stay for 6 months, have a serious think about what I wanted to do with my life while working a host of jobs through employment agencies. I was also to travel and find myself.
6 months turned into 7 years, 4 of which I spend living and working in and around London. In those 4 years I had 6 different address, moving from flat to house-share to room-share to flat. It was a busy time, much of it spent exploring the city. Though I am often reminded that today’s London is nothing like the cool London of the 60s, it’s still an exciting place where respite from the throngs of tourists can be found.
My memories of London are clouded in pink nostalgia, and now that I’m back in England, I am eager to get back to the city and retrace my steps, watch people, sip ale and indulge in the cheap, yet delicious, food (of course, there are places to indulge in expensive food, too.)
London is just over an hours train ride from Lewes, my home while I’m here. I get on a train early on Monday morning and am surrounded by men in suits. Dark trousers and white dress shirts don’t always fit properly. Many of these daily commuters already have their laptops or tablets out, working. Only a few are sitting with their eyes closed. The train is quiet – they must be soaking up the quiet before they hit London’s constant buzz.
At Haywards Heath the train is stalled due to a difficulty connecting another carriage, and while the train stands, doors open, more commuters pile in, bringing with them wafts of colognes, the sweet mingling with the spicy. This is good preparation for the city, before getting to the city itself.
The train gets to Victoria, and as soon as I’m off the train, it’s madness. Because it’s Monday morning, most of the commuters know where they are going – the muscle memory kicks in and they waver for no one, not even me when I stop to take a moment to remember exactly where I need to go next. London is changing fast, and all the construction and cranes and road closures make it difficult to orient myself. Thankfully, I have my ‘London A to Z’, a handy map to all the streets of London, and fairly good idea of where the Thames is, my constant gauge as to where in the city I am.
I know the general direction I’m headed, so I weave in and out of construction zones and alleyways, and head towards the river.
It’s a tourist spot, the Southbank, but it is beautiful and many Londoners still continue to come here: come during lunch time and you’ll see them running, unencumbered by the fact that the promenade along the Thames is bustling with walkers, full of cues for food trucks, playing children and skateboarding gurus.
My favourite spot is under the Waterloo Bridge, across the BFI (British Film Institute), where vendors set up tables full of used books, vinyl, and art (usually old prints and posters.) It’s rare for me not to walk away with a book or two in my bag, but this trip I can’t purchase books – I already have a stack that will be in my luggage from my trip to Iceland.
The Globe lives along the Southbank, now in its third reincarnation, the latest rebuilt in 1996, thatched roof and all. I see Much Ado About Nothing for £5.00. My ticket indicates that I am a ‘groundling’ – for this price I get the pleasure of standing in the pit to watch the performance. It’s a three hour play, but the actors move, dance, sing and often trudge in, spitting their lines, through the audience to get to the stage, so there is enough movement to make the standing bearable. If the play is good, you don’t notice; during intermission you can sit on the floor. This year’s production is set in Mexico, during the revolutionary years post 1910. It’s amazing to be standing in a mob of strangers, watching a play, and laughing.
Another wonder along the Southbank promenade is the Tate Modern Museum. There are vast empty spaces, and galleries full of colour and creativity. The Tate also has an amazing book shop – I always gravitate towards the magazine section: this isn’t the place to pick up a Vogue – many interesting issues of a variety of art and culture magazines line the shelves.
The Southbank is also a great place for a bike ride, though I wouldn’t cycle here during the weekend when buskers and people are out en masse. Once, my friends and I rented bicycles for the day and rode from the Southbank all the way to Gravesend, to see where the Thames spills out into the English Channel and the North Sea. It was a magical ride, and one certainly doable by novice riders on heavy, rented bikes. The route is clearly marked, though not always along the river’s edge, and there are plenty of places to take a break. The views along the river, cycling out of London are stunning and educational – you leave the bustle of the city and ride towards industralized England, past and through several plants. The flood gates in the river are a cool sight. In Gravesend you can eat a greasy meal before you hop on a train back for London, as we did because this wasn’t the time of our lives when we were in the best of shape and some 50 km of riding had taken the steam out of our, by the end, screaming muscles.
London becomes a different place on Friday and the weekend.
Soho is a maze of activity. Today is Friday, just gone 3pm and people spill out of the pubs and onto the streets. Most pubs have a roped off section where patrons can drink and have their cigarettes, but on a Friday even these barriers quickly swell and people drip onto the pavement and garnish the pavement stoop like salt on a Margarita glass. It’s delicious to look at. There is chatter and laughter and you can’t help but smile. I have been told that looking at another person in England is an invitation for a fight, but I can’t help looking at people and smiling: I’ve never been punched.
The streets are crowded on a Sunday when masses make their way into the city. It’s August and there are hundreds of language school students, easily recognizable by their bright, and often, yellow or blue backpacks. Solace can be found in The City, the financial heart of London, where offices and shops are closed, and paper rubbish is free to use the wind corridors to play. Even the coffee shops here are closed. It’s a cool place to visit if you’re looking to see a deserted part of the city. It’s eerily quiet, and close to some sights from the Harry Potter films, including Leadenhall Market which was shot as Daigon Alley, and the Tower Bridge.
Go to Leicester Square, Covent Garden, Camden Town, Spitalfields Market, Brick Lane, Notting Hill or anywhere else for noise. Go to any of the free museums and get lost in a painting. I usually go to the National Gallery and stare at Turner’s skies, before I head to the National Portrait Gallery where I attempt to decipher what it means to be human by starting into other people’s faces and reading their wrinkles.
Better yet, go to a show, for some organized and wonderful noise.
I’m lucky – there is a flamenco performance by Paco Peña Flamenco Dance Company at Sadlers Wells Theatre. I’ve only ever seen flamenco on screen, or in squares, after sunset, in Spain. My host for the weekend, Marisa, kindly treats me to this performance, and tells me about the strength of the female performers, their confidence and power. She’s not wrong. My heart is beating throughout the performance. I’m sure that my heartbeat is in rhythm to the heartbeat of other audience members, all enthralled. I’m perched at the edge of my seat, eyes fixed on the feet of the dancers, on the fingers of the musicians, of the performers’ faces. No caffeine is necessary to make blood rush through my body. There is practised and clever teasing of the audience. Incredible athletics combined with sensuality and flirting. I leave the theatre feeling taller. Stronger. Inspired to get what I want. To be the chooser not the choice.
If flamenco or Shakespeare isn’t your thing, go and see something else. London is bursting with all kinds of shows. In 2004 I went to see an exhibition of British graffiti art at the Cans Festival…basically, a few streets and tunnels were turned into graffiti art. There’s always lots going on, and many of the events are free.
At some point you will check the time to realize that is way past lunch time, that you haven’t eaten anything since you’ve left home early in the morning, and you’ll finally hear the desperate call of your stomach that is aching for nourishment to keep your legs moving.
To quiet my stomach I go to Bi Bim Bap in Soho, though there are dozens of good places to eat. The simplest, and in my opinion the best, bowl is only £7.50 and it is full of delicious goodness keeps my stomach happy for hours.
I always order the Dol Sot and the Kimchi Pancake, and each time I burn my tongue. I know it’s going to be hot, I even get the warning from the waiter and the bowl itself, which is steaming, but I mix the vegetables and sauces and the smell overpowers my discipline to wait until the bowl cools. I take a small amount and let it cool in my chopsticks. Still it burns, yet I keep on eating this food that is burning my mouth, a little less with each bite, because it’s moorish. The Korean ginger root cold brew helps. The meal never gets cool. It doesn’t even get cooler, but it does reenergize.
Another incredible place to eat cheaply, and well, is Borough Market. I used to have a temp office job close to the market, and on a Thursday and Friday all the office workers, me included, clad in our professional office wear, would come and queue for our burgers and burritos and fancy breads. The market used to be messy grunge; much of that is gone now, replaced by order and many more food stalls, but still, it is an experience I wouldn’t miss. I pass by a stall serving Indian dosa and dahl and can’t resist. The two women running the stall are machines, working in unison, speedy and practised movements as they mix a bowl of chickpeas, make dosa, take customers’ orders and make change. They are hot and tired, but smiling.
It’s good to be back in London. It’s vibrant, organized chaos, full of people, buses, smells…things. However, my memories didn’t contain the smell of car fumes, and the sweat of shoppers attempting to barge their way through as many shops as possible, some with their luggage in tow, trying to get through the narrow aisles of racks of sale items. Granted, I am also on a bit of a shopping spree – some of my favourite shops haven’t made their way to Canada yet.
The train ride from London back to East Sussex always feels a little too long. The conductor reminds customers that only people’s bottoms should be in the seats and that if you’re on the wrong train you can get off at Clapham and take another train to such interesting places as Uckfield – this gets a giggle from a few people who read the sarcasm in the conductor’s voice.
There is always a group that is talking too loudly and if you’ve forgotten your headphones you can’t help but hear their conversation. Today some foreign students are talking to an Englishman about their experience of England. They are confident and happy.
London is a place that is full of energy, but the city has the ability to steal yours. Mind you, you give your energy willingly until you can no longer walk, blisters fighting for growing space between your toes and the shoe. You smile, enjoying the pleasure of a busy city and the nostalgia it leaves with you when, on the train at Clapham Junction where many people get off, you finally see a vacated seat on the train, plonk your bottom and let your feet hang in the air for bit. Ah yes, then London is at its best.
The man next to me is drinking a cold Grolsh. His can is sweating. He’s already emptied 2 cans which are patiently waiting for their third companion. The young people talk about marriage and religion and weddings and laugh. Innocent flirting. It’s cute. It reminds me of my youth and travels and the people I met, the times I was a little too noisy on the train but I didn’t realize because I was high on adventure.