London Town

In the weeks leading up to my trip to London, I constructed a perfectly concise image of what the city of all my books would look like.  There would be cobblestones, like Paris.  There would be parks, like Paris.  Palaces and castles, museums and cafes, my imaginings were of an ancient city dubbed in English for my listening pleasure.  To my immense surprise, this wasn’t the case.  Whereas France has strict laws about where modern buildings can spring up, London as a melange of the old and new, with18th century brick pubs perched inside gleaming glass monstrosities housing Mango and Starbucks.

My wanderings didn’t bring me to any famed street names, but the palaces were real.  Coming up from the Underground station, you can see castles and parks spreading before you.  On my first few hours alone in the city, I found Buckingham Palace and the adjoining green space.  From there, in the distance, I could see the London Eye framed by trees, a swan in the foreground.  

When I found the walk along the river, near the Tate and the Globe, I fell in love with a city I had only found tolerable before.  Away from the Westminster queues and Covent Garden crowds, there were ancient ships afloat in locks and newer ships à la Steampunk hidden inside shopping malls.  And always, just in sight and just out of sight, all around, there were the pubs.  Comforting in their branded similarity, the menus were the same and the silverware always brought to the table in pewter cups.  There was Guinness for Pepe and prosecco for me, with chips or nachos or fried fish, depending on our mood.

The best moments of the trip were not passing by the must sees, exploring the crypt of St. Paul’s or taking in Tower Bridge.  The best times were taking the overground out of the city proper and into Greenwich, where we climbed a hill to the Royal Observatory and listened to Neil de Grasse Tyson explain dark energy and matter or the surprise of finding “real” bacon at The Swan.  Sitting through Measure for Measure wrapped in a coat and seated on hard benches was as enjoyable as a dinner at Nobu and champagne cocktails.  Eating Italian with the “family” was better than any double-decker bus tour could have been.  As always, it wasn’t the place that made the trip, but rather the company, long conversations, and endless card games sheepishly played at pub counters.  

Even the grey weather didn’t dampen the visit.  In truth, it only reminded me more of Januarys in Paris and falling in love.  The modernity of London is overwhelming in a way that I was unprepared for in Europe.  In Paris and Grenoble and Turin, the modern exists, but separately, lending a charm to the everyday.  London’s patchwork makeup lends another mystique.  Rather than revering the past, the city flaunts her new appearance her ancient bits melding with her glass and steel exterior.