I'm learning that experience supersedes
all. I've studied London specifically through literature and have
dedicated countless hours of research compiled into coherent MLA
essays and that gave me only a sliver of understanding what this city
is like. I'll be honest though, I have a love-hate relationship with
this town so far, and since I'm on vacation, we'll start with the
dessert. London is without a doubt a very vibrant city. You can't
help but get caught up in the energy of it. The slow, laid back pace
that I noted in Ireland is nonexistent here. Like most metropolitan
cities I'm familiar with the people here are constantly in a rush. No
more was this evident than when I was in Waterloo station at 6pm. It
looked like a track meet; a track meet of remarkably fashionable
sprinters. That's another thing about London, the people here dress
immaculately. They can be impersonal at times but that's not to say
that they're unfriendly. I could definitely stay here for two weeks
without getting bored. The food and nightlife are amazing, couple
that with the fact that its also a historical and cultural mecca and
its tough to find any faults. Doug generously took me to the National
gallery where we saw originals from Renoir, Rembrandt, Van Gough and
Monet. I'm not an art buff by any means but I still felt honoured to
see the authentic brush strokes first hand. After that we went to St.
Paul's Cathedral where I was floored by the architectural expertise
of Wren. Apparently the Catholic church has some money, who knew. We
ambitiously decided to head to the top of the cathedral which was
approximately 400 steps. The lactic acid burn was worth it though as
it gave us an unparalleled 360 degree view of London from the top.
But now getting back to the bitter entre. As hard as I try, I can't
seem to escape the catered tourist experience that pervades every
major landmark. For instance, I visited the Tower of London but
wasn't able to appreciate the history of the building at all. I had
to move with the hordes, gluttonously devouring the moment with
pictures. It turned the whole experience into a monotonous routine of
shuffle snap shuffle. Just cattle entering the abattoir. There's
nothing like eating ice cream on the grounds where martyrs and
political activists were tortured. It felt manufactured. At certain
points along the tour speakers gave off ambient noises of sword
fighting and battle cries. It made it seem too close to a universal
studios ride for me. I felt so ripped off that it actually motivated
me to head as far east as I could on foot. Free from the tour buses
and key chain kiosks I could breathe easier. The stench of sewage and
diesel were floral to me. Here the artificial smiles were swapped for
grimaces. That sinking feeling in your gut when you see five hard
looking strangers heading your way. All they need is a second glance,
an excuse. Give me truth or nothing at all. I kept walking towards
the docks until my knees throbbed. After wandering for a few hours I
found myself in the Whitechapel area. After all of the literature
that I read surrounding Jack the Ripper it was surreal to trace his
steps. There was a definite uneasy feeling that followed for those
blocks. Eventually I headed back towards St. Paul to wait for my
friend Denise to arrive from Scotland. As I sit here writing this in
a swanky cafe I can only feel gratitude. Regardless of the faults
I've found with this city I am still amazed by it and thoroughly
happy to be here. I realize that my sober musings don't have that
alluring humour punch that my drunken stories have. In Berlin I will
rectify this.
