sedativegunk

At risk of abusing a Beatles song title to start out my first journal entry, while Canadians were celebrating Canada day Saturday, here’s a sample of what was on this city’s agenda that day:

England vs. Portugal football match
Europride
Roger Waters (Pink Floyd) concert
Wimbleton

Not that any of these is overly remarkable, but they were all considerable draws for masses of Londoners. Unfortunately I was only able to take in the first 2 as I had no prior knowledge of the Roger Waters concert until after it had already started and had no interest in watching poor-tempered uber-ego brats swinging rackets at little green balls.  Nonetheless, my first day in the city was pretty packed with things to do.

My day began at 6:30am when my plane touched down at Heathrow.  Actually, my day started at 6:00 the PREVIOUS morning back home when I got up to do some last minute packing before going to work for a half day.  I managed to get an hour’s sleep on the flight.  As luck would have it, I was seated next to a family of SIX (who still has THAT many children???), with all 4 kids under the age of 8!  Remarkably, they were all well behaved and my reason for not sleeping was more to do with excitement than juvenile agitators.

A quick trip by high-speed rail from Heathrow to Paddington Station (it’s so nice to be away from Canada’s 3rd world public transportation) and I was at the hostel a little more than an hour after landing at the airport.  It was too early to check in so I dumped my backpack and headed out for a morning walk.

To my pleasant surprise, my hostel is a block from Kensington Park, a huge expanse bordering onto the more famous Hyde Park.  I expected to see something similar to New York’s Central Park or Paris’s Jardin des Tuileries.  It’s nothing like either actually.  Both of these parks were used by royals as hunting grounds a couple of centuries ago.  Unlike Central Park and des Tuileries, Hyde and Kensington are full of wide open spaces rather than the monuments, zoos, museums and public buildings found in New York and Paris.  Second, the grassy areas are unkempt in many places, giving a natural appearance to the surroundings – the grass is tall having gone to seed and dotted with dandelions.  Before I saw the long grass, my nose and eyes had already found it.  Also the pathways are natural and meander through the landscape, not following straight geometric paths like
the typical French public space.  Plane trees, chestnuts, poplars, elms and oaks grow in their natural form, not hyper-pruned to resemble the
oversized cubes or hedges one finds lining the Champs-Elysées.  The natural appearance was a welcome respite from the stark concrete appearance of much of my home city, where parkland is sparse, tiny and underutilized.

What luck?  I arrive in London just as its poor inhabitants are suffering through a heat wave. A couple of locals thought I must find this heat oppressive coming from Canada.  I was going to tell them that periodically I have to rebuild my igloo the odd time when temps back home creep over the freezing mark, but I was pretty certain they might think I’m a sarcastic prick.  Though I have to admit, the chance to further propogate ridiculous stereotypes of Canada is often deliriously tempting.  I find the heat is easier to take in a country where there is little air conditioning and everywhere you go is hot.  Your body just gets used to it.

EUROPRIDE OR WORLD CUP???

Decisions, decisions.  As luck would have it the two events overlapped.  Couldn’t do both.  Everyone loves a parade and what could be more entertaining that a Pride parade.  But football is the national sport.  What is “Europride” anyway?  Does it mean that if you’re Europroud you’re Supergay?  In the end, I chose to do the true English experience, I squeezed into a traditional pub and watched the England vs. Portugal match.  Everything across the city slowed down while the game was on.  Most pubs were chock-a-block with football fans, singing national songs, waving flags and cheering non stop while the game was on.  At times it was difficult to tell if the crowd noise was coming from the TV or the people in the room with me.  In the end, the home team did not prevail.  Regardless, the crowds in the bar and in the streets were well behaved and good natured.  Londoners take their game seriously, but they’re not the hoodlems they are often portrayed as.

The end of the first day in the city came at around 5:00 SUNDAY morning, the time I arrived back at the hostel after spending the evening in one of London’s best night clubs and making the 1-hour walk back.  By that point, it felt like I had been in London for several days.

MARKETS, MARKETS, MARKETS!!!

I was up at 10:30 Sunday morning and bolted out the door to seek out London’s best Sunday markets.  It would also be a chance to see a little of London’s more working class and ethnic east end.  Wow do they know how to put on a market here…and lots of them.  The first market was cut-rate clothing, bootleg CDs, kitchy home decorations, appliances…you name it.  Just down the street was the second market…mostly fruits and veggies.

AND MORE MARKETS

Around the corner I found the grand-daddy of all markets.  This one is known as Brick Lane, after the street where the original market started.  Now it’s got everything and spills out into the neighbouring streets.  The streets are packed with people – locals and foreigners.  There are vintage  clothing venders, people selling old records, furniture, you name it.  And just when you thought you came to the end of it, you turn the corner and there’d be yet another warehouse full of venders inside.

Every culture is represented here.  All types of food…fish & chips, Bengali samosas, South African brai (barbeque), Chinese noodles, to name a few.
There was also a young Muslim preaching to whomever would listen with a recording of eastern chanting blaring from a stereo in his car.   Ironically, across from this young firebrand was the Evil Cathedral, a dark cavern of a building that would make anyone curious.  After stopping to listen to the Muslim guy I thought I should also check out this purported little shop of horrors.  To my delight it was actually a vintage store…the largest one I have ever seen.  It was full to the rafters with everything old.  Old bicycles and racks and racks of clothing, boxes of old records and stacks of stereos, cases of jewelry of all kinds.  I thought of friends at home who would lose their minds here.

THE DREADED DOG

Some of the market has even become permanent with stores that sell through the week.  One of them is called “Queens”, appropriately named considering the demeanor of the owner.  Through the store’s front window I could see the place was festooned with feathery things, flashy things, ribbonny things and sequincy ornaments.  The front window was so crammed with flashy, pinky, feathery, flowery things it would send a vertigo suffer into shock.  I HAD to check this out. One look at the store owner and I knew he was one of those maniacal party planners, a compulsive
organizer, someone who puts perfect to shame.  Not so much a social butterfly as a social pteridactyl.  No detail is too small to overlook.  Not even his dog…who was done up in dreadlocks.  Yes, a dreadlocked poodle.  Is this a special Jamaican breed? I contained my laughter as best I could.  I didn’t want to offend the dog, who might very well have been Rastafarian.  I didn’t dare ask what the dog’s name was…given the owner, the contents of the store and the appearance of the dog I could only imagine…but I’m sure it was perfect.

DUMELA NTATE

Sunday continued to be full of surprises.  As I was leaving the market area after spending considerably more time than expected (Ok, ok,  I ONLY bought some cherries…oh, and a set of cufflinks…ok and a t-shirt), I spotted a man wearing a traditional Basotho hat from Lesotho.  They resemble the Vietnamese conical-shaped “non la” hats made of grass or straw only the Basotho ones have a decorative ornament on top.  They are also coloured with simple patterns.  The point is, nowhere except in Lesotho do they make these.  I had to go say hello.  As it turns out he said he was from Lesotho and his friend was from South Africa.  I told him about my experiences in his country last year and how impressed I was with the
people and the beautiful landscapes.  The chat was really pleasant, and immediately reminded me of why I appreciated my trip last year so much.

After I left them I realized how uncommon the chances were that I would meet someone like that.  Lesotho is poor a country of only 2 million people and of those, only a tiny fraction would have the financial ability to travel internationally.  It gives you a sense that even with the end of the British empire, London is still an important metropole in the world.

WHO are YOU???

Ok.  It’s STILL Sunday.  The day was not over yet.  What next? Well, how about heading back to the hostel to freshen up?  Then maybe go out.  As luck would have it, back at the hostel my roommates were telling me that the WHO was playing THAT NIGHT in Hyde Park.  They were telling me that they were offered tickets when they were strolling in the park by some scalper.  They weren’t interested in going though.  “Are you sure?” I asked.  It seemed anyone else at the hostel who might have been interested was ALREADY there.  I had to get on this.  I missed Roger Waters the night before.  I WASN’T missing The Who.  How did I not know about this before???  Off I went…

Long before I got to the concert site I could already here the music of another band playing.  About 10 minutes away from the site, the Who began their set with “Can’t Explain”.  At about 2 minutes away, they were onto “Who Are You”, with the entire audience singing along.  Daltry’s voice boomed and Pete Townsend ripped through what has to be one of rock music’s best power chord progressions in history (even better LIVE).  I was almost there!  But HOW AM I GOING TO GET IN???  There were thousands of people milling about outside.  Who wannabes, Who hasbeens, Who
neverbeens (Who are they?  Yes that’s the name of the band.  Who? Yes. No, who is the band playing?  The Who.  The What?  No, WHO.) immigrant families dressed in traditional clothing playing with their kids to the booming music.  Something about a musical event that brings everyone out.

I resigned myself to sitting out the concert on the sidelines.  It’s ok.  I can handle this. The music sounds great out here. I’m not the only one who
didn’t get in. There’ll be another time. Bollocks, I thought. Don’t be defeatist.

The show was well underway (Daltry’s now singing “Behind Blue Eyes”, the box offices were closed and there was no sign of a scalper anywhere.  Funny, any time I have a ticket for an event I’m beating the scalpers off with a stick as I enter the venue.  I resent these guys for buying out all the tickets on the day they go on sale and reaping huge profits at the expense of suckers.  But, where the hell are they when you need them???

I circled the 15 foot walls of the venue (which took forever) and FINALLY found a guy 3/4 the way around.  After some dickering I got a VIP wristband for £30.  It sounds like less money in pounds than dollars, so we’ll leave it at that.  I was IN!!! Just as the first set was ending.  I ran in like an idiot, waded into the masses and disappeared in the crowd.

The show was superb.  (During the show I realized it was a year to the day that I was at Live 8 in Barrie with my nephew.  In between sets, portions of other concerts around the world were shown on the screen and one of them was the Who at Hyde Park.)  They covered all the big songs and did a couple of new ones (how many farewell tours have they done already?).  The encores were “Pinball Wizard”, “See Me Feel Me” and “Listening to You”.  What a night.

Yesterday was spent at the British Museum, looking at Egyptian antiquities, the Rosetta Stone, Roman sculpture and the North American exhibit.  And the best part?  It’s free!  How fine is that.  Now that’s a country that appreciates the value of education.

Last night I toured Westminster and saw both the Commons and the House of Lords in session.  I think Stephen Harper should take a good long hard look at what the Brits have done to the House of Lords recently before stampeding toward an elected Senate for Canada.  As one of the knowledgeable officers I was chatting with said, “What’s the use of another chamber of politically motivated individuals.  The emphasis should be on making it relevant, not necessarily elected.”  From what he was telling me, the UK has made significant reforms to make the Lords very relevant in the legislative process.  They don’t get paid.  They are only reimbursed expenses.  And most importantly, they put in as many sitting hours or MORE than the Commons, which is already one of the most active legislatures in the world.  A certain number of them HAVE to abstain from political activities.

Today I’m taking it easy.  Maybe the Tate museum this afternoon.  With such incredible weather, I’m not terribly inclined to do indoor things.   Tonight?  Antony and Cleopatra at the Globe Theatre.  Yes they’ve rebuilt the Shakespearean theatre to a T with natural lighting, open roof and bench seating.  £5 for a standing room ticket.  I’m there.

Tomorrow it’s off to Zambia.

Cheerio.