Sunday July 4, 2010
The stalls at Shoreditch market seemed scattered about without much order. There were vendors of electronic appliances, ropes, toiletries, makeup, and so on. Smaller sellers laid out sheets besides the stands to sell their vintage trinkets and what could only be classified as hipster junk. One old Asian man selling knickknacks ripped me off by selling me a plug-in adapter that he claimed also converted voltage (damn the UK for being inconveniently different: driving on the left side of the road, using the £ instead of the €, having different outlet size and voltage, speaking Cockney…), when it clearly did not when I tried it after I got home. Doh!
Michael told me to seek out the curry vendors at Shoreditch, because the food is as good as the people-watching in the minority neighborhood. But I must have been in the wrong part of the ‘hood, because I did not smell or see any food. I couldn’t even follow my nose. I did stumble upon a large, eclectic vintage store that looked like something you would find on Portland’s Hawthorne. It had the familiar smell of second-hand clothes and old, worn leather gloves and shoes. In the back, there was your typical thrift store collection of fabulously hideous large poufy prom dresses from the 80s. The place even had a large excited rack of jumpsuits. Surrounding the entrance of the store, a group of animal-lovers protested the use of animal fur in clothing, claiming that it was still murder even if the piece of fur was second-hand. As I went in, they yelled that I would be financing a immoral trade even if I were to buy something that did not contain fur in that store. In the furniture area, I found Haskin’s The American Government, a fitting find, seeing that it was July 4th that day.
As I wandered around Shoreditch some more, a dodgy British-Middle-Eastern middle-aged guy caught up to me from behind and started matching my pace with a, “Hello, Love.” I nodded and smiled, picking up my pace so we wouldn’t be awkwardly walking together. He hurried along with me, laughing, “Don’t be scared. I don’t bite.” Too bad if you come any closer, I might.
Can anyone tell me why Picadilly Circus is so popular? It is far smaller than the tourist trap of Times Square, and it only offers one little fountain upon which to sit. The people-watching is mediocre, seeing that you’re bound to find yourself looking at rather uninteresting, fat, money pouch and visor-wearing tourists rather than Brits. I didn’t understand it myself as I passed by the crowded Circus on my way to the tourist centre to find myself a free map of London.
I took the Tube to catch the open picnic that was supposedly happening at the Chiswick House. My map didn’t cover that far west, so I asked some hipster Brits in plaid shirts and bright rimmed sunglasses the way to the Chiswick House, which turned out to be a bit of a walk from the underground stop. The two guys were entertained that I had an American accent, as every other person with whom I interacted would ask me about it on that trip. On my way, I passed by Hogarth’s house, which was unfortunately closed due to a fire. Nbd, just one of the best printmaker and satirical cartoonist’s house is all. I was expecting the Chiswick House to be a quaint little place with a park surrounding it. But it turned out to be a legit English estate, complete with expansive and historic gardens, a white-framed sunlit conservatory, and a magnificent neo-Palladian stone villa.
Families took advantage of the green fields to picnic. Children ran around on the grass and clambered on the trees while dogs paddled in the creek. The estate was extremely picturesque with characters in period clothing also picnicking and hanging around the villa. I could see then see why Austen’s characters so often took walks around the gardens after a lively dinner or before supper. How could you not when the gardens looked so lovely?
The weekend Tube closures were annoyingly inconvenient, because London is so spread out. I tried hurrying back into town to see the London Museum. But it turned out that three stops on the Metropolitan Line (I loved how the lines actually have names instead of logical numbers, a wee bit confusing at first but endearing after!) took an hour to speed-walk. The museum’s “You are Here.” sign funnily fitted the situation as I windlessly climbed to the front door. Walking through the sliding automatic doors, I met a large projection on the wall informing visitors what happened that day in British history. And according to the London Museum, the most important thing that took place on the fourth of July was the end of meat rationing. Huh, riveting. But before I could get far into the exhibits, the museum announced that it was closing its exhibits, thirty minutes before the actual closure of the building. Great.
Outside of the museum, a lone brown upright piano sat on the outdoor balcony walkway with large white words, “Play Me, I’m Yours” written on its front and accompanying sheet music. The piano was part of the City of London Festival, which scattered 21 specially-designed uprights all around London, each with the sheet music of one of Chopin’s 21 Nocturnes. What a cute idea, huh? It was one of the reasons why I started to fall in love with London.
Weary of trekking around the city, I jumped onto a bus at Liverpool to do a DIY city tour from the great front seat view on the second level. I found a great website that described the whole route and which city buses to take, which really was a great deal, since I purchased a 7-day travel pass with unlimited access to all transportation (except for cabs, of course) in Zone 1 and 2. The route took me through downtown to the southwest into Chelsea (I used to have a friend who lived there), another bus took me north where I caught another bus that crossed London the other way to the southeast side, ending at the Tower of London about three hours later. Screw embarrassing and expensive open bus tours when you can get a lovely DIY sightseeing experience covering almost all the historic sights in the centre like so. I’m pretty sure another couple was doing the same thing as the pair also sat in the front. The British guy was pointing out different things outside the window to his American girlfriend. Awww, so sweet. Reconciling after 234 years. It also gave me hopes to find myself a hot British boy. Jaja.
From the Tower of London, I took a walk along the North Bank all the way to the Waterloo Bridge as the sun went down and the Thames became gorgeous in the night. I came upon another one of those cute upright pianos by the London Bridge along the river walkway. I patiently watched a couple sit there and have some quality bonding time as one guy encouraged his shyer partner to practice a simple piece, which he sight read from the sheet music. I plopped down when they finished but struggled to play the Chopin Nocturne when the nonstop river wind kept flipping the pages. Finally, the shyer guy came over and asked if I wanted some help. I thanked him and was finally able to play the piece on the quaint little mistuned piano on the bank of the Thames. After, I was seriously creeped out on some parts of my walk, when entire stretches were completely deserted and silent. I half-expected to be jumped as I walked under bridges, through empty tunnels, or turned corners through dark underpasses of buildings. It’s crazy how the dark can heighten one’s paranoia. But I was still alive when I came upon the Waterloo Bridge, so all was okay.
When I got to Canada Water, a quiet residential neighborhood in the southeast Zone 2 of the city that is nicely located next to Surrey Docks on the Thames, I found that Luan had came back a day before his ETA. I quickly put away all my shit that I had haphazardly scattered around his bedroom as he finished up in the shower. What a funny way to meet, huh? But he turned out to be a way chill host. I thought I would be crashing on his couch, but he insisted on me taking his bedroom while he slept in the living room. Speaking of strange first meetings, we had an equally unexpected first conversation. Instead of your typical how old are you/Where are you from/how is your family convo, we had a therapy session for Luan, who came back from a traumatic vacation in Hong Kong where he broke up with his long-term girlfriend of five years. Yikes, I definitely had an emotional shipwreck on my hands. I gave the best advice I could to the guy who I had only known for about fifteen minutes. If only Asians liked sweets more, then maybe he would have liked my Ben and Jerry’s suggestion.
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