Like an American Tourist

I got the chance to enter true tourist territory when a good friend washed up in London from the distant shores of Staten Island and desired my company for a day out in London. Thanks to the over scrupulousness of Stansted airport’s passport control and the unreliability of its rail service, it wasn’t until about 1pm that we headed out with high hopes of all we could achieve in the 4 hour window left open to us in which to ‘do’ London. Despite my assertion in an earlier post that Big Ben is a major if not the emblem of London, my dear New Yoiker, despite being a very intelligent lass, had not heard of this fabled Big Ben. Apparently she had heard tell of a certain “Ben grande” thanks to a Spanish acquaintance, but not having heard of it before she was not entirely sure if her direct translation (of Big Ben) were correct. Now that is taking tourist in London to a whole new extreme!

So some serious London educating was needed. And if only I were better equipped to offer it, being little more than a tourist myself. I endeavoured to do my best however and we began the tour in Covent Garden which delivered as usual. There were still the remnants of Christmas decorations floating around, which helped to brighten up the grey old January day, and despite the miserable weather a few hardy living statues were lining the street as well as a performer wielding what looked to be a chainsaw...? One mulled wine later (mulled wine seems to be making numerous appearances, but only because it’s short-lived season must be made the most of) and after a moment enjoying the soothing tones of a string quartet, we headed towards the river on foot. With the help of an improvised map, cunningly created by taking a photograph of one of those handy pillar things that are dotted all over London, we managed to navigate our way riverwards, smoothly incorporating Leicester Square, Trafalgar Square and many other very important looking buildings that I failed to enlighten my companion about regarding their function, history, or relevance.

Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament were domineering as ever and inspired the usual awe and happy snapping. Sometimes I need to be reminded of the beauty of my city, and the panorama along the Thames never fails to hit it home. 

With time a ticking, we could only fit one more stop into our afternoon of explorations, and we chose to visit Abbey Road, which, being a terrible Londoner as already mentioned, I have not only not visited, but also had no idea where this famous cultural landmark is situated. (St john’s Wood for those of you who don’t know ). By the time we got there darkness had descended which somewhat hindered our attempts to get the perfect photo of us crossing “that crossing” in a suitable Beatles-esque style.  Just to complicate matters, Abbey Road is a surprisingly busy thoroughfare; so many a speeding van was halted by our various endeavours to strike the pose slap bang in the middle of the road.



This was about the best shot we got...not very traditional, but hey.



 Judging by the amount of tourists that must flock there every day, I am surprised that London savvy drivers don’t try to avoid Abbey Road.

Quite a fitting post

Although on second thoughts I suppose if I had to drive a van all day every day I would quite enjoy the spectacle of foolhardy tourists making the dash to get their photo before they are run over by a motorbike, and be quite amused by the various ridiculous poses deployed on the crossing. In fact, Abbey road Studios clearly appreciate the entertainment factor involved in such ludicrous re-enactments of the crossing’s 5 minutes of fame because they have set up a webcam allowing you to watch the goings on at this newly declared heritage site live, at any time, day or night. See http://www.abbeyroad.com/visit/ Hallelujah, I need never be bored at work again!

Like the true tourists that we were, a visit to Abbey Road would not have been complete without turning graffiti artist and signing the white wall outside the studios; a blank canvas just waiting to be written on by Beatles fans. Apparently the studios repaint the wall every month and the process begins all over again. I like that the Studios are down to earth enough to allow such defacement of their property month after month, and it certainly adds to the touristic experience. Quite frankly:





Happy Snapping



Glorious afternoon sun on Southbank

A brisk winter's afternoon on Southbank

A foggy morning in Gunnersbury Park

City Speed

London Underground

Night falls

Leg One

South London is an elusive being to me. I have never really ventured far over that side of the river, beyond a trip to the Millennium Dome as an excitable year seven and a few nocturnal excursions for various nights out. One wintery Saturday, after finding myself in Peckham having taken a rather worse for wear friend (lucky for her I’m upholding a strict no names policy) home, I proceeded onwards and southwards (or eastwards?) towards Lewisham to explore the many charms the surrounding area has to offer.

I started off in a delightfully down to earth caff on Brockley Road – Star Cafe to be precise – with a cup of tea costing 50p, which actually tasted infinitely better than any overpriced designer brew purchased in Starbucks or the like. I don’t know whether this was to do with the fact that by the time I arrived I was in such desperate need of a cup of tea that any concoction offered to me, no matter how inferior to my own brew making abilities it may have been, would have tasted like a little swig of manna to my tea-thirsty tongue. Or perhaps I had just found my kindred spirit of tea-makers, who uses the same milk to tea ratio as me and leaves the tea bag in for just the right amount of time to get that perfectly satisfying caramel colour. Whatever the reason, it was a great cup of tea and lasted just long enough for my guide to arrive and sweep me back out into the cold.

But not for long, as our first stop was the intriguingly named Jam Circus situated just a few yards further up the road. A cosy place for a lazy weekend lunch, and a festive one at that with its berry laden branches hanging from all sorts of nooks and crannies and a man in the window painting a huge reindeer display.

Hunger satiated and hair of the dog well and truly underway, it was time to enter the depths of Deptford and to sample the wares that its market had to offer. Stepping into the market felt like entering real London. This is a true local market, with no pretension and definitely no overpriced, oversized glasses in sight. Stalls of bedding and pillows and bath towels are wedged in next to tables piled high with mobile phone chargers, covers, cases, sparkly things, dangly things and every other type of phone accessory you could possibly desire. And perhaps a few off-the-back-of-a-lorry items thrown in for good measure. But once past the general market stalls is when the good stuff really begins. It is as if a junk shop has been turned upside down, shaken around and the entire contents dumped on the ground in a muddle of delicious potential bargainiferous finds. If I hadn’t been so broke at the time I most definitely could have walked away with a battered old trunk, a vintage typewriter(although what I would have done with it who knows) or any number of old fashioned telephones and quirky trinkets. I will definitely be heading back there when I have some money to spend as you never know what you may stumble upon if you delve deep enough.

Following the intoxicating Christmas smells of mulled wine and incense wafting westwards led us from Deptford market’s simple charms and on to something a little more upmarket and a little more festive – Greenwich Christmas market. This market strikes me as the perfect place to get a mother or an aunt a nice little Christmas present and the rich colours, dangling fairy lights and a little pinch of mulled wine to warm the cockles certainly gives you that festive feeling.

Greenwich itself is a far cry from Deptford and almost has a country town feel with its cobbled streets, Georgian houses and shop fronts and York-esque quaint little alleyways to wander down. Never having been before I was very pleasantly surprised by how attractive and bustling Greenwich is, and will most definitely be returning when the normal Greenwich Market returns with its antiques, arts and crafts and clothes stalls.

Like a Tourist

Yes, I am indeed a Londoner. Born and bred. No, I’m afraid I cannot point you in the right direction of Big Ben.

This sad fact came to light when a few weeks ago I alighted at Waterloo station in order to find a friend’s hotel that she described as ‘opposite Big Ben’. Big Ben eh? - a fairly substantial landmark, and pretty famous at that. In fact, many would see Big Ben as the emblem for London, along with red phone boxes and double decker buses. And yet I found myself at Southbank looking out to the dark and silky Thames and pondering a rather awkward dilemma – which way to Big Ben? I had a vague inkling that left was the way to go, as I knew the Tate Modern was to the right, but confidence in my sense of direction is shaky at the best of times (and with good reason you may say). Turning to the nearest passerby for help who, unsurprisingly, was more of a tourist than I am, confirmed that my sixth sense was correct and Big Ben was indeed to my left and, ridiculously, only about  200 yards from where I stood. It was in that fleeting moment – whilst caught in a crossroads between Big Ben and the Tate Modern – that it hit home quite how much of a tourist I really am in my own city. Time to remedy this I feel. And so begins operation Like a Tourist. My mission? To dive right in to my hometown and delve right out, with the unadulterated enthusiasm of a Japanese tourist, those obscure (to me at least) bits of London that I have neglected for long enough.

And so I embark, feeling a bit like Theseus wandering through a vast labyrinth of faceless streets, into the depths of this ever throbbing and hustling and bustling city we call London. I know not where each elusive corner will lead, but luckily I haven’t come across a Minotaur yet. Quite the contrary in fact, I have stumbled upon gem after London gem and an insatiable hunger to discover yet more has taken hold.

I have always heard tourists rave about how much they adore London, and while I have swelled with Londoner pride at their compliment of my home town, I have never fully understood their sense of wonder. Until now. I think this transformation coincided with my own transformation from part-time Londoner – returning only in the holidays from University and more intent on saving money and catching up on sleep after a draining (both economically and physically) term than exploring far off corners of London – into fully fledged Londoner – resident, employee and general girl about town. Having always lived and gone to school in West London my social circle was mainly restricted to fellow west Londoners who knew more or less the same parts of London as myself. Now, having acquired an eclection of friends from University, work and elsewhere, I find myself surrounded by people who live, work and play in all corners of this city, each of whom have their own distinctive spheres of influence, knowledge and experiences within this mighty metropolis. Now I intend to utilise their knowledge and gradually make it my own.