Wednesday, June 28, 2017

In which we visit London and avoid a smoting (England part I).



It had been a long time (oh about 17 years) since my last visit to England, so when an opportunity recently presented itself to explore the south coast for long weekend, I jumped on it. A Hamburg friend was there for a conference during the week and invited me to join him afterwards for a couple days of exploring in mid-May. Any offer for someone else to drive me around the British countryside sounds like a good offer to me, so I bought my tickets and set my alarm clock for very early on a Thursday morning.

The plan was to play in London for a day and a half or so before heading south for the weekend, and the train from Gatwick pulled into Victoria Station hiccup-free in the warm morning sunshine. After poking around for a bit, I met up with a British friend at his workplace for a delightful morning stroll and tea in St. James's Park, dodging the tourists darting between Buckingham Palace, Westminster Abbey, and Downing Street. Not feeling any inclination towards touristy destinations, I was more than happy to sit on a bench watching the water fowl waddle past and get caught up on the last months of news since my friend had left Hamburg. While applying sunscreen, because -- amazingly -- that was necessary. When my friend had to get back to work, I settled myself on an inconspicuous bench in Parliament Square Garden for a round of people watching while tour groups of all nationalities took selfies in front of Big Ben. It was only as I got up to leave that I noticed I'd been sitting in front of a statue of Abraham Lincoln the whole time -- perhaps one of the last people I would expect to bump into in that busy square. Guess he needed a break from US politics, too.






That's about the point the sun went away in favour of some more stately, slatey clouds, and I proceeded with my city wandering. It was a wonderful afternoon of sitting in churches, strolling along the Thames, and drinking tea at an outdoor café in Covent Garden while a string quartet and glorious, pink-shirted tenor traded time slots in a nearby corner of the market. The quartet played a mix of short, poppy tunes, with the musicians leaping or unleashing magnificent singing voices as required. The tenor slathered on the charm and juiced the audience for all he could, whether it be serenading people at tables or hanging off the staircase, crooning to people on the landing above who were, in turn, hanging off his every note (and oh boy, could he sing). 




It had just started raining by the time I left the café, so I whipped out my so-glad-I-grabbed-this-on-my-way-out-of-the-apartment-this-morning umbrella and optimisticked that the rain would soon pass. It did not, but I enjoyed wandering anyway, walking the shiny little streets of Chinatown and Soho and wherever else I ended up with feet that were perhaps not as dry as they prefer. As evening approached, I braved the rush hour crowds on the Tube and made my way to a lovely home in west London, where a fellow Smithie had kindly offered to host me for the night (thank you!). 




After a night of good food, good company, and good sleep, I traveled back into the city and hopped on a train to Winchester, City of Kings and Priests, where I wanted to poke around and go on a quick hike before meeting up with my Hamburg friend later that afternoon. (After which my mother provided me with this überwhistleable Ohrwurm -- but be warned -- it'll wiggle its way into your ear canal for the long haul). Once there, I walked downtown in the bright sunshine and pouring rain (yes), and asked the Helpful Lady in the tourist information office for tips on where to stroll for a couple hours, after having read about a particularly glorious walk in a trail guide I'd found at the library. She told me exactly what I needed to know and I went on my way, through violently green meadows and gardens and along a river out of town. 






Once I got about a mile out into the countryside, the clouds tightened and thunder got a-grumbling in the belly of the sky. At this point I had to ask myself this question and decided to chance it and go on, hoping the storm would blow over or at least wait until I got back to town before hitting. I felt pretty safe for the next half hour or so until I got out to the farthest point in the countryside, far away from any sort of shelter, and the sky shouted "HAHA, FOOOOOOOOOOL!" and started unleashing buckets of rain and hale and lightning and all the fun things that always had our family cocker spaniel cowering under the bed back home. Even with a raincoat and umbrella, I was soaked through from the waist down in a matter of minutes, not to mention my entire backpack full of things. When standing under my umbrella wasn't keeping me any drier than walking, I texted my friend where to look for my body should the lightning get too friendly and continued my walk back to town in search of any sort of shelter. An archway in the corner of a church graveyard provided me just that, and I hid behind a curtain of water pouring down from the building above until the sky had drained enough to make a safe exit. Then I tiptoed my way out across the graveyard, dodging ancient headstones and buttercups as the hale crunched in the grass underfoot. 










The sun was shining again by the time I entered the tea room of the Hospital of St Cross a couple minutes later, looking for all the world like a watered poodle. There I kerplunked myself into an inconspicuous corner with a pot of strong black tea and listened to a small group of American college students bantering with one of the Brothers, all of them having a delightful time. Closing time approached and the Church Ladies behind the counter started making a show of washing up dishes and wiping off tables, semi-subtly encouraging visitors to move along now. An elderly gentleman, clearly a regular at the establishment, got up from the next table over and, on his way to the door, stopped beside me and said, "I don't mean to interrupt, but are you alright?" in the kindliest, most apologetic and British-sounding way possible. I assured him that oh yes, I was fine, just a bit rained on, to which he smiled and went on his way.  




By the time it came to leave, I'd told my friend where to meet me but hadn't gotten any confirmation, so I decided to stand on the corner along the main street where I assumed he'd be driving, and was pleasantly surprised when he pulled up just a few minutes later, having spotted my excessively red jacket. Talk about being in the right place at the right time! After automatically opening the door on the right side of the car and getting a pretty hefty smirk from my friend, I remembered what country we were in and got in the passenger seat on the left instead. From there we proceeded to our airbnb, where I hung up all my stuff to dry before going grocery shopping, cooking, going on a spooky evening stroll, and sleeping like a very sleepy baby. 

Rather an unfortunate day weatherwise, but all that would be made up for by the spectacular adventure to follow the next day.