A Saturday Morning in London and a Train to Cambridge

My first Saturday in London can be described by the words crowds and midriffs. The city that had enjoyed status as “eclectic” up to this point became fully “different.” As Phil, Logan, and I bumped and slid our way through the crowds near our hotel, I began to feel that even as wild as the weekdays had been, the weekend in London was truly a different animal. We stopped to watch a “Gay Pride Parade” go by for 15 minutes or so and what was most fascinating about it was the fact that members of the British armed forces marched in the parade. A group from each the naval forces, army, and air forces marched, followed by a group of the prison guards of London. It was pretty amazing seeing that. I don’t know if I’d ever see that in America, but I think I may be experiencing a reverse travel lens: the idea that suddenly everything I see here is different from home.

And that’s certainly not true. People dance here, people eat here, and people kiss here. Goodness do they ever kiss. Europe certainly displays their romance a little more openly than I’ve seen in the U.S. And this is London. Certainly this city is pretty, but not exactly the most incredibly romantic place one could visit. But the couples full on mouth kissing in public in the parks have certainly kept a mixture of romantic appreciation and social mortification in my heart and mind. I think my favorite thing I’ve experienced in relation to being surrounded by different people is a small moment on the Thames yesterday. These two German women were taking pictures with Parliament in the background but being pretty silly about the whole thing. They were just laughing and laughing and I turned to Philip and said, “I love that laughter translates.” It wasn’t till after I said it that I realized how wonderful it that truly is.

But as we traveled down the road, I found myself wondering about the reasons for the large crowds in our little district. Certainly there was a good deal of shopping in our area which would account for some of the crowds, but not enough for our huge amount of crowds around us. I suddenly became aware of a trend in the crowds around me: bare midriffs. Young women everywhere wearing shirts that exposed their stomachs and lower backs. Clearly it’s the fashion. Is it that way back home? I haven’t noticed. Not that I’m really up on fashion. But I was so taken aback by this fashion pattern that I began to count the number of young women wearing these strange demi-shirts. One, five, fifteen, thirty. Around 37 I lost count because we finally came across the cell phone store I had been looking for. After a free international SIM card, 10 pounds, and a frustrating discovery that my phone wasn’t actually unlocked like AT&T claimed, we went back onto the streets of rainbow clad dancers and bellybuttons.

We stopped at a little place clearly themed to be an American diner for lunch and enjoyed the smiles the waiters gave us as we ordered our burgers in our casual American accents. A sign was painted onto the wall that read: “No dancin’ in the aisles!” which left me confused and sad. Is that supposed to be a representation of America? I always felt we were a nation that appreciated a good dance session. I certainly do. We laughed at our table over the sadness of the sign and wondered if we would be accosted if we actually tried to dance in the aisles. I tested this theory as we left, and I didn’t get any reaction, so the sign was clearly a lie, in both representation and enforcement. A waitress was giving me an odd look as I danced out and I decided to have more fun with her. I smiled large and genuinely and told her, “Thanks for lunch! Reminded me of home.” With a laugh and a wink I left, having done what I assume could be my best impression of the playful American youth abroad.

On our walk back up the street London let loose a barrage of rain, sending us scurrying into a bookstore. It was clearly a chain store, nothing out of place or used. We perused the shelves, enjoying the large amount of British authors and UK editions of some of our favorite American novels. I found my beloved Hemingway, Faulkner, and McCarthy all happily stowed in the fiction section sporting shiny new covers that I suppose are printed with the intent of convincing an Englishman that it’s better suited to his taste.  Without anything out of the ordinary from a Barnes and Noble and with the rain outside stopped, we traveled back out to find that the parade was now in full force, pumping electronic remixes of pop songs towards the churning crowds on the sidewalks. We didn’t dance as we continued down the crammed sidewalk, and something inside of me felt guilty as I realized that I indeed was following the doctrine of “No dancin’ in the aisles.”

We reached the Grazing Goat, retrieved our bags, said goodbye to the extremely kind managers, and fought our way to the Underground station. Doing this laden with all of our luggage was more an acrobatic feat than an act of travel,  Somehow, we made it through the groups of bellybuttons shouting, “An’ I told him, I ‘hve to go to wehrk tomarrow, I can’ just be staying heuh.” King’s Cross was a fun experience, and a curt little man sold me a ticket saying only, “Platform 8.” I told him thank you and have to a nice day, to which responded, “Thank you. Platform 8.” Sometimes I just shake my head think, “How British.”

I’m currently on the train to Cambridge, occasionally looking out the window and the green fields of agriculture and the mixed forests that remind me of my home in the American southeast.  Philip is writing on his laptop and looked over, mouthing (because we both have headphones in), “I’m writing about you.” It’s fun having a friend on this trip who is just as interested in writing about this trip and the people we meet.  Logan wrote some earlier, but has been napping.  He likes the writing, but not in the weird way that Philip and I do; I see writing as a release and something that removes my inhibitions and I think Philip understands that too. He is much more positive about everything than I am, and enjoys travel on a deeper level than I.  Not to say I don’t enjoy it, it’s just that I’ve always been a bit of a homebody and family centered person (including my closest friends as family), so being away from home wears on me heavier than some people. His positive energy and my more sardonic take on things make for an interesting tandem of outlooks in our experience, and it certainly has made this trip better and more eye opening. Every time we meet a person or see something interesting we look at each other and say, “I can’t wait to write about that,” even though there’s a good chance we’ll write about it differently. Granted, I haven’t done the best job of writing everything I’ve done or seen, but sometimes I like to experience things and let that be enough.

We should be reaching Cambridge within the next 45 minutes or so, and though I could keep writing, I want to take some time to stare out the window and admire England. I’ll talk to you all again soon.