Part 2 London:
Customs:
We get off the plane and follow a crowd of passengers into a crowd of passengers that merge into an ever larger crowd that bulges and then splits like an ameba, into two parts, European passports and ‘Other.’ We are other. There are thousands of us squeezed into an endless snake-like line.
Photo taken just before I saw the sign. ‘Do Not Take Photos.’
There’s no edges to the mass, just people, far as you can see.
An hour and fifteen minutes later we have finally made it to the inspector who is friendly and courteous, with smiles. How do they do it? He asks how long we will stay, and stamps us in. “Have fun,” he says. We’re on our way—almost. More time spent waiting for a bus that’s late.
An hour and thirty minutes later we get off and start to look for our hotel without much luck. It’s a pretty big hotel and we have the street address. We’re sure we are very close, but nobody knows where it is. I am gaining a first and lasting tourist impression. Nobody here is from here. They are all from somewhere else, friendly and helpful. Cell phones come out. We finally find it, take a three hour rest, then we’re on our way to Covent Garden and Leicester Square.
More crowds. We’re never more than three feet from another person. Introverts will understand my stressful point of view, but wife has plans and endless energy. She’s Swedish. We peruse the mammoth shopping center. Somebody’s singing opera with surprisingly loud voice amidst the passersby, and those at outdoor tables having lunch with drinks and conversation. We pay an extravagant price for a barely average dinner, but I’m grateful just to have a place to sit. I make it last as long as possible, then we are on our way again.
My legs and feet are killing me. I find a curbside space to sit as wait as wife goes off to do some short term, freelance shopping. Feet are on my mind and I start noticing the feet of people passing by. I took some photos. Wish I’d taken more. An interesting curbside vision. Could have led to something.
Wife returns with some notebooks she’s been unable to find in Sweden and we take one last walk—not far, to Savoy Theater, and Dream Girls.
Good, soft seats, just three rows back from stage – a total pleasure. Great show with fantastic sets and actors. Wow, those voices, and the dancing. Cast is black, all but two token white guys—had to be damned good to make that show. They all were.
We got lost again on our way home, three blocks away from our hotel, but finally found it. Then to bed. Thank God. Tomorrow’s Saturday, and London Bridge. Seems like it ought to be an easy thing to find.
Customs:
We get off the plane and follow a crowd of passengers into a crowd of passengers that merge into an ever larger crowd that bulges and then splits like an ameba, into two parts, European passports and ‘Other.’ We are other. There are thousands of us squeezed into an endless snake-like line.
Photo taken just before I saw the sign. ‘Do Not Take Photos.’
There’s no edges to the mass, just people, far as you can see.
An hour and fifteen minutes later we have finally made it to the inspector who is friendly and courteous, with smiles. How do they do it? He asks how long we will stay, and stamps us in. “Have fun,” he says. We’re on our way—almost. More time spent waiting for a bus that’s late.
An hour and thirty minutes later we get off and start to look for our hotel without much luck. It’s a pretty big hotel and we have the street address. We’re sure we are very close, but nobody knows where it is. I am gaining a first and lasting tourist impression. Nobody here is from here. They are all from somewhere else, friendly and helpful. Cell phones come out. We finally find it, take a three hour rest, then we’re on our way to Covent Garden and Leicester Square.
More crowds. We’re never more than three feet from another person. Introverts will understand my stressful point of view, but wife has plans and endless energy. She’s Swedish. We peruse the mammoth shopping center. Somebody’s singing opera with surprisingly loud voice amidst the passersby, and those at outdoor tables having lunch with drinks and conversation. We pay an extravagant price for a barely average dinner, but I’m grateful just to have a place to sit. I make it last as long as possible, then we are on our way again.
My legs and feet are killing me. I find a curbside space to sit as wait as wife goes off to do some short term, freelance shopping. Feet are on my mind and I start noticing the feet of people passing by. I took some photos. Wish I’d taken more. An interesting curbside vision. Could have led to something.
Wife returns with some notebooks she’s been unable to find in Sweden and we take one last walk—not far, to Savoy Theater, and Dream Girls.
Good, soft seats, just three rows back from stage – a total pleasure. Great show with fantastic sets and actors. Wow, those voices, and the dancing. Cast is black, all but two token white guys—had to be damned good to make that show. They all were.
We got lost again on our way home, three blocks away from our hotel, but finally found it. Then to bed. Thank God. Tomorrow’s Saturday, and London Bridge. Seems like it ought to be an easy thing to find.
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