Warning: This is long post. It is the concluding series of London diaries. These are some snippets of my trip :)
Always curious. That’s me. So I decide to walk from Blackfriars Pier to Tower Bridge. Along river Thames I start my journey. Near the Tate Modern Art Gallery, I take a wrong turn and the river side disappears. Since I know I am walking in the direction of the destination, I don’t panic. Modern architecture gives way to narrow lanes with cobbled pathways and stone archways. It is a treat to discover something old and quaint preserved right in the centre of the city.
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And on a windy day I decide to go to Greenwich. To stand on the line where time begins is an amazing feeling. Around the line are names of all the capital cities and the time difference in all. I search for Delhi and I can’t find it there! I mean those %^&(* Britishers don’t have the capital city of India in the list. I do manage to spot Mumbai in the list.
And on a windy day I decide to go to Greenwich. To stand on the line where time begins is an amazing feeling. Around the line are names of all the capital cities and the time difference in all. I search for Delhi and I can’t find it there! I mean those %^&(* Britishers don’t have the capital city of India in the list. I do manage to spot Mumbai in the list.
While coming down from the Royal Observatory, I am busy taking photos. I miss a step and tumble down. The stone pathway is merciless as blood trickles down. After first aid and injured knee I return home limping.
That’s when I see people scurrying home. And some carrying England flags, rushing towards pubs. I watch the England vs Sweden match with a few British friends who tell me that the world mania is such that their respective offices recently held inter departmental mini world cup. A friend works in a museum. She tells me that the paleontologists lost to the finance department (and somehow it reminds me of Ross in Friends).
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And this one time, I am buying souvenirs when I meet a girl from Ghana. She moans about the fact that she would like to eat homemade spicy Indian curry and I moan that I have to eat it every single day of my life! She promises to look me up when she comes to India. Lets see if that happens.
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In between shopping and sight seeing I manage to squeeze in a lazy afternoon at Hyde Park. As the sun plays with the clouds, I sit and have my lunch. A rock concert is going on there. A beautiful afternoon is spent taking in the green grass and the blue skies as the music fills up my soul. A mandatory visit to the serpentine and watching the ducks in the water, the afternoon turns into evening and its time to leave.
That’s when I see people scurrying home. And some carrying England flags, rushing towards pubs. I watch the England vs Sweden match with a few British friends who tell me that the world mania is such that their respective offices recently held inter departmental mini world cup. A friend works in a museum. She tells me that the paleontologists lost to the finance department (and somehow it reminds me of Ross in Friends).
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And this one time, I am buying souvenirs when I meet a girl from Ghana. She moans about the fact that she would like to eat homemade spicy Indian curry and I moan that I have to eat it every single day of my life! She promises to look me up when she comes to India. Lets see if that happens.
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In between shopping and sight seeing I manage to squeeze in a lazy afternoon at Hyde Park. As the sun plays with the clouds, I sit and have my lunch. A rock concert is going on there. A beautiful afternoon is spent taking in the green grass and the blue skies as the music fills up my soul. A mandatory visit to the serpentine and watching the ducks in the water, the afternoon turns into evening and its time to leave.
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When good girls pretend go bad, they go to Camden Town. Yes, I am Guilty. I have never seen Goths in my entire life and I wanted to go to Camden Town to ‘see’ them. Tattoos, pieced body parts, black leather clothes, silver chains, mohawks, black makeup, tough looking.
When an almost thirty something elder sister says she wants to buy leather trousers for herself, I jump at the chance and decide to shop around Camden.
When an almost thirty something elder sister says she wants to buy leather trousers for herself, I jump at the chance and decide to shop around Camden.
We were the only Asian girls walking down the street. After doing a bit of window shopping and people staring, we got down to the agenda of buying leather trousers. Shop no. 1 - a fast talking Italian tries to sell us trousers for £100. Hasty exit. Shop no. 2 – can’t find the right size, the salesman offers to custom make it for us. On asking how much is that going to cost he says £600. We are about to beat a hasty retreat and he starts to laugh. Then he says he was just kidding. He’s trying to flirt with us. Turns out, he’s an Indian from Gujju Land (All cheesy ones belong to this place?). On establishing an Indian connection and icy response from us, we decide to check out other shops. There’s another we go to. The shop owner has a Russian accent and the trouser costs a bomb. Anyway I guess it cheaper to buy the trousers from India, so we drop the idea and just browse around.
Sticking out like sore thumbs (read: not in the Goth dress code) and getting some weird glances, we decide to leave Camden town.
Sticking out like sore thumbs (read: not in the Goth dress code) and getting some weird glances, we decide to leave Camden town.
And then when I walk down Knightsbridge and Oxford street later on, the contrast is there to see. Women who look like they have stepped off the ramp on to the streets walk about as nonchalantly as Goths would in Camden Town.
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I realize that I have used all possible means of transport in the city as I travel in a tube, bus, train, tram, car and on foot. The only transportation I don't take there is an autorickshaw, an image of which I can see displayed in a shop window at Oxford Street.
When I decide to eat Turkish food, I am told Marble Arch is the place to visit. Every second restaurant there is called 'Maroush' just like every second Indian restuarant has the word 'Elephant' in it.
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On the last day of my stay there I indulge myself – buying shoes, accessories and clothes from the high street like its my last day alive J
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As all good things come to an end, so does this except while going to the airport, I cry buckets. I just don’t want to come back to India. There is so much more to see and discover. Obviously I have to come here again.
Originally posted on Tuesday, July 04, 2006 2:05 PM
