Standing beneath Big Ben in twilight as the bells tolled eight, I realized how lucky I am.
Jaysus, what a spot. I don’t get what I’ve done to deserve this – to be able to neglect any semblance of responsibility or obligation and just go for three months. I think it’s true that, the more chances and the opportunities you have, the more you have to lose by not making the absolute most of them. That’s the mantra I’m trying to keep in my head during this time.
Not that it’s that hard.
Yesterday, myself, Julie, Lor, and Harry left for London in the late afternoon. First time taking the train without D. Nichol – and, just like whenever I take the Metrobus to somewhere new, I was fully expecting/dreading we were going to end up in Kelligrews. Even though the train stopped a few times and went along at a snail’s pace, we ended up in Liverpool Station, with our off-peak tickets during peak time. Walking through the ticket carousel was kind of like being in Ocean’s Eleven, except with more at stake.
Grabbed a snack and went looking for a spot to sit down for a few minutes – which was one of the two advantages to this lil trip: we had no agenda whatsoever, just two feet and a heartbeat and a pocket map. The other advantage was that there was a small number of us, so we didn’t have to stop at every crosswalk cause only ten people made it across, or stop to do number checks every few minutes. Stumbled upon Finsbury Circus, where they were doing some major renovation work – screw it, sat down in front of an imposing green wall anyway.
And this appetizing artwork
After that, it was back to the streets, mapping out a rough course across the Thames via the London Bridge. After some weaving through the streets, which were packed at this time (and passing more than a few busy pubs too, which are really different because here, people bring their drinks out in front of the door with them all the time), we hit up to a similar route as on Monday, backtracking when we got to the Globe to make for the London Underground, pointing ourselves for Mansion House Station back across the river. Sunset was coming on, and we figured the London Eye at night was too cool to miss out on.
Mind the gap on the London Underground
With only one line and a few stops, it was easy enough to ride the tubes once we got our tickets. Stepped out at Westminster Station . . . and had one of the first honest-to-God-holy-shite-sublime moments of the trip.
Not that everything up to this point sucked. But this was staring us
in the face when we emerged from the station.
Twilight was just setting in, which made for the perfect time to wander around the Westminster area, stopping for pictures at just about every juncture (including more than a few in the most photo-ready-positioned red telephone booth in London). Made it to Westminster Abbey, continuing the theme of getting blown away by the freakin’ massive architecture, and after getting caught up in a Spanish tour group, we made for Westminster Palace, just across the street, the UK Parliament Buildings.
Decent spot.
After finishing the loop and coming back to Big Ben, we made the split decision to cross the Thames via the Westminster Bridge, rather than head to Trafalgar Square, like we’d originally talked about. Good thing we did; by the time we got to the London Eye, illuminated in blue lights on the southern banks, we had only ten minutes to get our tickets before it shut down for the night.
The Eye is one of these things that you should do when you’re in London, that’s absolutely fantastic, but it would take really specific circumstances for me to ever want to go back there again and dish out another £20. It’s a huge Ferris wheel (443 ft) that is constantly in motion, where each “seat” is a panoramic, 25-person glass capsule that gives you a constant, ever-shifting view of the London skyline. Whatta treat – Harry just about crapped his pants most of the way around, which is too bad since it took half an hour, but we survived and were the better for it.
Not to mention, whatta view
By this time, just about nine o’clock, with the last train to Harlow at midnight, we figured it a decent idea to take the tubes back to where we came from – or at least as close as we could get. We got off at Tower Hill, and after some unhelpful directions, found ourselves back at Liverpool Station with enough time to go looking for some food. Not that it was easy; most of the pubs in the area had shut down their kitchens, but we finally stumbled upon Nando’s Chicken, a cool Portuguese restaurant with a spicy flair and flamenco beats. Their beer was pretty tasty, too.
Just past eleven o’clock, thinking about heading back to our home-away-from-home. With a Tesco express right along the way, we stopped in to grab a few bottles of their oh-so-cheap wine, Harry forgot his ID and inadvertently created a scene, and we started speed walking to re-find our station.
I’m not going to make a big deal out of this, because in the end we got there, got on our train, and had a place to sit. But. As the minutes melted away, we passed a sign pointing to Liverpool Street Station. We kept going the other way. So, Friday night in London ended with us running back up the road, skirting across intersections, and getting back to the station with about five minutes to spare – enough time to find our platform, get through the carousel, and relax my pulse so I didn’t go into cardiac arrest right there on platform 4.
Wine helped.
No regrets anyway. That’s the name of the game, and it’s going good so far. Jolly good, even.
Cheers,
rb
No comments:
Post a Comment