Something about London, part 1

London by train. Home to hotel, door to door, it takes me almost 10 hours. I admit taking a train early. Just in case. But everything goes smoothly. Even the dreaded Brussels Intercity, famous for it's delays. Getting off at Brussels Midi is a bit of a let-down. The Eurostar travels from this station to London so I sort of expected something sleek and modern. But I feel like getting off on some East German platform during the cold war. Until you go underground and get to the check-in for the Eurostar. Then the anticipated vision becomes reality. Only to be blown away again when you enter the platform where the train is waiting. You're back in East Germany and the train itself isn't helping. They've been going back and forth for quite some years now and the wear is beginning to show. I do have a window seat but that's really no plus. You mostly travel underground or in between noise barriers. And when there is a view, it flies by at high speed so you can hardly take it in. I believe it takes less than half an hour to travel the tunnel itself just to be greeted fairly quickly by the national grid on the other side.

I walk from St. Pancras Station to my hotel. It gives me a change to soak up the atmosphere of the town. And to try and get used to people driving on the wrong side of the road. During a little sit down in the Russell Square Gardens and see my first grey squirrel. I remain calm and collected. No one is going to see I'm a tourist, so no running after squirrels with a camera. But I guess my luggage gives my tourist status away anyway. It might have been just that, that makes the man wanting to talk to me just before. I have no interest and think of the best excuse ever on the spot, in my humble opinion. "I'm on my way to meet someone!" He is disappointed I'm not on my way to meet him, but he doesn't persist. Mission accomplished. Since I'm only going to be here for two days I haven't made any plans. Accept for the reason I'm here: Scott Kelby's World Wide Photo Walk. On passing the British Museum however I wonder if I should put it on my list of places to go. I'm not really a museum person, but the interior of this one should be quite interesting.

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My hotel is on a bustling street and I'm pretty sure they will put me in a room on the top floor with no elevator in the house. I won't find out just yet. My room isn't ready so I can't check-in. I make my way to the Thames leaving the bulk of my luggage behind. With a few detours I find a bench along the river across from the Eye to have a belated lunch. I seem to be blending in already. People start mistaking me for a 'native'. They either want to sell me something but can't anymore when they realise I don't live in the UK or they ask directions. Later on in St. James Park I'm even approached by some tourists asking me what building that is across the street.

Walking across Westminster Bridge to get that all important every-tourist-must-have-shot of Westminster with Big Ben I realize I enjoy people watching more than the actual views in front of me. Everybody is on that bridge and everybody seems to think they're on that bridge all alone. So why should they consider others? Some scenes could be straight from Comedy Capers.

I find a new resting spot in St. James Park. I share a bench with a lovely old Asian lady who kindly asks permission to come and sit next to me. In front of me is the lake with all kinds of waterfowl. And a little to my right I see them. Hopping around in the grass looking for something to eat. Begging passers-by. Very audacious. Nothing like our shy red squirrels. These grey guys hop onto fences just to smell if someone has anything to eat in their hands. They can just reach with their little noses. And the really daring ones might even jump onto you to sniff you out. But my eye keeps wandering to that man. Walking stick in his right hand, a paper under his left arm. His appearance makes me believe he could be homeless or at least a very solitary man. Maybe he's a hoarder of some sort. Lonely. He keeps walking up and down the path in front of me. A hundred, maybe two hundred yards. Staring into the distance. As if he is looking for something, or someone. I try to photograph him secretly. I'm not sure how he would react if I were to openly photograph him. To me he embodies what a city of this magnitude can do to a lost soul. And I feel for him. I'm sure that if I go back tomorrow or the next day, I will see him again.

And then there's those three airheads passing by with their ridiculous union jack hats and crowns. I should take a picture but I simply refuse to. Their attitude is arrogant. "Hey look at us here being funny. Take lots of pictures and post them so we become famous." Famous for what? Being definitely not funny. Sorry. I just had an instant dislike to them. The giggly just-married couple walking the park with their photographer for the wedding shoot make me smile again. Both dressed in white. The girl wearing, believe it or not, yellow Dr. Martens. Now there's a sense of humour I can appreciate.

When I finally get up from the bench to slowly find my way back to the hotel, I greet the lovely Asian lady and am too shy to take her picture. Something I regret straight away. But maybe we too will meet again. If we do, I will definitely take her home with me. Promise.

Back at the hotel the owner goes out of his way to make sure I have a pleasant stay. They did put me on the top floor and with no elevator and some heavy luggage that's not an appealing combination. I end up in a little studio just around the corner instead of a room at the hotel. Newly decorated, more space, a little kitchenette, all at no extra charge. I'm off the busy street in a haven of tranquility. Alas only for a short time. I go out to do some shopping and when I come back to write this all down, the neighbour decides to play some music. Good thing I brought my earplugs. I will need them if I want to get some sleep.