Several ways exist to approach Greenwich. Some would find it exciting to arrive by river. I chose to go under the river. But my journey to Greenwich was the longest and most involved I had this trip—and it need not have been.
I took the Piccadilly Line to Leicester Square and transferred to the Northern Line and got off at Embankment to transfer to the District Line for Tower of London. Then I walked over to the Docklands Light Railway Station where I was exceedingly puzzled to find no trains for Greenwich even though signs proclaimed in large, bold letters that Tower Hill Gateway was the station to take.
Fine. I got on the a train going east. Now the DLR is not like the tube. It’s more like a surrealist Disneyland ride through a series of tableaux. The trains have no drivers and mostly are elevated and at window level. So let’s go through the East End where the names Shadwell and Limehouse invoke seedy crime-ridden river front life. In the twenty-first century it’s world of scaffolding, run down council flats, graffiti, and open pits. Then suddenly one comes upon a swank marina with pleasure boats and luxury townhouses that would not be out of place at Newport Beach. Then a few minutes on, we’re back among the ugliness.
And yet not long after that one arrives at Docklands. I changed at a station called Poplar and again at Canary Wharf. The tracks wind through the gleaming high rises. Some are corporate buildings, some expensive hotels (Would you pay five hundred dollars a night to have some snoopy train passenger look in your room?). Swank condo towers house the business folk who work here—or I suppose so. On the weekend it was kind of spooky.
But the train I picked up at Canary Wharf took me to Island Gardens where I hopped out, admired the view across the Thames to Greenwich and then plunged into the Pedestrian Tunnel that goes under the Thames.
It’s actually rather like the transfer tunnels on the tube only longer, and drippy.
Greenwich is a very pretty and terribly historical place. It manages to be touristy without seeming like a trap. The first thing that strikes the viewer as she emerges from the tunnel is the glorious Royal Naval College, splendidly designed by Sir Christopher Wren. I enjoyed a good wallow in Late Baroque because they’ve opened things to the public that were previously not. The painted room features frescos on the theme of the Triumph and William and Mary, and you will be glad to know they had the approval of the Olympian Pantheon. There were far too many putti for my taste—although it’s well known that I think one putto is far too many. But it’s a beautiful and very grand room. I was also lucky enough to see the lovely chapel in the same style.
Wren’s structure was not the first royal commission to occupy the riverside. Inigo Jones, the follower of Palladio who built the Banqueting House in Westminster designed a country retreat for James I’s queen, Anne of Denmark, and it was later used by Henrietta Maria wife of Charles I, so it is known as the Queen’s House. Wren was sternly ordered Not to Spoil the View. His solution was masterful.
I visited the Queen’s House. There’s nothing of large historical interest remaining, but I was interested in the architecture, and I found the house very pleasing and on a human, livable scale. I think I am going to hold on to Chiswick House, so one of you can have this one—on condition that I get invited regularly.
Then on to the National Maritime Museum, which is chock full of models, nautical relics, weaponry, interactive exhibits, and anything else having to do with sea power you could want. I especially made sure I visited the Nelson room, to see his Trafalgar uniform and other items associated with him.
Up the hill in Greenwich Park is the Royal Observatory where you can visit the Prime Meridian and see a lot of fascinating things including Harrison’s clock that allowed the accurate calculation of longitude. I did not go this time. And down by the river the Cutty Sark was undergoing restoration so I did not get to see it.
What I did do, is go to Greenwich’s market. The usual crafts are on offer. There’s no junk. The “food hall” is amazing. What continent are you interested in? Antarctica is the only one not represented. I include North America because they have TexMex, but why not go for Ethiopian instead? The smell was incredible since they were preparing the food right there. But it had turned sultry, so I had ice cream—honey flavored and delicious.
I had a very good time poking around the market and the town. Then I picked up the DLR near the Cutty Sark. It zipped under the river and emerged in Docklands and wound its way back to stop at Bank. I got the Central Line for Holborn and home.
Right now I am sipping refreshing Bitter Lemon and eating olives, as I watch the final stage of the Tour de France, but for dinner is Chicken Tikka Masala—the second national dish of Britain.
Well? Come on, Pil. How is it?
Good! Cardamom-scented rice and rich, creamy, and slightly sweet, spicy sauce with chicken chunks. I had something called Chicken Rogan last Sunday, and it was a bit too hot for me. This has a bit of an afterburn, but it’s not unpleasant. It definitely tastes exotic because of the spices. I wouldn’t eat it every day or even every week. But eat it again? You bet.
No comments:
Post a Comment