Views over London

A proper good morning to you.
The rain appears to have moved on—maybe. It’s cold and cloudy, but I did not get dripped on today. I decided to take a “flight.” But NOT in an airplane. Flights are what they call a turn of the London Eye, the world’s tallest ferris wheel.
I started early tubing from Holborn down to Leicester Square and then changing to the Northern Line and changing again at Embankment to the District Line. The goal of this underground rigmarole was Westminster. The tube exit is right by Westminster Bridge and Parliament, and across the bridge sits the Eye. Now I just showed up before it opened and got in line and it worked out. I did not wait long at all. But people can also book timed tickets on line. One can also book a pod for a private party—the really cool thing to do is to get married on the eye. In the evening posh “Champagne Fights” occur.
Now my day was not the best. It was cold, windy, and as I mentioned cloudy, nevertheless it was an enchanting experience and one I highly recommend. Some will tell you to do it first thing on your arrival in London to orient yourself, but I say get over the jet lag first.
We were not packed in as I feared, and I shared the pod with some nice and friendly folks of various nationalities, who offered to take each other’s pictures and obligingly moved out of the way when one wanted to snap something. There is not much sense of movement and no noise either—just a smooth and very slow rising above the Thames with the city and the encircling hills laid out before one. I caught glimpses of Greenwich and far off Richmond. I looked north to Hampstead where I was going next. Various landmarks jumped out: St. Paul’s, St. Mary Axe, the British Telecom Tower--even Buckingham Palace!—just the façade by the way. Nothing is allowed to over look Her Majesty’s gardens.
I was sorry when it was over. I strolled over to Waterloo, paid 30p to use the toilet and then took the Northern Line to Hampstead.
Now I can hear you grumbling through the screen. We love those woodland walks, Pil, but we don’t have the time in London you do. Well, don’t fret, mates. Go to Hampstead. The town itself is very pretty and Victorian although the streets are steep. I stopped in at a Hungarian patisserie for a piece of heaven called an Almond Slice. Almonds are good for one, I rationalized as I shoved it down my throat. I could taste the butter. Do almonds make up for all the butter I’ve eaten?
Then I walked over to the Heath. Hampstead Heath is not exactly a park. There are park-like and garden areas, but most of it is wild meadowland and wood land. There are a lot of paths and few signposts. It is possible to get lost, and you definitely do not want to be there after dark. But during the day it’s lovely and quiet and has the advantage that unlike Richmond it is not under the Heathrow approach.
Some historical sights are in Hampstead. I enjoyed Keat’s House one previous visit although I did not go this time. There are a few more things, but nothing major—it’s just a pleasant place to poke around in and have tea.
I started walking downhill. It’s a long, long hill and I walked a long way, taking off my sweater, putting it back one, taking it off . . . At length I came to Camden High Street. Camden is known for its market. I am known for not being able to resist a market—although I’d call this one more of a tourist trap.
A real travel writer would describe Camden on a summer Friday afternoon as “vibrant.” In other words it was a zoo. Some really nice crafts were on offer and much junk. What kind of food do you want? You can find a stand selling it. I thought it looked like a pickpocket’s paradise and kept my hand on my bag.
I turned off toward Regent’s Park, which was pretty and peaceful, but I ended up not exactly knowing which direction to go. Noticing my confusion, a Londoner at the park who was playing with his son offered me directions. Kind! I put something in the travelers’ aid pot myself nearly everyday giving directions to folks because I have to ask plenty of times myself. I walked down—quite a fair step it was, too—to the Regent’s Park tube stop and I came home, stopping only to pick up a wrap at Pret a Manger.
Cherrio.