London on Good Friday
London black cabs have the friendliest drivers. They are polite, cheerful and don’t expect a fat tip.
I was heading towards the Buckingham Palace in one. It was Good Friday and a beautiful spring day with rings of red tulips on the roundabouts. I had five short hours to spend in the city. My goal was to unleash a rapid-fire sight seeing trip. I had expedient maps, routes, and sights – all bookmarked in my phone.
The Gardens approaching the palace was filled with pedestrians. I crossed families, friends, couples, smiling, holding hands. The long boulevard was warm with happy people and a bright clear sun. The palace had many visitors. The golden angels atop the Victoria Memorial gleamed in the sunshine. The imperial building stood in its grandeur and solidity marking royal history. People, however only wanted to record their footfall. All around me people were intently taking selfies. A young nymph like creature was posing in front of the formidable and large statue of Queen Victoria in seated repose. She wore a cut-off top and athletic leggings; her very flat stomach was arched in an angle to blend the Queen’s head with her body seamlessly. The flag atop the palace fluttered in the wind. People looked up into an aperture, pouted, squinted and marked their time against history.
I walked away towards the St. James’s palace. A palace built in the 1530s by Henry VIII where he lived with his wife Anne Boleyn, who was later executed on his orders. I stood in front of the rugged red brick facade and imagined Anne in her dressing room, shivering in the cold, combing her hair with a gold brush. Within seconds, two Oriental girls stood in front of the door and a selfie stick rose up in the air. I sighed and moved away.
I walked towards Trafalgar Square. The entire square was an ocean of people. The Passion of Jesus was taking place – an open-air play that recreates the final days of Jesus Christ. The reenactment of the crucifixion was visible from where I stood. The noise was overpowering. Police cars wailed about. It was too packed to even detect the selfie catchers. I crossed over to Charing Cross. A joyous street musician sang old James Taylor songs. I sat down in the café next door and gobbled up a salami sandwich. The hard peppered salami layered with little cubes of butter was delicious. While chewing on the baguette, I admired the small chapel close by, medieval spires like small licks of flame descended into beautiful tracery above arched windows. Unknown saints carved on the sides. I forgot my schedule and spent undue time admiring the joy that rose from the streets.
My next destination was the Big Ben. I walked back to the square only to stop at Waterstones, a busy book shop. A warm smell of coffee and books greeted me. A real bookstore with spilling shelves. I spent time browsing, looking at picture postcards, book magnets and ended up buying a couple of books. I spent much too much time there.
Then I walked on briskly. Down Whitehall street, Scotland Yard, The House of Guards, small memorials and grand statues of war heroes. Men hung around the pubs famous for fish and chips. Kids stared at the mounted lady cops. People milled about in the park next to the Parliament Square. Thames was gray and still. The London Eye circled the horizon. A mother hugged her baby wrapped in a red blanket while the young Dad took photos.
It was almost the end of my tour. I hailed another cab. He was a teddy bear of a man and asked.
“So what all did you see? Lovely day, ha!”
“Oh I saw a lot, people seem to be having such a good time!”
“You like London?” He said.
“Oh I love it!”
Victoria amidst crowd