London, Part 2 - Arrival and first impressions

I arrived at Paddington Station, London, at about quarter to five in the afternoon of a hot Friday in mid-July. The second I stepped down from my train an urgent task required my attention: find a Visitor kiosk and buy the Visitor Oyster Pass within fifteen minutes, before the kiosk closed. Adrenaline surged as I scanned a sea of bobbing heads, train schedule displays, colorful shopfronts and signs pointing to various platforms and tube lines, all sprawled about a terminal that seemed, at the moment, as large as a sports arena. I cinched my big pack tighter to my back, hiked the small pack closer to my front, wiped the sweat from my brow, and lumber-hustled toward the nearest visible station agent.

Immediately my body was grateful for the rest it had received in sleepy Bath (it would take my mind about a day to recognize that gift). My Bath host had lived in London when she was younger and expressed both appreciation for the abundant experiences it had given her youthful self, and relief that her older self no longer had to endure its frenzy. Those first moments I spent making my way to the Visitor booth in Paddington gave me a glimpse of what she meant, and my awe before London's largeness, busyness, and complexity only grew over the next five days.


I secured my pass with just a few minutes to spare. The existence and necessity of this item had only come to my attention a couple of days earlier, and in Bath I had worried since a lot of online guidance suggested I should have had this shipped to me before I even came overseas. My London host had reassured me I could buy the Visitor Pass locally, though, so time had been my only remaining concern. Now, thankfully, the way to my short-term home and to hundreds of other locations in this grand city was clear.

My hosts were a multicultural family who lived in what seemed to be a largely Middle Eastern neighborhood. This was the first time in all my travels I had stayed with an entire family, in the traditional sense: two parents, young children. It felt by turns stifling (the mere presence of children makes me feel "responsible," obligated) and warm. Listening to them arrange bath times, the son play with toys, or the daughter practice piano placed an endearing, domestic capstone upon my time in London and - since this was my last destination before returning to the States - upon my journey as a whole.

That first night in England's capital left me with a lot of free time, which I eagerly spent wandering about. I ventured along narrow streets (where I would later find squeezed a weekend flea market and pop-up street vendors), marked by crowded apartment buildings, small shops, beautiful graffiti, tiny, modular boutiques and clubs, and occasional people going to or getting from at the otherworldly time between a city's business hours and its weekend. Then I gawked my way south down bustling A10 (Bishopsgate? I'm unsure of how street names worked there). I observed "small" office buildings with column-lined entrances, skyscrapers whose fascinating shapes and colors, not to mention immensity, defied my richest memories of American cities, a multiplying number of shops and cars and, seemingly every few blocks, stairways or side streets swallowing or spewing constant streams of Tube riders.

London street views

As I came closer to the Thames the weekend's victory over work was all but secured. The forces of frivolity and relaxation grew until, by the time I reached and read the inscription on The Monument (to the Great Fire of London), the fortifications of commerce, lit but abandoned,  had fallen silent, while clubs, restaurants, and streets swelled with those celebrating the triumph of relaxation.

The Monument

The Monument inscription

Sunset over London treated me to its brilliance as I reached the north shore of the Thames. I lingered for a bit to enjoy it and to let the marvel of this city's endless visual delights, to north and south, east and west, wash over me a few more times. At last I crossed London Bridge.

Sunset over Thames, looking west from London Bridge

From here I first caught sight of Tower Bridge to the east, in all its white and candy-blue glory, and made my way toward it along the lively, south shore river walk. Parks, fountains, shops, restaurants, museums, an amphitheater, sculptures - I feel like I saw a bit of everything just in the half-hour or so as I walked to Tower Bridge. I stopped a few times to take pictures to send to family then, as it was growing late and I needed dinner, crossed north, craning my neck to take in every line and curve of this beautiful, famous, colorful crossing.

Hayes Galleria - along south Thames river walk

Tower Bridge

I continued past the fortifications of the Tower of London (where I would later return). Standing in twilight, not yet knowing what I was seeing, the sudden sight of old fortifications that were barely as tall as the street I stood on (contrasting with the parade of modern grandeur I had so far encountered) impressed on me at once the greatness and humility of the past. It makes me think now, as I write, of the competition between eternity and desolation in each person, each incident, each artifact, every day that we exist.

Mundane tasks, delightful in these uncommon circumstances, took up the rest of my evening as I visited a Sainsbury's, put together some dinner, then spent the rest of the evening chatting with my hosts and scheming what to see for the next five days.