It is rare that I find myself without company in a town I know. But tonight – there are no dinners, no presentations, no easy women and no work to do. I am all on my own – in the dead center of London W1 an W2.
I decide to walk, just cruise the streets of this fantastic city. I walk alone, mind in the present and body in a good suit – dressed up like someone from an old time, before London turned cosmopolitan. I walk, a nostalgic stranger in a town that has outgrown the history I know about it.
My journey begins at my hotel in Paddington Station. Some may say that Greece, maybe even Egypt, is the cradle of civilization. But I beg to differ – England is where what we know as western civilization was born. In these steel buildings of Brunel the first trains stopped to pick up passenger to bring the world together. It is in this country that flight was invented. And modern healthcare, doubling our life expectancy, was founded here. Newtonian physics was discovered, along with electricity, refrigeration and the steam engine. And this city, magnificent London, is where it all came together.
My feet take me down Edgeware Road. Past the Lebanese cafes, where people sit outside and smoke the hashish. I walk past the veiled women, and though they cannot show anything but their eyes – I see that they are wearing makeup and have plucked their eyebrows. On her burka clad arm hangs a Gucci bag and her gait clearly shows that stiletto heels hide under that dress. What has London’s transformative power done to this Islamic culture? Truly a place where you renew yourself.
I pass Marble Arch and Park Lane. Home of the rich Russians in exile from Putin. From there, I slowly approach the chaos of Picadilly Square. The wall of noise and visual impression stun me for a moment. But I quickly shake it off – shutting it out. Picadilly Circus was never for me – yet I know what awaits me just around the corner.
A short while later, I walk though the gates of Chinatown. Chinese”medicine” men peddle their cures with before/after pictures of women in colourful dresses. Strange massages with names I cannot pronounce are advertised in the windows – I briefly consider getting one. Mr. Wu sells his noodles soup with ingredients I can only guess at (do they truly eat dogs in China?). But I love it still – I suck in the atmosphere and savior the utter foreignness of it all. Even here – London has wrecked it’s transformative powers. The men wear well made suits – and they are not black and white like most Chinese businessmen clones. The petite women walk around in their Karen Millen dresses. The small, strange stores fade away – Chinatown is behind me.
And this of course means that I am now in Soho. Home of alternative bars, musicals, strip joints and gay porn stores. I walk the narrow roads of sin, just experiencing it all. An observer from a lost time, time travelled into the future. I let myself be filled with wonder at the sheer madness and joy of my environment.
My aimless wandering takes me to Leicester Square. The young, scantily clad, pale English women walk past me. Youngsters in search of the that mythical night club, where you can have fun without bringing it yourself. The “facers” of the street give me one look, and decide that I will not be buying the latest musical based on some half famous movie (What’s next? “Avatar the Musical” – featuring blue painted actors singing new age songs and shooting arrows at the audience for full immersion effect?).
It is late, time to go back to Hotel. I am inspired to write this blog. I walk back to Picadilly to the Bakerloo line. Into the infernal heat of the tube in this summer night. But I don’t mind the heat – for I find myself in one of the oldest public transportations systems in the world.
After short stop at the hotel, the porter hails me a black cab. Another London tradition. I return to the Lebanese bar, Salt. A fusion place where I can enjoy the strange combination of the hashish and whisky (and hey, I just noticed: they heated the whisky to body temperature for me). The nicotine is working its way though my blood – I am relaxed and immersed. another cosmopolitan, anonymous stranger – how very typical London.
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