I reached the gate at 7:55 and, surprisingly, with time to spare. I heaved a sigh of relief and got in line for departure. Lulled into security, I handed the dispatcher my pass, he glanced it over then looked back at me.
“Do you know you’re supposed to have this part stamped where it says Visa?”
I had missed my chance to do that. “Seriously?” He nodded. “I had no idea.”
I had an anxious feeling that despite everything I'd still have to buy another ticket. I had been so close. He then, to my surprise, ripped it, “Tell the people on the plane the dispatch has the top part of your ticket.”
I thanked him profusely. Buoyant, I walked briskly to my plane. I was going to London, the capital of the greatest empire the world had known, to walk the streets that kings had before me.
I landed and London was wrapped, to my great pleasure, in a floating shield of fog. I was practically skipping and in my wake I hummed the chorus to Rule Britannia. Luton was about an hour from city center, but that did nothing to dim my excitement. I alighted at Blackfriars station and with no sense of direction wandered down Victoria Street until I found my way to Cannon Street and rounded the corner to the imposing façade of St. Paul’s Cathedral. Its dome stretched into the sky and its base was broad and strong. As I’d come to remark about much of London, it was quite impressive. I advanced across the Thames, it was expansive and coursing. It cut straight through the heart of London; a mass of buildings crowded each bank. I walked for about four hours before meandering to the hostel. On the way I passed Shakespeare’s Globe; the London Eye, Parliament and Big Ben, and Westminster Abbey. After checking in I decided to explore some more. I was not disappointed by any of what I saw. I passed by Big Ben and Parliament again, this time stopping for coffee, ironically, in the Methodist Hall. Onward to St. James’s Park I went until I emerged upon Buckingham Palace. Queen Victoria stood vigilant in front, the words “Regina Imperatrix” carved boldly into the base. A Queen and an Empress, surrounded by monuments to all her once dominions. The British look lamentably back at their Empire, surrounding themselves with memories of it, as masses of tourists jam in front of the palace to take pictures. I was one of them.
I continued my tour of London through Green Park and into Hyde Park; but by then I was so tired I broke down and took the tube back to my hostel. I engaged a British Army paratrooper who was staying in my room in some conversation. He was an interesting chap; he and his wife were divorcing and he was waiting for the army to set him up with a place to live. He told me the British Army was the greatest in the world, that the marines had nothing on the SAS. His own conviction was enough to convince me. He had seen service in Iraq and Afghanistan, and was able to deploy at a 200 feet drop. I didn’t even know what to say other than “Wow." As much as I disapprove of our presence in other countries, you have to admire such conviction.
The next day, as Mike joined me, we began at the Imperial War Museum. It was fascinating to see World War II from a more intimate perspective, there was even a woman who had been evacuated from London as a child on hand to talk to school groups about the experience. It must have seemed like the world was ending in a grand, explosive spectacle. The ruins of society standing tall, with St. Paul’s dome hanging stalwart in the distance, illuminated among the smolder.
We then went to the Natural History Museum, followed by the Victoria and Albert museum, full of over 3,000 years of art. We then mosied onto the with the British Museum, which held statues taken from the Parthenon in the early 19th century. And then of course we finished our night with an obligatory dish of fish and chips.
The next day, still tired from about eight hours of walking and from being kept up from what must have been death groans from the person above me, we departed. That day was to be a grand excursion! And it was. By the end of it, we had seen the Tower of London, the Crown Jewels, looked down upon London from the top of the Tower Bridge, toured Shakespeare’s Globe, and been daunted by the interior of the magnificent dome of St. Paul’s. We ended the night with Avenue Q on West End. Its irreverent take on Sesame Street was a laugh riot. They managed to work in a few relevant jokes. In one of the numbers, this one about the selfish nature of giving, the lead found a British pound, and remarked, “You can’t buy anything with that.” At the end, with the moral of the parable being “Your tragedies are just for now”, they blasted out, “Swine flu is just for now.” Truly inspiring and quite pertinent concerning the current recession and flu epidemic.
The next day was a long one. It began with a service in Westminster Abbey. I turned to Mike and remarked, “What do you think they’d say if they knew we were Catholic?” The inside was littered with powerful statues of Kings, Queens, Admirals and Prime Ministers. The large organ boomed and the choir echoed into the vaults above. We then walked to Buckingham Palace. We first toured the Queen’s Galleries, to some colorful and dramatic Peter Paul Rubens paintings, glorifying the monarchy in mythological allegory. Next were the Royal Mews, which contained beautifully adorned carriages and a fully operational riding school. Kensington Palace was after that; its state apartments were once inhabited by Queen Victoria herself as a child. We finished off with some Indian food, and began our homelessness. Mike and I then wandered around for about an hour taking epic pictures of ourselves in front of Big Ben and Westminster. We had all night. After all, we were homeless in London. I decided to have a couple drinks to ease the burden. We walked up the street, and to our chagrin, found an Irish pub. We laughed knowingly, because anything bearing the name O’Neill—the name of the pub—reeks of Irish stereotype.
After spending about two hours in the train station waiting to get to the airport, another three in the airport, one on the plane, and another on the aircoach, which didn’t know about a marathon taking place on O’Connell Street, we finally made it home. I slept from 11 am till 7pm. I felt as if I had just experienced a whole city and culture in a weekend. Like I had seen the grandeur and splendor of the former capital of the world. It seemed like it had whizzed by, fragmented, yet alluring. London, I will return one day.