Every day starts as a new adventure, with unexpected twists and never-ending changes.
Mine started with two main surprises--the loss of one group member, and the change from one walk (Whitechapel) to another (Westminster).
Oh, and my one remaining group member overslept, but let's not hold that against her.
So off to the start of our journey. Whoops, forgot about rush hour. Did that exist in the 18th Century? Were horses stomping their feet in frustration, like the drivers of today honk their car horns? We squeeze onto the Tube and emerge in a foreign place. Nothing new, I do this all the time. I kindly ask the newspaper man for directions, and wonder if that could have been possible some 300 years ago. When exactly did newspapers become widely sold on street corners? Surely if they had The Tatler and The Spectator, they had ordinary newspapers. Right?
We find our first landmark and are elated with our success. The Lincoln Inn's Fields reminded me for a moment of Central Park in New York City. Just for a moment. In New York, you fight your way through the bustling crowds of a city, dodging taxi cabs and irate drivers, and suddenly appear inside a quiet, serene park. The grumble of traffic fades away, and is replaced by the twittering of birds, the rustling of leaves, the quiet footsteps of a traveling companion. And for a period of time, you're transported away from the city, and back into a world of swing sets and games of catch.
We walked all around the park, searching for the plaque mentioned in our handout. It was to no avail.
Instead, we found other signs, plaques, statues, and even trees, all there in recognition of one thing or another. Each was a momentum from a past experience, each one representing someone's ideal of an important occasion. Finally, nestled among the rocks, I spot a stone with words on it. Could it be the plaque we’ve been looking for?
Nope.
But what does it matter, really, when you get to see puppies enjoying the fresh air in this beautiful field?
We leave the Field's and head over to the Starbucks on the corner. Upon arriving, I notice not one but TWO other coffee houses beside it. I am instantly reminded of the "guesstimate" of nearly 3000 coffee houses in London during the 18th Century, and realize that perhaps the number is probably accurate at this point in time. I pause for a moment and wonder if the coffee houses were all stacked up like these are, all in a row, one after the other. More so, were they all as successful as these?
When I entered Starbucks, I was reminded even more of the gripes of The London Spy as he entered a coffee house with his friend. Though smoking is not allowed here, the smell of all sorts of different coffees can be overwhelming on your first intake of breath. The line was monstrous, considering there were two coffee houses next door. Shouting my order to the man behind the counter, I was amused at the amount of noise created in such a small place. As more coffee beans were grinded, grating at my ears, I waited anxiously for my drink. The woman in front of me began rolling her eyes when they didn't bring her "no-fat ultra slim grande mocha coffee" fast enough. Pfft!
After the necessary refreshments (and fortunate survival), we got lost, then turned around and proceeded in the proper direction. We found High Holborn and then searched in vain for Bury Place. We wandered around, feeling helpless, scanning the street signs. Unable to find it, we continued walking until a different street on our list appeared, and then backtracked our way through the missing streets. We were anxious to find the steeple of St. George's Bloomsbury, from Hogarth's Gin Lane, and scanned the building tops for it. We wandered down Bloomsbury Way, peering up and down the side streets, so eager for our reward. But it simply wasn't there!
As we reluctantly made our way back up the street, we saw a building covered in scaffolding. And there, at the top, nestled in a back corner, was the famous steeple, grinning down on us mockingly. Slapping our foreheads and muttering about how foolish we were to have walked right past it, we started to head back up the lane towards our next destination. All the while, in the back of my mind, I was wondering what sorts of repairs might be going on to the building. What lay beneath those steel poles and wooden planks that encompassed the building? What architecture am I missing as it rests buried in the sheets of plastic on the scaffolding?
It took us a lot of A-Z scanning to figure out where Shaftesbury Avenue was, and we were not surprised when we saw it was closed off due to construction. Orange cones and criss-crossed signs blocked off the way, and only the sidewalks were open so the shops wouldn't go out of business. I thought about how everything is always changing, and wondered how many shops have opened and closed on these streets in the last 300 or so years. What sorts of goods could I buy then that I couldn't now? And what sorts of things do we have now that weren't around then? Surely the mobile phone shop on the corner wouldn't have done very well in the 18th Century.
We proceeded down a glittery road, full of beautiful shops, until we arrived at a lazy circle with a large statue in the middle. The Seven Dials? Woah, we managed to get there without getting lost, for once!
We hesitantly crossed the circle, and peered up at the seven mysterious dials above us. Each faces a unique direction, though not the same ones as when they were first constructed. We laughed aloud at our handout--the statue was removed "in the false belief that a great sum of money had been lodged in the base." Not only that, but it took over 100 years for them to put it back! Who knows how much money was wasted in both its removal and reconstruction?
We headed down Earlham Street, then realized there were two sides of it and doubled-back, and then took a guess as to how to get to Long Acre. We found it and then proceeded up the road in the direction I chose, and were quite happy when we easily found Bow Street. We admired the Magistrate's Building across the way, and marveled at the gigantic Opera House we found beside us. I believe that was one of many jaw-dropping experiences throughout our walk.
We located Russel Street, but to our dismay we only saw a few modern coffee houses remaining (such as Starbucks and Caffé Nero). Covent Garden Market lay before us, and we eagerly swooped in to storm the shops. So many cute things! We forced ourselves not to buy anything, and emerged on the other side, before a quaint church before us. But was it really a church? There were tons of trucks parked out front, and even more stalls with plastic tops set up in front of it. The sign confirmed our disbelief--it was indeed St. Paul's Church. Confused, I gazed at it, then moved away, then moved closer. Surely this isn't a house of worship? It's so, well, homely. And completely washed out by the market. The handout explained the barren facade ("the handsomest barn in England"), but I was still dismayed by the commercialization that was taking over it. Furious at the fact that such a historical building could be covered up by market stalls, I stomped off towards our next destination, and bitterly thought about what our world was coming to.
At our next cross streets, we took a moment to get our boundaries straight, and then easily located Rose Street. My spirits lifted and I smiled as I glanced down the quaint alley, admiring the Lamb and Flag. We turned around and proceeded to walk all along the different streets. We happened across Goodwin's Court; however, there was a large, unrecognizable lump in the alleyway, covered in sheets, and I wasn't sure if it was a really big dog, a sleeping homeless person, or a really dead person. Shuddering with fright, I felt my hairs stick out on end and thought with dread of trying to traverse these streets at night. What was it that John Gay said about walking the streets at night? Oh right, yeah, DON'T DO IT.
With a much quicker step, we fast approached Trafalgar's Square, and I stumbled backwards a moment when I saw St. Martin's in the Fields before me. My dad has often spoken of this to me, and I was delighted to make its acquaintance. Across the street, the giant column supported Nelson, the fountains burst over with countless pigeons and tourists admiring them, and the giant lions continued their watch over the city. Our handout was missing a page, but we found the street we needed and proceeded down it.
Eventually we passed by the Prime Minister's home, where a protest was afoot. A bit worried, we scrambled past, only to find out it was about fox hunting rights. Slightly amused, we continued towards Parliament Square, and enjoyed the beautiful smile of Big Ben. We were a little unsure of what landmarks we had missed, but we managed to locate Great George Street and carried along on our way.
It was during this part of the walk where I really began to appreciate the unchanged ways of London. Before, we had to struggle to make out the landmarks; now they were emerging before us without any dilemmas. We easily found St. James's Park, and located Marlborough Street without any hesitations. While we were still passing through St. James's Park, I relished in the quiet serenity that is always provided by a park. The Mall reminded me of home, where my own nation's capitol resides. The Mall in Washington, D.C. is a giant expanse of space wedged into the middle of one of the busiest populaces in the nation. However, ours was not created until around 1800, while St. James's Park had been fully established by the 1600s.
We soon saw St. James's Palace in front of us, though it was unmarked so we weren't quite positive. We asked a friendly guard nearby, and he confirmed that the turrets and towers we saw were indeed from the palace. We passed by it, closer now, and noticed a sign, "Apartments 6-12." Apartments? The palace has apartments?! I can rent an apartment at a palace?! Remarkable! One lone guard stood before the entrance, and I was instantly let down. What kind of crappy palace is this? And he wasn't even wearing one of those awesome hats, like at the Queen's Palace.
We crossed the street and instantly located Berry Bros & Rudd's shop, which, I am happy to report, is unchanged. I believe Lock's the Hatters was actually covered in scaffolding, though I'm not sure my memory serves me correctly. We proceeded up the road and located Brooks's Club and Boodle's. Boodle's was unnamed, though we did see a few gentlemen inside. The windows looked old, though I can't comment on their true age. Brooks's Club was across the street, and it appeared to have changed into a winery titled "Justerini & Brooks." Oddly enough, I was reading a book a week or so ago where the main character was invited to St. James's Street to the Brooks's Gentlemen's Club. She mentioned that even then, a woman was unwelcome unless accompanied by a male member. The book is of course fictional and was published a year ago, so who knows how accurate the statements are. Still, I was quite thrilled to have seen the same building where this character became an English spy!
We went round the corner, and continued down the street until we came onto St. James's Square. We wandered through the quiet little piece of land, with the rumbling of cars just beyond the black iron fencing, and reflected on the adventure we'd just had.
It was over 3 hours later and I was quite exhausted, but I felt very accomplished. On the ride back on the Tube, I had some time to think about all I had just done, seen, and experienced. I had been to some of the places before, oblivious to their overwhelming age. Part of me wanted to go back in time, to experience life as it was some 300 years ago. I wanted to see the streets, crowded with horses and carts, the constant clip-clopping of hooves replacing the rumble of engines and beeps of horns. I wanted to have the scents as they once were, bakeries on corners and potent (if not illegal) breweries in people’s homes. I wanted to know what things were like, and not just see glimpses of a building that was around back then. But then I came to realize that perhaps I had experienced it, in my own way. With my lively imagination, and my rambling thoughts, I was able to piece together what life had been like before. My long 3 hour walk was perhaps just an ordinary journey during the 18th Century, something one might do every day.
More so, I was regaled by the understanding that no matter what I do, things will always go on changing. Regardless if I transport myself back in time, the sights and sounds that I now experience will eventually occur, and someone just like myself will not only experience them, but live and breathe them as well. In a separate course that I am taking, we read a book entitled The Soul of London by Ford Madox Ford. They don't call it a book, really; it's not something you read from beginning to end as the plot unfolds. Instead, it meanders beautifully as it attempts to grasp all that is London, from the streets and modes of transportation to the people who comprise the populace. Written in the early 1900s, the London I see there is not far removed from the London I see in the 18th Century. And the London I see now is not much different than the London Ford describes. The people, really, are the same, and I think that is what shapes the city as a whole. Although the architecture may change, the buildings may be torn down, remodeled, or change owners, the people living here will always be Londoners, and the city will always be London. As Ford states, "The City itself has no longer any visible bounds, walls, or demarcations; it is a postal district, 'E.C.', an abstraction still playing at being an individuality" (pg. 104).
References:
Fielding, Helen. Olivia Joules and the Overactive Imagination. London: 2003.
Ford, Ford Madox. The Soul of London. London: 1995.
Gay, John. Trivia: or, the Art of Walking the Streets of London. London: 1716.
Hogarth, William. Gin Lane. Painted 1751.
Mackie, Erin. The Commerce of Everyday Life: Selections from The Tatler and The Spectator. NY: 1998
All pictures taken with a Sony Ericsson T630 camera phone.