“The sun doesn’t live in England; it comes here on holiday when we’re all at work.”
– Benny Bellamacina
England feels very ‘proppa innit’ after the chaos of Cairo.
Three wonderful days spent in London, re-visiting places I had seen 30+ years ago, was a treat, and to see how London has changed, yet oddly remained the same. It seemed weird to me to hear english being spoken, and as there are so many English folk living in New Zealand, the accent feels normal to me. It also provides a certain element of stress relief as I realise I can make sense of something potentially challenging with people who speak the same language - such as - “what platform do I need to get the train to [x,y,z] from?”
London is convivial, ordered, old, new, clean, polite and offers efficient transport.
Win-win.
People let each other in to roads when driving cars, and even wave to each other - unlike Cairenes who attempt to squeeze their vehicles into one space all at the same time, with no courtesy and definitely no smiles, waving or “no YOU go first!” Generally it’s a tirade of horns, followed sometimes by verbal abuse and even occasionally by physical altercations in the middle of the road - creating even more of a traffic issue. Sigh.
After six months of sunshine 99.9% of my time in Egypt, it has given me an immense sense of pure JOY to see clouds, rain, and cooler weather. I have donned jackets, sheltered from rain, wind AND sunshine.
Ahhhhh Mother England - you bewdy!
My jaunt to England has seen me re-connect with family and friends - a wonderful treat to be in their space and to slot in to their lives in some small way for a short amount of time. I have “awwww’d and ahhhhhh’d” at the beautiful old houses that remind me of Christchurch and Dunedin in New Zealand; the gorgeous old flower-covered country-side pubs; the typical British seaside beach huts; the cobbled streets; and the delicious English fish ‘n chips from the local ‘fryery’. It is all easy, relaxed, ‘normal’ and quaint.
I have decided I love England.
It's been almost three months since I set foot back on British territory after a 30-plus year hiatus. After the burgeoning Cairo heat, I was looking forward to respite in the British Isles - a break from relentless blue sky and the never settling dust; a break from the monotony of a bi-seasoned existence (summer or winter … hot or cold). I wanted the quandary of what to wear; the wonderment of a cloud-filled sky, and the miracle of rainfall. I wanted it all.
Now that I am back into the routine of a working day, and the panic of seeing real live students in my classroom again has somewhat abated, I feel I can begin to reflect on a time which my step-brother's wife dubbed as - “Kerensa’s European Adventure”.
And it was.
I arrived in London at Heathrow's organised chaos, to be greeted by an old childhood friend. Whilst he did not look the least bit old, he was indeed once a childhood friend - he still looked like that cheeky-faced mop-haired little 8 year-old I last saw him as (and still did see in my mind's eye), except now he was just taller. I recognised him instantly at the arrivals hall, and we greeted as if we had just hung out last week at the local pub. He - Gordon - bundled me off in his red mini cooper (but of course) and with a relieved exhale I realised the adventure was beginning and the first leg had been achieved with little hassle.
I was profoundly grateful for this person who I had not seen in 40-something years, for making space in his life to not only collect me from the airport, but also plop me in his home for a night's rest, feed me and deliver me to the train station the next morning so I could head to my next stop. I was already regretting bringing as much clothing as I had; my backpack was filled with question-marks about what sort of weather I might encounter over the next ten weeks, and how best to allow for that. Plus I was determined to purchase some Doc Martens in London and knew I needed dwelling space for those fantastic bits of foot art.
Traipsing through London looking like a hiker on her way to some fantastical base-camp, I felt slightly out of place in a city of snappy-dressers.
It had been decades since I last had to navigate the catacombs of the London Underground.
Thank you random stranger as I photograph the descent into London’s darkest deepest places.
The map on the wall showing the tube lines seemed even more colourful and confusing then I remembered, but not being one to shy away from the knowledge held by locals, I was happy to ask people how to get to where I needed to go - which was to my step-brothers house near Finsbury Park.
I kept pinching myself as everything slotted together with ease and I soon found myself searching for his spare key under a mossy rock in the front garden.
I love the wee houses in London - the two up, two down type arrangement. There is a delicate elegance about these places all in a row. They’re quaintly organised and efficiently contained within the urban construct, whilst still exuding a sort of olde worlde vibe. After my spacious apartment in Cairo, I did wonder how my step-bro and his family weren’t constantly crashing into the walls (or each other) in this narrow dwelling, but it also made me reflect on how some people can be so content with excess and some content with exactly as much as they really do need. How much space do we really need? I loved his house and the ‘secret garden’ out the back. I wondered about all the other secret gardens lurking behind the other rowed houses.
After a change of clothes and throwing my things out of the pack in a manner becoming of one who could chillax for two nights, I decided to walk to Camden Market where I knew a flagship Doc Marten store was. The walk down took a good hour; a not unpleasant stroll at all and I stopped to sample a coffee from a funky looking place on the way there, and sit and soak up the atmosphere for a while. Such a contrast to Cairo.
People here were going about their afternoon in an orderly manner. Horns were not honking every second. Dogs were not tearing through garbage. People were not sitting on sidewalks or roads on rickety chairs watching the world go by. Taxi drivers were not calling out. Beggars were not tugging at my sleeves. Dust was not misting up the view. People were not having arguments in the middle of the road.
In fact I could hardly hear the noise of the UK’s largest city.
Down in Camden, I exchanged money, purchased new DM sandals and marinated in the sense of familiarity that London emitted. I guess the binding aspects of coming from a country which was colonised by the English, meant that everything felt vaguely like home.
Existing in the sixth largest city on the planet for the previous six months had taken me inside myself a little. As much as the awe and wonder of being in a totally different culture of one of the greatest civilisations has been incredible, it has also been mentally draining and somewhat anxiety-inducing. The frenetic pace and manic vibe of Cairo is probably not dissimilar to places like Mumbai in India or Kathmandu in Nepal. These cultures seemingly do not appear to notice personal body space or have a notion of privacy - open staring and gawking is a sport; crazy driving is a given; and sweaty bodies pressing against each other in rickety buses is normal everyday life.
Ah London - thank you for having some semblance of ‘not crazy’.
I had a wonderful three nights in total enjoying English beer, central London, my step-bro’s cooking and some great conversations. It was time to head south, first to Bognor Regis and then across to the Channel Islands. I said goodbye to London and family, and hello to my now heavier (with the addition of chunky DM’s), backpack and plodded down the street to the bus stop which would lead me to Finsbury Park tube station and ultimately to the station to carry me south. I was truly impressed with the transport system in London - so simple, easy and efficient.
Next stop - Bognor Regis and my dear friend Valerie.