I finally head out and take the District Line up to the Embankment stop and I meander my way in the most improbable of ways since I only have a simple without detail walking map. Up until two weeks ago Meredith, my friend in London, was going to be my tour guide but she finally got hired on and now couldn't take me about. I had been more concerned with learning French than figuring London so I decided to do what I do best, walk aimlessly and stumble into cool things. London is old world and in the old world streets lined up in a grid are about as hard to find as a working girl on Fire Island.
Street signs are located on the buildings at various heights and locations and sometimes not at all. Not to mention when you do find a map of any sort like at a bus stop or such they, the city or map people, flatly refuse to put "You are Here" on the map so unless you know where you are you have no idea where you actually are so therefore are still lost but now annoyed since you have a map to demonstrate just how lost you are. So if you get frustrated by not being able to simply walk two blocks, turn left, and there is where you wanted to be you might want to have someone else be the navigator. The best way to describe the London map is to look at it, squint a bit, and it'll appear as a thousand confused little worms. After a few missteps I find the Nat'l Gallery and all it's statues of dead men and panicked pigeons.
Don't ask me why I didn't go inside the Nat'l Gallery. I mean it's totally free and would have been a wonderful way to waste and hour or two and maybe even learn something but for some reason the sight of a 1000 tourists sort of repelled me. Don't ask me why since I am a tourist and in a sense at "tourist central." I make my way down Whitehall past Downing, where the British PM lives, and on to Parliament and over to Westminster and I take photos and watch the fashion of the people which has no rhyme or reason and I love it. I've always gotten a kick out of the locals way more than the inside of some nameless edifice.
I see a street sign for Buckingham Palace and Victoria Station and as I have no real plans and I do have to purchase a train ticket from said station I follow the signs for what seems to be roughly two miles, more if you count my inability to maintain a straight line as little nooks and alleys invite me down them. I find a little street closed to traffic and filled with the lunch crowd and one place in particular is handing out sandwiches as fast as people can order them. This must be the spot I think to myself and as I queue I hear the locals talk and order and many get the egg and bacon or the like so I decide to get the egg and bacon. Well folks, this is where London takes a sinister turn pour moi. The sandwich is good, surprisingly good really. The only problem is that about thirty minutes later I have my train ticket in hand and a sickening feeling that's either pointed north or south.
I can eat anything, really, anything and I pride myself on that. I've eaten street food in Mexico, Brazil, NYC, and many other places and never got a bit of the turns but here I was, well...sick as holy hell. I trudged on making the stops and turns that I wanted to make like Buckingham Palace and into the nooks of ST. James where Oscar Wilde made inappropriate advances and up to Piccadilly Circus. I wanted to see more but as I sat at the Circus and amongst the circus I could feel my insides turn to liquid. It was nearly rush hour so I hopped back on the tube and made my way back to the flat. I hope to get a little rest and relief before meeting up with Meredith and her beau at 7.
BTW: Pepto Bismol does not exist in England.
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