Letter from London
7/3/2012
Greetings from the home of Wimbledon, clotted cream and
police officers in very tall hats. The streets are festooned with Union Jacks
as the Queen only just celebrated her jubilee and the city catches a quick
breath before the Olympics come to town. It is an exciting time to be in
England though I wonder if many of the athletes or visitors will actually meet
any real English people when they come to witness great feats of physical
prowess.
Every taxi driver, waitress, hotel clerk and random people in
elevators, have told us that they will get out of London as the spectators,
athletes and other folks related to the Olymics begin to arrive. One taxi
driver says that he really believes the city is not yet ready for the influx
and predicts that he will make far more money from the steady business people
than he will fighting the voluminous traffic predicted for those weeks.
Which makes me wonder: why would you want to hold
such a gargantuan event in a relatively compact city on an island? It can’t
possibly be that lucrative. According to the OutLoudLondon website, the city can
expect to haul in 10 billion pounds or about $1.5 billion. But they have spent about
490 million pounds or upwards of $768 million on the 80,000 seat Olympic
stadium alone. This does not include the vast preparations and other infrastructure
needed to host the expected 500,000 spectators. The place is already pretty
crowded. Where will they put all the extras?
I had the great good fortune to go to Wimbledon and see
Novak Djokovich emerge victorious and I can attest that the strawberries they
serve there are truly the most delicious anywhere on the planet. Seems a bit
odd to have fruit as a specialty at a sporting event, but I guess it is a nod
to a long-standing tradition.
It felt strange to me to be in a foreign country and already
know the language and be able to read all of the signs. I will confess that I
sometimes wondered if the words coming out of some people’s mouths were
actually English as I found them incomprehensible. There are so many dialects
of our mother tongue and so many interesting idiomatic expressions. For example,
we searched high and low for a tube to take us across town only to discover
that this is another word for subway. How about telly? It is not a telephone
but a television that people watch in the evening while munching on crisps and
drinking a cuppa. (Cup of tea, that is.) They wear jumpers instead of
sweatshirts, bird-watching does not pertain to feathered creatures but young
ladies, and a lorry cannot travel in the cars only lane. In a hotel lobby a
hundred people can be speaking English but if they come from Ireland, Scotland,
Wales, south London, Buckingham Palace or even the colonies, the sound is not
harmonious.
London is an extremely lively city and despite the
relatively dismal weather, it is fun to wander around and watch the people. We
nicked into a pub for a pint and some bubble and squeak. My friend enjoyed
bangers and mash. We sat at the windows
facing Oxford Street and enjoyed a parade of outfits, and the struggles of bag
laden fashionistas tottering along from store to store. Shopping apprears to be
a national pass time. I observed the driving habits of Londoners and suspect
that driving school must not be mandatory to obtain a license. Thoughtfully,
however, there are signs painted on the ground at the crosswalks directing you
to look right or look left for oncoming traffic. This can be downright
confusing as the English drive on the left side of the road. How in the world
do they navigate round abouts?
The taxis are called black cabs though most of them are no
longer black. They are decorated with bright advertising for everything from
cell phones to beer. They are squarish and have a very practical design. You
step into what feels like a room with bench seating along the back and pull
down seats behind the driver. Four adults can sit very comfortably, along with
a bunch of luggage. There is no awkward sliding and scrunching to fit only
three New Yorkers into the back of a yellow cab. The drivers have a similar
technique, however, with lots of zipping and quick turns.
I will depart this lovely city by Eurostar train, heading to
Paris. Compared to taking a flight, this mode of transport will be faster,
cheaper and far less complicated. That said, my claustrophobic self will try to
ignore the fact that the train travels via Channel Tunnel or Chunnel, for more
than a half hour. Under the water. In a dark tube. When I see the glorious
countryside of northern France I will breathe more easily. That part of the
letter, my friends, will wait for another day.
