My feet are sore

Okay, so I lied. London is rainy and cold and foggy. Maybe it’s only nice once in a while to lure the unsuspecting, those who succumb to its siren song of history, architecture and grand, leafy parks. Somehow it’s all managing to seem romantic, minus getting drenched by a van driving through a small lake that had formed beside the sidewalk. Despite the rain, we’ve been exploring London on foot. On Friday night we walked up through Leicester Square, avoiding Piccadilly Circus and ended up in Hyde Park. It was very quiet (that’s the strange thing about London. Seven million people allegedly live here and it is often very quiet). We stood on a bridge and listened to strange-looking ducks making strange- noises. Willow trees dipped pastorally in the mist-cloaked water. Slightly eerie (and randomly placed) pot lights glowed in the murky air. It was romantic and creepy at the same time.
Then to the Thames by way of Big Ben. After debating whether or not the London Eye actually stops to let people on and off (anyone know?) we walked through Covent Gardens and the hundreds of people drinking on the sidewalks and roads outside the pubs.
Down a side street we spotted a huge maple leaf and homesickness forced an investigation. The maple leaf was over a pub called, shockingly, The Maple Leaf! Trying to peer through the windows and not seem Canadian was difficult, but it just looked like every other pub in London. Could it be filled entirely with Canadians? Would that be very good thing or a remarkably bad thing? I’ve always been really jealous of the Winnipeg ex-pat community in Toronto. This could be my change to be part of an ex-pat community. But a pub called The Maple Leaf. Why, oh why does Canadian “culture” outside of the country smack of lame? (btw. There is a Quebec embassy in London!? Are we sure Quebec hasn’t separated).
Saturday arrives with…more walking. This time our sights are set on the Tate Modern. A place neither of us have been. It’s great, but as usual, I run out of steam after about an hour. And while I like contemporary art, so much is dark (depressing) and thought-provoking (doesn’t make sense). We see a Monet (I find that in person, his large scale works display a sense of movement entirely missing from the ubiquitous university poster version). I am excited by the chance to see a Pollock, and have to admit that I find Rothko moving. But not the wanky description beside the painting about the darkness of humanity blending with hope or something.
Then we go to the best market ever. Borough Market. Stalls of gourmet olive oil, fresh bread, cheeses, flowers, wine, organic produce, tarts, meat (ahem). John buys a venison burger and talks about it for the rest of the day.
And to round-out our London experience, we spend Sunday afternoon watching Eastenders and eating hobnobs. Perfect.
The Arcade Fire is on Top of the Pops. right on. That makes up for The Maple Leaf