Moments in London

Because good things always come in threes . . .

One

I stumble forward.  I am acutely aware of the pressure from behind and the uncomfortable physical contact on my butt.  Trying to create more distance, I shuffle forward – and then find myself tripping over the person in front of me.  People are pressing in from all sides.  It’s an absolute madhouse.  I breathe in deeply and am immediately comforted by the fragrant floral scents that float through the air.  In addition to lily, rose, and lavender, the robust aroma of coffee also lingers.  In the distance, I can hear a melodious harp and staccato drum that instead of competing for attention join together to create a tantalizing and upbeat rhythm that matches the energy of the crowd.  This is no lazy Sunday morning.  This is London’s Columbia Road Flower Market.  The vendors’ shouts carry over the harp and drum, brashly persuading you to purchase from their stall.

“You’ve never seen a lily as big as this one!”

“I had a bird named Jasmine once but she never did smell as good as this plant.”

“Three bunches for a tenner.  Any three.  Just a tenner!”

The market might just be a tad offensive if you’re named after a flower.  It might be a tad intense if you’re not a fan of crowds.  But it’s worth it no matter what.  Nestled in a row of eclectic shops, the market drenches the street in vibrant color and contrasting textures from yellow, prickly succulents to white, thorny roses to pink, silky tulips.   Disappointed that as a brief visitor to the UK I cannot purchase any of the brilliant bouquets, I still engage in some hardcore window-shopping.  I’m tempted to move to London.  And then blow all my money buying flowers for my apartment – I mean flat.

Two

I’ve found heaven on Earth; I’m sure of it.  I knew it as soon as read the sign, “Welcome book lovers, you are among friends.” And as Ernest Hemingway pointed out, “There is no friend as loyal as a book.”  So yes, this is heaven – for book lovers at least.  Some people may doubt the appeal of a single bookstore but try to see it from my perspective.  Instead of six floors of words and boredom, I see six floors of adventure, knowledge, insight, tragedy, victory, celebration, tribulation, advice, laughs and a café that can provide me with a much needed dose of caffeine (traveling can be quite exhausting when you are on a budget). 

I spend the next two hours browsing the aisles upon aisles of books.  I am intrigued by What If? Serious Scientific Answers to Absurd Hypothetical Questions.  Is it really possible for an army’s arrows to block out the sun like in the movie 300?  I am delighted by the collection of Sherlock Holmes adventures told by contemporary authors.  What will be their takes on the great detective and will this hold me over until season four of BBC’s Sherlock comes out? I’m tempted by the Breakfast: Morning, Noon, and Night cookbook.  So tempted that will I buy it? Well, yes, actually. I will definitely purchase this magnificent book. Brunch is without a doubt my favorite meal of the day (and is still the one awesome thing that Europe is lacking). 

Some people may judge me for traveling to a new city and then spending hours in a bookstore, but it was bliss.  If you ever find yourself in London, and you are a book-loving kindred spirit of mine, I highly recommended you take the time to drop in Foyles on Charing Cross Road (and any of the other small independent bookshops - first editions galore).  I can’t promise you won’t regret it . . . but I can promise you that personally, I have no remorse.

Three

The lights dim and the crowd hushes.  My anticipation is evident by my sweaty palms and bouncing knee. 

“Naaaaaaasigamyama babi baba . . .” (or really “Nants ingonyama bagithi Baba”) rings out clear and strong, breaking the tense silence.  And thus the Lion King begins.  I’ve been waiting for this moment for so long and the theater geek inside of me squeals with glee.  Finally I get to see this stunning spectacular of a musical!

An elephant lumbers up the center aisle, surprisingly graceful.  A leopard slinks onto stage from the wing.  Birds, giraffes, zebras, and gazelles circle, gathering around pride rock.  And then Rafiki lifts Simba into the air.

 
Later hyenas cackle, darting in and out of the skeletal ribs of a long dead beast.  Scar lazily flicks his tail as he croons of Mufasa’s demise.

Tragedy hits.  Simba flees in sorrow only to find two new friends, Timon and Pumba.  They dance through the leafy green foliage as they grab grubs and praise hakuna matata.


Nala and Simba fall in love to a sweet melody amidst bright flowers and twinkling stars.  With Nala's help, Simba finds his rightful place at home.

When it’s all over, my hands ache from clapping and I cannot help but hum to myself as I exit the theater.

I just can’t wait to be king . . .

P.S. Speaking of kings, a post about my experience with some of Europe’s castles is in the works . . . please stay tuned!