He who tires of London

I've spent the last couple of days as a London tourist and it's brought home a few things to me. One is the obvious one; I love London, but I hate tourists. I know, I am technically a tourist myself, especially as I stroll around town with L and her guidebook. But I like to think I'm not the sort of tourist who stops in the middle of a crowded footpath to study their map, who stands aimlessly in the best viewing angle of any major attraction, helpfully blocking everyone else's photo opportunity. I like to think that I'm considerate and don't make a mess of the place for other people. That's what I tell myself, anyway, even as I do the kind of stop-and-spin maneuver outside the Tate that drives me insane on Oxford St. 

But I do love London in all its gobsmackingly beautiful corners, its stories, the fact that so many people have lived here and left their mark on the world. We found the street my ancestors lived in in Shoreditch today, on our way to a museum. It's a quaint old street full of warehouses, underneath an overhead train line. I'm pretty sure the train line was put through after my ancestors had made the mad dash for the Victorian goldfields, however, so it wasn't entirely the same. Other addresses I have for other ancestors were helpfully obliterated by the Luftwaffe, like so much of London.

Which brings me to something else I began to appreciate more today; London is old. Luftwaffe, yeah, not that long ago, in the grand scheme of things. The Victorian era building I live in? Also, not terribly old, but getting closer. The oldest shop in London, still trading, built in the sixteenth century, during the reign of Elizabeth I? Yeah, now we're talking. Hidden gems are everywhere in London. And most of the time, you'd never know they were there. I love taking the time to either wander for myself, or do a walking tour and be shown these tidbits, the remnants of a different city. There's something to be said for the first time you turn a corner and find a building that was old before your ancestors were shipped out of their homeland to a new social experiment on the other side of the world. The shock of the distance they travelled and the space they found when they got there must have almost killed them. 

Because for all its grandeur, London is not big. My feet are telling me otherwise at the moment, but I have essentially walked the length of London today, in a not very direct line, then headed back to the centre. From London Bridge to Shoreditch, then back into the centre for Covent Garden and Holborn. That's just today. Yesterday was the circuitous rambles around Hampstead Heath and Highgate cemetery. I've found corners of London that I never saw before. For all that it isn't big geographically, the denseness of the place means that you can never see it all. I doubt anyone ever does get to know every inch it, except perhaps the cabbies who have 'the knowledge'.

I almost envy them the years they spend exploring and memorising the nooks and crannies of the city. It must be an amazing experience to know so much. No wonder there are some who double as tour guides. One day, I'll test them out for myself. Until then, though, I've got to get back to plotting where I'll walk my legs off (hopefully literally, if I keep this up) on tomorrow's outing. Samuel Johnson was right, afterall: When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life.