London, pt 3

Last night, after my Internet time ran out and I had thought over how much more mellow of a day it had been, I decided that I wanted to go find Sherlock Holmes' house. It was about 7pm and the house was about a 45 minute walk; I was concerned that, if I left in the morning like I was planning too, I wouldn't have enough time to see it and Sherlock Holmes was a pretty big deal for me. So I took off.

It was a very pretty evening. It stayed very bright, despite how late it was getting. The rain came down in very light drizzles, like the kind they have set up over vegetables in the supermarket. It felt fantastic to go on a walk without my bag on me. The backpack doesn't weigh very much at all -- at the airport, it officially came in at 6kg -- but it was still a noticeable difference. Also, the rest I'd gotten since I'd stopped walking earlier really did me good. I took off with a much brighter perspective and a springier step.

The evening walk, I think, was my favorite walk so far. Everyone was bustling about, most beneath umbrellas and the rest of us hugging against the walls of building for shelter, stopping beneath the covered bus waits when the rain picked up, hurrying along in the drizzle when it let down again. Lights came on around the monuments, casting everything in a mystical orange glow and giving the streets an entirely different feel. With the sound of rain sloshing against tires and dripping from the tree leaves, the huge city felt completely at peace.

I made it to Holmes' museum and stared around contemplatively, wondering what inspiration his maker had drawn on in this neck of London. I wondered if he'd seen criminal activity in the scurrying crowds of the night streets where I only saw calm hurry to get somewhere dry. To get the the museum, I passed through some very nice neighborhoods as well as by a few embassies -- nothing to suggest the dark plots, kidnappings, or murders of Holmes' stories.

When I started heading back, the time was just passed 8pm and I was struck with a sudden worry about how late it was in the evening, especially given the long walk back to my hostel. With my hood up and my hands in my pockets, I started storming back the way I'd come, determined to reach my room before 9.

At one intersection, a pair of men stood beside me. I didn't pay them any attention until one of them started forward -- only to be immediately stopped by his friend, just as a bus came rushing by. It was a close save. The bus passed and us waiting pedestrians started across the street. The man who stood closest to me suddenly stuck his hand out, offering me a cracker from the bag he'd been eating from.

With a shrug, I grabbed one and the three of us started talking. Their names were Michael and Gordon. Gordon spoke so quietly and with such a very, very heavy accent that I barely understood a word he said. Michael was very lively and quick -- he reminded me of the black man from Ocean's 11, the guy who set the explosives! As we walked, they commented on my accent, saying it sounded Colombian of all things! And then we started talking about shoes, and what my shoes said about me in particular. It was a really me-centric conversation, and extremely complimentary. When they heard I planned on leaving London without having seen the British Royal Museum, they both urged me to change my plans.

We walked together for a good time before our ways split. We talked about what our jobs were and since I didn't have a job, they did most of the talking. Michael was an actor; Gordon worked in the Fair Trade department of the government, breaking up monopolies and analyzing mergers. When our ways did split, them taking a right and me continuing onward, it was another sad farewell to end such a quick friendship. Michael gave the rest of the biscuits at a fare-thee-well present, and off we all separated.

It wasn't very much, but that quick and good conversation did a lot of restoration for my spirits and for my outlook on London. As I went to bed later, I thought long and hard about what I wanted to do. I came to the decision to stay one more day to explore the museums.

And that's what I did all day today. After booking the bed for another night and grabbing some breakfast, I took off first thing in the morning, arriving at the British Royal Museum first. It was just as amazing as Michael and Gordon had said. I wandered through it for almost four hours without realizing the time. After that, I headed to the Tate Modern Museum of Art to see some Picassos and Rembrandts. The art museum wasn't nearly as interesting; aside from a handful of artwork that appealed to me, most of the rest of it was weird "modern" art that either made no sense to me or else gave me the shudders. There were some children asking their parents why such and such was considered art, and I laughed at the terrible, shoddy answers they got. "Because it's in an art gallery," one mother told her daughter, "that's why."

Afterwards, I walked across Tower Bridge, which before I'd only seen from a far distance. It was next to the Tower of London, a miniature castle on the northeast side of the Thames. From there, I hiked back to my hostel, grabbing a sandwich for dinner on the way.

I've got to do a load of wash in the sink and then I'll probably just relax in the lounge for the rest of the evening. I'm fully satisfied now with my trip of London. I'm even fairly familiar with the streets now. London has maps posted regularly, such that you wouldn't need a map of your own for short distances. I am ready to move on, though.