It’s hard to believe a city crammed with 8.6 million people can be a lonely place. I guess that is the reason every advertising break on TV includes adds for Love Match and Lovoo to “share moments, events and photos with people nearby“. It can be quite a culture shock at first.
Everyone seems to keep to themselves. I have rarely found a friendly smile returned. Maybe it’s because the citizens are caught in the rat race – so busy in their lives. And it’s not just me, an article released in The Guardian which says a staggering amount of 4.7 million people across the UK feel lonely and 1 out of 10 do not share any close friends.
That’s a scary fact.
I can imagine it is tough for expats coming into the country to build connections and join friendship groups if people locals have been friends from school, university or work. This notion of isolation has even crept into works of fiction:
“But if you’re a Londoner, you will know Londoners keep to themselves“, quotes a character in J.S. Fletcher’s The Charing Cross Mystery.
But is it really true? I challenged myself to speak to one stone faces on the tube today. An opportunity entered in the form of a young man hitching his way onto the Northern Line using crutches with thick woolly socks whisked around the handles. That’s pretty much a conversation starter itself.
We ended when his stop came up, and he greeted me with, “It was nice to meet you. Have a nice weekend. See you later. It was a pleasure to meet you. Bye”. I had scarcely the chance to greet him before he hobbled off.
I noticed similar greetings throughout the day. We barely spoke to a person, but the farewell message remained the same:
“It was lovely to meet you (even though we never really exchanged words or names), and “Have a nice weekend.”.
I’m starting to think it is the traditional way to embark down a conversation with a Londoner.
We had the opportunity for another touristy mission today. The British Museum is so vast that it has cropped a few short must-see lists. My brother and I had three hours to spare in this archaic building. It stood tall and impressive.
My slightly skew impression of the British History Museum, London.
At the entrance of the Persian section of the British History Museum.
The halls housed a magnificent collection of archaeology from all cultures in the globe. Due to our tight schedule, we limited our time to have fun exploring the sections including Ancient Egypt, Assyrians, Ancient Greece, Ancient Rome and Medieval Britain.
On our visit, we observed many priceless artefacts that served important purposes in deciphering cultures. The Rosetta Stone, the Sloane Astrolabe, some of the first mummies, the oldest chess set and so much more! We could hardly drink it all in. Ruan and I decided the way for this museum to be fully appreciated is to visit not just one section, but one room per day to fully understand the artefact’s grandeur and weighting.
This may seem quite arbitrary to most, but a good friend had advised the Hummingbird Bakery while in SOHO. After out gander at the British Museum, we first popped by a weathered bookstore called Jarndyce Booksellers. We feasted our eyes on the hardcover spines to the likes of Jane Austin, William Shakespeare, Charles Dickens, Black Beauty, British Gardening and so much more.
The books were immaculate! The gold embedded script wasn’t peeling; pages weren’t haphazardly falling out. I could hardly believe these books were for sale – that is how splendidly old they are. I had my eye set on one of the original Silmarillion books by J.R.R.Tolkien, but the three-figure price (in pounds) silenced my thirst.
The Hummingbird Bakery.
Stumbling back out onto the street was like falling out of a time machine. Everything was too loud, too bright and too advanced. It took a while to adjust to the speed of the outside world.
After a little navigation, we slipped into the brightly coloured Hummingbird Bakery. We queued orderly and waited out turn. I took a red velvet cupcake and my brother the cappuccino. Both takeaway (they charge an extra pound each to consume it indoors).
This was a bit of pure happiness! The texture; the flavour; the icing. Everything melted together in my mouth to form the most marvellous taste to tickle my fancy. I found myself taking smaller and smaller bites, to my brothers’ annoyance, to make it last longer.
“This is the most expensive cupcake I will ever eat!” I declared.
Arrival at Camden left us confused. We checked out The World’s End bar – which was an impressive place – and headed to the famous Camden Market.
At first, the streets were lined with shops you find at Muizenberg or Lower Loop and Long Street. Mostly street vendors and knockoff items. There are a few strange ones too, like the Victorian Gothic one that sported corsets, spiked boots and everyday wear maid outfits. Needless to say, the crows hanging out there looked… interesting.
The heart of the market is very much like Houtbay market. Similar artwork, jewellery and designs. Minus the African work off course. Even the people looked the same! We perused some areas then went straight to the gourmet food court where I had an incredible underwhelming meal, and Ruan enjoyed a naan chicken wrap. We gulped down orange juice to subdue the burning aftertaste of the spicy chicken.
The colours of Camden Market!
Our walk back was more exciting. An old man was dancing on the bridge; shirtless and with earphones plugged in. He was jamming and making an exciting impression of stepping as though he was tripping on some drugs. Just further down, four African youth were dancing a mix of kwaito and what looked like the South African football dance. African rap blared through the tinny speakers, but they held a whole audience captivated until the authorities chased them away.
We decided to come back on the bus. We took the top deck and enjoyed the view from Camden to Leicester’s Square. The day finished with a lovely South African braai and we felt at home again.
