Trafalga Square & Surrounds

I hadn’t expected it to look like this. Trafalga Square opened up before me like a dream. The large whit-paved area shone back at me with the reflection of the sun. This was what I thought London would be about, this was the place of my imaginings. Overlooking the square stood a pillared building, which I had every intention of investigating. This was yet another Gallery that was currently featuring Titian and also a few original Monet works. But first I needed to investigate Trafalga Square. When I thought of it I didn’t actually visual a ‘square’ as such… but here it was. Flanked by the Museum, the South Africa Building and a large gated structure at its far end, the square was a grassless park inside, and yet beyond, the town of London. A statue of a man on a horse overlooked the overflowing waterfall where children played with the pigeons and buskers danced to the joy of the crowd. Enormous lion statues sat on the four corners of a pillar hailing the sacrafices of British soldiers throughout the years, and within the pond directly opposite cherubs flew from the waters.

I imagine that being there alone, it would be the most peaceful of places – but here now, there was a hubbub of colours with tourists meandering around, taking photos of one another, couples sitting watching the water fountain and parents laughing lovingly at their children.

I couldn’t help but wander around looking to the skies – trying with some difficulty not to a) look like a tourist, and b) bump into every person in my vicinity. The Church holds an impressive steeple with a shining blue clock, above the museum is a gold painted steel globe, under which Lions watch over London, and further below, cherubs ensure peace and harmony in the space. All perfectly designed to delight the onlooker – I wondered how many people miss these little delicacies of sight. So may Londoners seem to miss what is right before their eyes and I was glad that I came from a place that ensured my shock and awe at experiencing all of this.

I wandered around the area with a broad smile transforming my face and my mood. Here – I was impressed, this made the whole day so much more worth while. I love being surprised. I had heard of Trafalga Square but had not researched it, thought about it… and therefore was lucky enough to have any preconceived ideas about what it would be. Expectation can so often lead to disappointment – I marvelled at my luck.

Eventually I made my way into the grand pillar-bearing museum and was prepared for something quite spectacular. When I walk into these great halls I peer about like the proverbial mere cat, as if it is a secret that I am here – waiting for someone to tell me I shouldn’t be here at all, its for the special people, not little Fiona. And yet, here I was, feeling like a naughty child about to steal a 50 cent lolly.

The hall of the building was domed – somewhat… and certainly to a lesser degree – similar to His Majesty’s Theatre in Perth (a side note that if you happy to go to that particular theatre, the dome is not actually a dome, but painted in such a way that given perspective it appears as such. The original dome apparently was smashed and it cost too much for it to be repaired… something for your next dinner party!). The kind man in the Museum allowed me to take a photo, “so long as you take it from there”, pointing to a corner… so I stood at the corner, leaned on a pillar, twisted my body to the point of falling over (meanwhile my bag had swung from my shoulder and was swinging precariously off my elbow causing more problems with my balance) and snapped the dome. “haha!” laughed the kind security guard, “fair enough”. I smiled very happily while he rolled his eyes at me and trotted off on my merry way.

I was just so happy, I wanted to talk to people. Looking back I wonder about my sanity, trying to catch other peoples eyes to share my joy and excitement. My “oh I’m lost again” and “oh! Look! Another hall filled with paintings galore” moments needed to be shared. I was so happy I almost started considering myself a complete other person and chatted away to myself in my mind about how marvellous that painting was, and how on EARTH that spot could be considered art? It was fun, I was having fun and in realising that I was having fun – had even more fun… shortly thereafter I was carried out in a straight jacket!

No… to my left were Titian paintings with a ridiculous amount of people muttering to themselves about how ‘simply marvellous’ and ‘what a feat of perfection’ etc etc and every other generic thing people aught to say when they see something that is ‘said’ to be ‘art’. I prefer to make my own mind up and at times am influenced to love or hate something on the basis of popularity – if something is popular I will hate it simply to be different… almost rebelling against society for no actual reason, to no end what so ever… and potentially simply because it makes me feel more like an individual. I think it is such a struggle to try not to be a part of the crowd, to not get swept away by the media and society generally, to retain your own free will and more importantly, your ability to decide how you feel about a certain thing – to be true to yourself in a sort of way. My heavens – I sound like Oprah! Ahhh my point is proven to spite myself!

But back to the contents of this striking museum. You have read about other museums I have been fortunate enough to frequent, with the wonderous designs throughout the ages, and this is no exception. It doesn’t matter how many museums or galleries you visit, there are always wonders to be found, images that touch you, shock you, bring some emotion from you – whether it be love or hate. I maybe like them for that reason, not only the imaginings of the people who paintined them, the people in the paintings themselves, the era that they were commissioned, but the fact there a whole lifetime can go on outside the walls of the museum, but here you are, absorbed. Not thinking of wars, of issues at home… of anything remotely related to your existence, you are simply there appreciating something, feeling something. Its escapism.

I wandered from hall to hall and room to room taking everything in, from modern to Titian forms of artwork and enjoyed every moment. After a time, however, you stop appreciating, there is only so much you can see in a day, and the time was coming for me to move on to my next destination for the day.

Walking back through Trafalga Square I took out my camera and snapped myself roaring with the lion, and looking up at the pillar – taking a moment to consider the soldiers it was dedicated to. I stood watching the water fountain for a time before realising that someone was watching me watch the water fountain. A man whom I assume was homeless was looking at me with intent and I thought it time I moved on before becoming subject for any potential criminal activity.

Back across the road I made the discovery of my lifetime… If you have ever known me at Christmas I am one of those horribly annoying people who so desperately enjoy the crooners… A bit of ‘Frosty the Snowman’ and ‘Its beginning to look a lot like Christmas’ by Dean Martin is an essential part of any tree decorating. I have always dreamt and wondered about these ‘roasted chestnuts’ by the fire, and holly on the door. Oh to have a white Christmas. When I crossed the road and smelt a smell I’d never smelt before I knew this was a moment. There before me, so subtle in its presence was… a roasted chestnut stall! Oh the excitement! It was a moment of utter glee. Although I didn’t buy any – not thinking they actually looked that enticing and not really being a huge fan of nuts in general – I stood looking at them, smelling them, telling the poor man selling them how I’d always wanted to see some (another straight jacket moment) and then taking a photo of me next to them. Christmas was coming, my first winter Christmas. I started singing “It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas” to myself, whistling through the chorus and practically skipping down the road. It is true – its always the small things that bring joy. I just wished there was someone to share my excitement.

Earlier in the day I had spoken to Nigel and we were discussing the American Presidential Elections… Nigel had told me (and ofcourse I would not know otherwise because I’d not watched the news before I left the house) that McCain had claimed victory. For the rest of the day I was thinking to myself, ‘my, that is strange… I really didn’t think he had it. And the voters? Last time I checked there was 70% poll in favour of Obama’. After walking some distance from the Chestnut stall I stopped… I growled… I thought, what a cheeky cheeky man! There infront of me was the Evening Standard stall (the main London Newspaper) announcing in great black writing “OBAMA VICTORY”. I laughed to myself and felt a presence near me. Even 12000 miles away he was still trying to make me laugh.

My next mission was to walk the Victoria Embankment. I’m still unsure why I felt the need to. Potentially because in Perth the whole city is all about the river so one would assume that every city focuses its beauty around the river… and most certainly wouldn’t let traffic interfere with your solitary moment with the stream… Not so.

However, I was not there yet. Walking along the streets alone from one destination to another is travelling in itself. This is why I’ve not had much fascination with taking a tour bus around London – there is so much that you may potentially miss. And the new and improved ‘Fiona the Discoverer’ didn’t want to miss a thing. I scooted past a shopping centre situated between arches that had been there since the 1500’s and used to be canal-like and somehow connected to the Thames themselves. Under these stones were skeletons and the essence of history.

I finally made it through to ‘Victoria Embankment’ and it wasn’t exactly what one would expect… well certainly not what I expected to see. I think I had imagined something quite like South Perth with the vast well maintained green parkland enabling families and friends to gather for barbeques and romantic escapes along the rivers’ shore. Not so. I was walking along a very busy two way, four lane’d road, with ambulances and police cars flying past, people beeping and speeding to get home from a long day at the office. It was loud, it was grey and I wondered what had possessed me to walk this walk.

Later I discovered that the Victoria Embankment was infact a very historical part of London, where the merchants unlouded their ships filled with spices and silk and all wonders of the world for “London” which was only situated on the North side of the river (the South side of the river was infact all country side until the late 1700’s). Littered here and there, and almost out of view were hidden parks. Miniature escapes from the rushing traffic. I slid into each quietly, requiring some respite (but sure not to sit down. When you walk for hours and hours and feel that sense of lethargy slowly creeping in the one worst thing that you can possibly do is sit down… there is no hope what so ever of you EVER getting up again).

I took in the peacefulness around me. Birds were even finding solace between branches that crept over forgotten-about statues of past heroes. I noticed all of the ‘keep off the grass signs’ and immediately wanted to jump up and down and dance around on the grass like a mad person (straight jacket… never ending day of Bedlam {Bedlam was infact a mental institution which is where the term comes from… hails from England as well!}). I am still blown away by the colours of the English winter, the deep orange of the leaves contrasted with the mossy emerald of the trees and the striking green of the grass, all contrasted by the pitted grey skies. I took a breath and made my way back to the taxi-ridden jungle of the road.

I came to a secret looking and fancy looking night club. There was a large Afro-Caribbean man standing out the front looking all very imposing. I smiled at him and gestured whether it was alright to take a photo. Suddenly the imposing character became a very welcoming persona and he gestured that it would be fine. I took a snap and he looked most impressed that he was in the photo. I waved him goodbye and carried on my walk feeling his smile behind me. There really are so many pleasant people in the world.

I continued my meandering as the wind was coming in with its crisp afternoon coldness. Searching in my backpack I took out my gloves and hat and hoped that it would warm me enough to prevent any unnecessary ice frosting on any obtruding areas of my body. I came across the ‘Walk About Pub’… the Walk About is the ‘place to go’ for all things Aussie. It was 4pm and there was no one there yet, but I checked out the menu. Fish and Chips, Burgers and Kangaroo – it was all there and ready for consumption. But I had come here for the English experience and had been warned off these areas by every one I knew. If I was interested in being a topless barmaid… or indeed, a topless patron, it was the place to go… I decided it might not be a pub that I would frequent, but it was nice to know where other Australians were incase I became dreadfully home sick and wanted to discuss Rove and all things Australian. I took a photo and carried on, feeling none-the-better for the gloves and hat.

Along the path and across the road was a mural dedicated to soldiers. Being so close to Remembrance Day, the mural was littered with red poppys. I smiled at that and took a moment to consider it.

I walked past the original London School and heard children coming from the gates with accents that implied ‘good breeding’, even when they swore it sounded like the most well-to-do word you had ever heard. The school itself is almost completely fenced in, as is the beautiful park that surrounds it. The park reminded me of ‘Notting Hill’, if you’ve seen it, the moment that Hugh Grant takes Julia Roberts into a secret walled park that no one is generally allowed in. I felt like the poor lil match girl staring in.

I had finally made it to a bridge… I wasn’t entirely sure which bridge until looking later. It is called ‘Blackfriars Bidge’, and a busy bridge it is. Traffic both mechanical and humour whizzed along it from one side of London to another. I, on the other hand, was quite happy to stand and stare, taking in the façade of London from one aspect and then, another. It was impressive. Stretching further than the eye can see, and effort made to ensure that, although functional, it remained architecturally pleasing. I could see the London Eye staring back at me through the mist of rain that started to lightly descend overhead. The street lights flickered on as I wandered slowly, and tiredly, across the bridge. When I saw what I call the Kiss Hug Kiss building (generally considered the XOX building… I figure it is always important to read between the lines… I seem to be the only one who knows what it means! Every time I mention the Kiss Hug Kiss building I am met with stares of confusion and incredulity… I figure I am simply right, and they… are simply wrong). I loved simply staring at the bridges across the city, the boats moored up, the roman, Victorian and more modern style buildings littering the river-line, I was so excited to be there. Just me. And it was becoming even more beautiful as the sun was descending, the buildings’ lights shining out creating a whole new world that I’d not yet seen.

As I write this, sitting comfortably in my room with Cat Stevens singing in the background, I realise what a day it was. It has been more than a week since this all happened and I finally understand why I feel the need for a few days solitude and quietness – simply to get over the enduring hike. “So this explains why my jeans don’t fit!” I say to myself, stunned and impressed at the same time.

Having made it across the bridge I came to the conclusion that the sun was going down and I was partially frozen, even with my white-stitching lined black leather gloves and black beret… it was time to head in the general direction of ‘home’. No more adventures for today.

As I wandered back along the South Bank to where I’d been days before my heart was taken adrift with blue fairy lights scattered in the trees and lining the length of my walking journey. It was so peaceful and movie-moment perfect. My tiredness and coldness was overcome by a sense of peace. The Thames was rough and I could hear it slapping against the bank, there was a light mist of music wavering through the frosty winds and people laughing and chatting as I wandered past them. A skate park appeared to my left, while St Pauls Cathedral rose up across the river on my right. I moved past the National Theatre writing in my ‘do again list’ to pop in some time soon. While walking under the arches of another bridge that crossed the river I found a book stall, everything for a pound! Most exciting, but I was in urgent need of some warmth so I continued on my journey knowing that I had various books at home that I was dying to get my teeth in to. The time had not yet come to start my own library.

I drifted along the walkway, past a merry-go-round that, had my sister been there, we would have frequented with giggles, and further along to the London Eye. A statue of a man holding an umbrella appeared before me… I was most interested because I’d been through this area before and hadn’t seen that particular statue – must be something for Christmas, I thought to myself. I took out my camera and prepared to take a photo of the statue with the London Eye rising up in the background… and then, almost fell over (fortunately I was kneeling in such a way that shock could not over come my balance)… the statue moved! This silvery umbrella carrying statue was infact a busker – and a very good one at that. I noticed that I was not alone in my shock, a Japanese couple almost fell into the Thames with the ‘jump-back’ shock that the pseudo statue had caused. I could help but smile as I wandered past him and in the general direction of a tube station. What a day – it was time to go home.

It was Guy Fawlks Night. I had no chance of a quiet evening… not when it comes to fire works. I love fire works, I’ve always loved fire works. I think if you don’t experience a thing overly often, it is entirely common for you to be completely obsessed with that said thing later in life. And fireworks are certainly a weakness of mine. I remember being a very small child and sitting at home on New Years Eve, Mum and Dad having allowed us to stay up very late to watch the fire works on the television from around the world. Well, here I was in London and it was Guy Fawlks… there was no way I was staying in the house and not taking advantage of this very personally-historic moment.

When I returned to the house I organised a quick cup of tea, said a hello to Mark (Nigel’s brother) and freshened up. Swapping jumpers and recharging my camera, I asked Mark where would be a more appropriate place to see the fire works in full swing. He suggested I head to Clapham Common, which was only a tube station away. There was a buzz of excitement – this was my first night out in London technically… I just hoped it would go smoothly.

After having my cup of tea, I slung my backpack back on my back and wandered out the door with a joyful cheerio to all secluded in the central-heating warmth.

Getting out at Clapham Common was an experience in itself. I can very very safely say that I have never, ever in my short life seen so many people. It was a sea of faces, smiling faces. Adults, children, couples, families, people dressed to impress and those that had come from work. I could not see a street, a shop… and certainly not anything that even slightly resembled a ‘common’. There were Police everywhere, trying to ensure everyone got to their destination peacefully.

People were wielding fluorescent globes, wearing fluorescent necklaces, cameras danced above the heads of the crowd and flags danced upon the horizon. I was in the throng, along but strangely feeling very safe in the moment. I could hear music blaring from the distance and was swept along in its direction by the swaying crowd.

The atmosphere was intoxicating, everyone was smiling at one another, whether friends or strangers. Oddly I ended up at the front of a fence that rotated all around the very large open space of Clapham Common, with atleast fifteen rows of people staring toward the common, behind me. To my left was a couple holding one another and kissing at appropriate intervals. The music blaring came from a sound system in the middle of the common where one would assume, the fireworks would appear.

I was quite happy just being there, listening to the conversations, laughter and general banter of the people surrounding me, but then… at 7.30pm a BOOM was carried through the area and the crowd was immediately silenced. Suddenly the sky was lit up in green and the purple, with the fizz and hiss of fireworks igniting the frosty winter skies. The ahhhs and ooohhhs from the crowd, I could not help but join in. Even if I wanted to, I could not have kept a straight face, so strong was my smile and awe at the scene. Being here, with these people, in London… alone, watching fireworks and listening to music blare across the skies… it was all too much, it was all fantastic… it was everything I wanted.

What a day…