Londontown

It's hard to call this city beautiful when the imposing nature of all its buildings seems so deliberate. At night, and especially just before dark falls, the architecture of old London seems especially designed to belittle its inhabitants -- a feeling, I suppose, we all come here for, in part.

It smacks, quite obviously, of Rome; of empires and colonies. It's bizarre that I somehow have seen two colonies before I really saw the motherland.

(My mother will point out that this is not true: I came here when I was about nine. She would also point out that it is useless taking kids anywhere before they are nine, should they be as bratty and ignorant as the two Canadian Marlows.)

And so my frames of reference are somewhat skewed, or screwed. Does London resemble Bombay? Does it bear resemblance to colonial Shanghai? Yeah, I suppose; but I'm missing the point.

So far this city is vast and confusing, yet strangely welcoming. I love, first, how many newspapers abound here and how there is such intense competition between them.

I love also the tragedy of the megalopolis: the old woman being put into an ambulance with no family or friends around, who must have called 911 herself (or whatever it is here; I suppose I should find out).



And the snippets of conversation like the one I heard two nights ago are surreal:

"It's down the street... Oh, er, I suppose I should show you."

"Oh, no. Don't worry. This is my friend's guide dog."


I have arrived and, like usual, I'm not being completely forthcoming. I've resolved to work on that.

(Photographs by me, for Carlos/Joe)