A rainy sprint down The Mall
The Last Adventures of the Model Tourist
The first day’s ride took us out through the streets of Paris Nord, through neighbourhoods of Magrebian splendour, bazaars reminding us of France’s Colonial past in North Africa, perhaps indicating why their Premiere Mr Tea Cosy was somewhat reluctant to join in the boy’s playground bashing in Iraq a few years ago.
The last day’s ride took us through South London’s streets bedecked in similar fashion, only from countries we decided needed ‘civilising’ some 2 – 300 years ago, and our taste in Colonialism became joyously reflected there.
I used not to enjoy London at all, I’m a plough boy at heart, but, of late. with the help of my kind chum Matt and a few particular books, I have come to understand London again, seeing it in a different light. Matt and I walked the Streets Of London in the breaks between pedaling and we visited many a function: the preserved Operating Theatre at Saint Thomas’s old hospital (a gruesome ‘must’ for any visitor)….
A cabinet of cures in the operating theatre, as used by Florence Nightingale
…and too many galleries to take everything in (like eating too much food, or listening to too much music in one go). Yet the real gems lay in the walks inbetween.
Despite the rampant development - a progress that has never stopped since the Romans, and was greatly accelerated by fire, plague, bombs, greed and pogroms – one can still feel as if one is treading through years of history and the very people on the streets serve as a reminder of this.
The Bangladesh of Brick Lane may be a conspicuous example of this, but when one hears the street cries in the flower market on Sunday morning, and though one may consider these to be ‘true’ London (Cockney) it takes a little delving to discover that, that accent derived from the immigrant, the Jew, The Hugenot and the German.
A Triumph Of Pennies
Riding a penny farthing through the streets on a fine inaugural Veteran-Cycle Club (London Branch) ride causes many a question to be asked by the passer-by. I had more questions for them than they did for me. My first was always ‘where do you come from?’ A holidaying Australian couple complained about the immigrants overcrowding their homeland, yet they happened to be children of Scots and Irish parents. There’s no convincing some people. (“you are not stuck in traffic – you ARE traffic”)
No wonder so many cycle companies used to include a ‘Tourist’ Model within their range. Though I shudder at the thought of fellow penny rider Joff Summerfield’s magnificent 22,000 mile round-the-world trek, I feel that my cycles have allowed me to become at peace with the notion of remaining a tourist, a tourist in a land full of tourists, perhaps we are, after all, all restless itinerants.
The author, on a rare day-off, pedaled a Boris Bike around town. Oh how sponsors B***lays B**k must fume that they have become better known as Boris Bikes. All shall weep.