. . . LAND ROVER OVERLAND EXPEDITION

A long walk through London in the evening

You remember, the little cute kid who slapped after-shave on his face in "Home Alone" - what ever happened to that guy... I'll tell you. He's right across from 36 Maiden Lane in London. 

I was walking to the tube yesterday and noticed a theatre sign for Madame Melville - starring none other than Mr. Caulkin himself. And with the great rates for students, 1/2 price the night of the show - best remaining seat in the house, I decided to go. Tonight I paid my 12 pounds and craned up from the second row. Seeing someone like that, who has only inhabited feathery regions of screen memories, walking on the stage, acting - talking to you and everyone around not ten feet away - it's like visual gluttony. Celebrity is meant to be glanced at. Stage acting is a role reversal, the other person is out there, exposed, while you remain hidden in the great black space past the footlights. 

McCauley's stage door, from my window - London

The show was convincing, his female co-star was outstanding, and though Macauly needs some polishing - his effort was appreciated. And in fact, he brought most of us close to tears at the end. So when I walked home and noticed the crowd at the stage door across the street from my apartment - I kept an eye on the exit. Sure enough, he popped out after fifteen minutes and signed some autographs. Opening the second floor window I leaned out and caught his eye. "Hey", I said. 
  "Hey." 
  "Nice job tonight. I just went and saw your play." 
  "Thanks!" 
  "Absolutely!" 
  "Ok." 

What can I say, I'm a pushover for the stars. Did I ever tell you about shaking Stallone's hand in NYC?... 

London continues to engulf my senses. It isn't simply the history, or the restaurants, after all I've spent plenty of time in Paris and Rome. It's the sweep of the city, the grand carpet of building after building. And not just with historical significance. But budding with the appeal of the city's affluence, of crowded theatres, bistro and pub on corner after corner with patrons bustling inside to beat the evening dusk. I walked around last night to continue my exploration of the city. London is so large that residents refer to sections. 

The City, historical center of London and still the financial epicenter of Europe, is just east of Covent Garden where I live. The Thames winds south of me, providing an uneven hem across the bottom of the historical section of the city. To the north, the quiet neighborhoods of Bloomsbury and the University of London - and to the west, the tourist meccas. The clubs of Soho, the palaces and government in St. James, urbane shopping in Mayfair, and farther west Harrods in Kensington, Hyde Park, and upscale living in Notting Hill. 

Pigeons in Trafalgar Square - London

What started as a "quick stroll" turned into a marathon trek in the chilly night. Nelson perched on his gigantic column in Trafalgar square is only two blocks away. I remember getting misty eyed when I was a kid, listening to the song on Mary Poppins, "Feed the birds, tuppence the birds..." The pigeons are still there, or their well fed offspring, and will jostle on your arms and head for a quick feed. Or explode into the air in a sweeping cloud when you walk through. 

I went north into Soho, through the large cleaned up Leicester square which used to be London's "needle park" full of junkies. Not any more, now hemmed in with chain restaurants and three giant cinemas - it's the start of the clot of tourists. Duck and dodge still going west, in a few blocks I reached Piccadilly circus. Did you know that the angel with the bow and arrow on the fountain in the middle of Piccadilly circus is the most popular statue with tourists in London? The aluminum figure was supposed to be a monument to the Earl of Shaftesbury, a Christian who campaigned tirelessly against child labor. Known as Eros, it is not the god of love, it's actually the Angel of Christian Charity. I quite like it, but it was so unpopular with the local public when it was unveiled in 1893 that the sculptor lived in self-imposed exile for the next 30 years. That's some bad press!

Kept going west, down Piccadilly road toward Green Park (that's kitty corner, to the north of St. James Park where Buckingham Palace is located), the buildings got taller and more stately as I walked from Soho to St. James. And the tourists thinned and then vanished. The buildings along Piccadilly on the northern verge of the park reminded me of the Upper East Side in New York city - the swanky spots overlooking Central Park. Bond St., hmmmm, that rang bells. I circled to the end of Piccadilly and then back - wow. A street packed with the finest brands in the world; Gucci, Prada, Sothebys, Tiffany, Versace, Zegna. The time had slipped on and it was 11pm by the time I started my tour. But I felt no sense of lurking threat (like the sixth sense that has to be alert in some big cities), and in the damp night I strolled down the deserted alley of gleaming wares as though it were my own private collection of temptations. By the time I had crossed the intersection marking the end of Old Bond St. and the start of New Bond St., my mental list of "things I have to buy someday" stretched to six figures, and before I reached Oxford street it had gotten so bilious that I scrapped the whole thing altogether. 

Maybe that's the secret cure to materialism, see the absolute best in the world that is available and make a list so long that the sheer ludicrousness of it all makes you realize again how nice it is to wear jeans and sneakers. Bond St. runs north, and walking its length had taken me through Mayfair's genteel townhouses bordered on the north by Oxford St. When I first arrived in London I was completely lost in the maze of streets - there are no real arteries, the names change every few blocks, and they keep curving off in all directions. Finding Oxford St. I thought I'd finally found a dependable cross road - it wasn't till I noticed the flashes going off behind the car that I realized that because of the huge volume of shopping on the road it had been converted to bus only, and I was racking up traffic tickets via automated cameras. Sheesh, between those bloody box mounted cameras and the parking tickets I racked up a good dozen fines - paid cash for the car though, hopefully I'll never get a shock on the credit card. 

Trafalgar Square - London

By the time I reached Oxford I was starting to tire. I'd covered several miles of city walking, so I turned home. Back east on Oxford to Regent St, then south. On a whim I dodged left into Carnaby alley in Soho - a refurbished alley in period architecture and nifty stores, got tangled up and made a wrong turn that ultimately led me north several miles almost to Regent's park. By now the walk had turned into a trek and the damp had turned to London mist and light rain. Bloomsbury is a quiet neighborhood of mostly brownstones and residential squares. Quartering off Euston Rd., I wandered through the sprawling campus of London University. Though London has more university students than any other city in the world (more than half a million at last count), and London University is the largest institution in the city, its sprawling growth has left it with no real focus. I wandered through the miles of various colleges and departments, scattered in row houses and housing complexes, down to the British Museum. 

The thing to remember is that all these buildings are old, and not just old - very old. Finding the British Museum finally re-oriented me, and footsore and weary I turned for home. Pubs must close at 10pm unless they have a late license, yet at 11:30pm there were still crowds in the restaurants and pubs still open. And in the long rambling tour of the city, through different boroughs and miles of buildings, there was a continual cornucopia of enticing eateries and amazing warrens of cuisine. Which is why London continues to engulf my senses. There seems to be no end of surprises, and when I turn an odd corner I keep finding surprises. There doesn't seem to be "the best little place" to go - there are many "the best"s. How can all this culture survive? The citizenry is dedicated to gastronomical delight, to theatre, espresso recharges at lunch, and an evening pint. Ahhh London. 

And hey, if you visit, I can introduce you to McCauley Caulkin. He's alive and well and working across the street - and I'm sure we're gonna be friends.