By Michael Rand
The Minnesota Star Tribune
(TNS)
There is something about being in one of the world’s great cities that makes you sharper. So much is happening at once that you must pay attention. You cannot be a passive observer, but rather must live in every moment to survive and ultimately thrive.
That thought came to me on a recent walk in London, on one of (according to my Step Tracker phone app) 52,573 steps over the course of three days on my first but hopefully not last trip to this wonderful city.
I was there for the Minnesota Vikings’ game against the New York Jets at Tottenham Hotspur Stadium on Oct. 6. But that was merely an important structure around the sort of trip I love to take.
London allowed me to move through a city the way I always imagine I will: often on foot, but seamlessly by train (Just tap your credit card or phone at all entry points. Brilliant!), almost always with a critical mass of people at all hours, in all neighborhoods, regardless of day.
It is a city that you are well served to move through instead of just from point to point. You see children in the park chasing after ravens, you learn to appreciate the narrow streets (always seven ways to get somewhere but seldom a clear-cut best way), and you feel the complexity of evolving neighborhoods where new money is moving in and old Londoners are moving out.
It is the difference between being a traveler and being a tourist. That is my goal, and to be fair it might not be yours. The good news is that London is big enough for all of us.
And my method is not to avoid all typical tourist things. Indeed, our group -- two longtime friends and the 8-year-old son of one of them -- had a wonderful time at the Tower of London (even if the guides do spend an inordinate amount of time talking about beheadings of the past 1,000 years). You get a sense of a place from its past as well as its present.
The Vikings game was certainly a tourist attraction, as was arguably the West Ham soccer (sorry, football) match we took in on the Saturday I arrived. To our group, the game was a novelty only to be seen in or around London. To the fans, it was closer to life-and-death -- as evidenced by the unprintable words and hand gestures that flowed freely during a 4-1 West Ham victory over Ipswich.
They play at London Stadium, built for the 2012 Olympics and almost an hour by train from Heathrow Airport. My Aer Lingus flight from Minneapolis, via Dublin, arrived at Heathrow more than three hours before the 3 p.m. match. It still meant going straight to the stadium from the airport, stashing my bag at a nearby mall cloakroom and coasting into the venue on the fumes of city energy and a couple hours of poor sleep on the plane.
They say to stay up as long as you can that first day. Having three young children has made me, if not jetlag-proof, at least able to function on little sleep.
In London, you pack a lot into a day through a heightening of senses. It requires quick decisions about crossing a street, dashing into a bodega to buy an umbrella or getting on a train.
You save time, too, because other decisions are easy. In almost every neighborhood there’s no need to consult an app when it’s time to eat. Our first night there we passed up Indian, Mexican and traditional British fare before finding the perfect little Thai spot after doing a one-block lap near our hotel in the Victoria neighborhood.
I’m not sure a robust subway system is a prerequisite, but I can’t think of a great city that doesn’t have one. Combined with the nonexistence of a language barrier it makes London one of the least intimidating overseas destinations for a Minnesotan traveler. Beyond the convenience of the Tube, there is something magical about going underground, living for a handful of minutes in a tube with strangers, then reemerging in a completely different place.
This feeling was most acute in London as we traveled Monday night for a show in the theater district. As we came up into the bright lights, robust marquees, corner pubs and countless restaurants, we had been transported again. It was always there, but London had reinvented itself.
I only had that “Where did everybody go?” feeling once, late on my final night. I had just finished a serendipitous post-show drink with a friend from Minneapolis who only knew I was there because he read something I had written about the Vikings on startribune.com.
I had secured a new umbrella because the one time I didn’t bring mine was the one time it really rained (always bring an umbrella). I consulted Google Maps -- which is also the only subway map you need, with transit stops clearly marked -- and it said the walk would be about two miles.
I wasn’t quite ready for my journey to end, so I set out on foot shortly before midnight, after all the pubs in the district had shut down.
After about a mile surrounded by plenty of faces, my directions suggested I take a set of steps down into a large park that looked deserted and dark. A few guys were tipping back bottles and having a good laugh at the bottom of the steps, and a security guard was down there, as well. Beyond that, it was a vast but paved darkness.
Here? This is where I’m supposed to walk?
I hustled across the expanse at time-and-a-half, like an overachiever consuming an audiobook. When I made it to the other side and looked up, I didn’t need to look back at the map.
I was staring up at Buckingham Palace. I guess this wasn’t so spooky after all?
It was 12:30 a.m. by the time I reached the hotel, but only 6:30 p.m. Central time. I consulted with the front desk about the best way to get to Heathrow for an early morning flight -- the Bolt rideshare app was 40 pounds and cheaper than Uber -- and then I made my nightly call home.
My wife smiled at my stories but chided me for only staying three nights. The looks on all the faces of our video call told a different story. They were ready for me to be home, to resume my role in the ecosystem of work, school and activities in Minnesota.
I told her the three days had been a battery-recharging gift to my mind and soul, that strangely it had felt long enough and that I wasn’t tired, even if I should have been. We should all go as a family and stay a couple weeks, I told her, if we save up some money and the kids are old enough to appreciate it.
Any traveler could stay a month or a year and see or feel everything, I said. London could be a thousand different trips for a thousand different people, and all of them could be great.
You take it all in, or as much as you can, and then you jet off again. There’s no point in lamenting what you missed when it’s impossible not to have seen a lot.
(Tribune Content Agency)
