I saw you on the Tube today with all those suitcases. You looked tired. I think you just got here – you had that look. I remember the feeling of it on my own face, too. Maybe you didn’t sleep on the plane; maybe you are just overwhelmed by all the noise, all the faces. I smiled a bit when our eyes met, but you didn’t and I think I just made you feel awkward and a bit defensive, so I looked back to my book. I wished that we weren’t on the Tube. It is dark underground, and the sun is so bright today. So wonderfully bright. Of course, all the locals are saying that we should enjoy this while it lasts because of course it’s bound to mean a rainy summer ahead. But today it is sunny – a good day to explore a new city. So here we go. It isn’t all dark and crowded. It isn’t all expensive and dangerous. There’s light, too. And here’s my gift to you – a shutterstop city tour in three stops.
You’ll have to get off the train at my station. You were probably heading for a hotel, but we’re heading a little further north, not quite where the tourists go. But it’s a colourful area, lots of immigrants. I think you’ll like it. And here we are coming up to the first stop.
We’re heading for the fishmonger. Now, I know. There’s a big grocery store right there, we’re walking past it and you’re sure that they must have a fish counter in there. That would be more convenient. You could buy a chocolate bar while you’re in there and that’s convenient, right? But you just got here, and I’m not sure that convenient shopping is why you came. You probably want to see some interesting sights. That’s why we go to new places. And, at the fishmonger, there is plenty to see. This fishmonger is housed in the market building, just to your right as you step inside. There’s a good spot to lurk off to one side, so you can watch what people are buying. Monkfish and kingfish, trout. That man just bought a large bag of baby octopus. And there’s a pile of salmon and neat lines of coley, too. And jackfish. Which is what we’re buying today. They are small and gleaming, cheap, too, with disconcertingly large eyes. They almost look cute. We buy three – one each for the adults, and one to split for the kids, who take turns carrying the bag down the street, telling a long and convoluted story about three fish named Jack.
Which brings us to stop number 2:
The cafe window is very clean, probably just been washed. If you look further down the street, you might see the window washer heading off to his next assignment. But look through the window and you will see her sitting there. Her hair is tied up with a white cloth as always, and she has a thin rolling pin in her hands. She’s rolling out dough. Soft dough into thin circles that wind their way around the pin, and then turn and flatten again. Each circle she stuffs , some with cheese or spinach or potatoes, some with meat. Then she folds it in half, so quick and easy like she’s not even thinking about it, and she sets it to cook on the grill beside her. I can stand here at the window and watch for a long time. The kids also like to stop when we walk past and watch, and sometimes she looks up and waves at them, smiling. So, of course, we go in and buy. They are called gozleme – a kind of Turkish crepe. The name, I’ve just discovered, comes from the word for eye. Which makes sense because, as they cook on the grill, small brown spots appear on the dough like eyes, looking out at you.
We’ll take a couple, warm and wrapped in a paper bag – fuel for the road. A quick stop chez moi to put the fish in the fridge for dinner, then I’m afraid we need to hop back on public transport, but this time it’s a bus, so there’s still plenty of sunshine for us. And we are heading up to stop number 3.
Hampstead Heath. Margaret Laurence rambled here. As did Karl Marx. And so will you. There you go – big sky above you, trees and grass around you. As well as a whole history of people who came up here to breath. You can see the city spread out before you in the distance. You can see St Paul’s from here, and the Gherkin. The Shard, still on its way up. A mass of offices and homes, the density of diversity living together in one place. If you look, you’ll also see the London Eye, so there’s the visual connection for our tour, I suppose. There is so much to see. Turn your face towards the city and wonder. Because cities are wonders. Any place where people choose to live so close together is a miracle, in a way. A declaration that we belong together. A possibility. A prayer. Any city, anywhere.
