When I mentioned to a neighbour that we were going away for two or three weeks, he asked politely “Anywhere nice?” “London,” I said. “Oh dear!” he replied. Whether he spoke from ignorance of the city’s attractions or trauma suffered at its hands, I don’t know (we are only recently acquainted) so I responded by saying that I have friends and relatives there and, satisfied by this explanation, he nodded sympathetically and urged me to make the best of it. Which is what I’ve been doing since.
Nor am I alone: the tourists are back and I’m vying with them for pavement space, bumping into them as they stop in their tracks to take selfies, then spurning them as they queue for the mainstream experiences. What, I ask myself, motivates them? It’s a rhetorical question, of course – especially as I am as keen a tourist as any – but seen from the perspective of one’s own patch, it’s a valid one, especially if you want to encourage them to keep coming, whether for economic benefit or cultural exchange. People come from afar, at considerable expense, to gawp at us and our habitat – often without any prolonged engagement with us individually – and we do the same to them. Is this behaviour driven by an appetite for foreign-ness, a quest for exotic experiences, an impulse to photograph what has been photographed millions of times before? Or is it just straightforward human nosiness? Probably all these and more. Still, I can’t help feeling that I would like, occasionally, to volunteer my services as an impromptu guide to those who look lost, bewildered or, best of all, enthusiastic. Not that I am qualified or expert in any way, but I do empathise with the spirit of tourism.
Of course, the easing of Covid-related restrictions has opened the floodgates to the pent-up impulses of all who want to get out and mingle again, myself included. It could be that it’s been so long since I experienced a joyfully crowded pub, that the one I had a pint in last night in Soho seemed especially joyful and crowded. Was it like this on an ordinary week-day BC (Before Covid)? In fact, the streets were full of evening revellers, so much so that my companion and I had a job finding a restaurant that could offer us a table for supper. Yes, there were tourists among the crowds but also Londoners, all of whom must surely be about to feel the pinch of inflation as the news headlines proclaim a ‘cost-of-living crisis’? Are so many people insulated financially from its effects (Soho is not cheap) or did I mis-read the mood? Far from being a celebration of the return to ‘normal’, was it in fact one of desperation, a 'last chance to dance’?
Perhaps, like me, many folks are bingeing on London while they can. For the past two years, I have kept up my subscriptions to the National Trust, the National Art Fund and English Heritage, despite their assets being mostly unavailable. Now it’s pay-back time and I’ve been assiduously checking the options near me. Needless to say, many are overrun by tourists, which can be a bit of a nuisance, but the art show at the Barbican Centre, Postwar Modern, is an exception and the work of British artists on display there and the context in which they were created can be fully appreciated in a calm, relaxed manner.
Next day, back in the tourist melee of Borough Market, I met up with an old friend. We bought sandwiches, then searched for a picnic spot. As often happens, we did not have to stray far from the tourist honeypot. If you’re ever down that way and feel the need for a peaceful haven, look for Red Cross Garden, created by the social reformer and co-founder of the National Trust, Octavia Hill. It’s a gem that’s not hard to find. But please, don’t tell the tourists about it.
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