returning home

It's a beautiful, mildly sunny morning here, in London. 

(out my window, towards the back this time)

I almost wish I had another day here. I say "almost." I am so ready to go home.

My flight is at noon. I plan to leave the hotel at 9, and so I can fit in an early morning walk. After breakfast. They can be pokey with serving it and I don't want to take chances.

Where might I walk? Well, in many previous visits to London, I'd stayed closer to Sloan Square. Same Kensington neighborhood, but away from the chaos of Brompton Road. I walk over there now. Not so much for old times sake, but for the quiet.

I guess I expected a tidier face of London in these blocks which, after all, are at a price point you wouldn't believe. 

But no. For a society that is so darn stratified, trash here knows no class boundaries. It's everywhere. Such a visually interesting city...

... with such indifference to litter.

Okay, you probably think I'm exaggerating. That I come here with a bias. Ha. I'll break from my principled position of respect for the local, not liking to post pics that highlight the indignities of a tough existence, just because I think London deserves this:

And this...

And in the very lovely block of my hotel (though not next to it), this:

So I ask the staff -- is it that there is a trash collectors' strike, or is there some problem with rubbish removal service? No, they tell me. It's the way Londoners are. Indifferent to it. They'll put their trash right next to a sign telling them not to do so. (Yes, see above!) In front of their own homes, seemingly hurting themselves too. 

Is it that they've given up? Or is there no pride of place? We're not talking impoverished neighborhoods. This is a district of expensive homes. 

And speaking of expensive homes, there's another trait in this town that I don't much care for: padlocked private parks.

It used to drive me nuts when I'd spot a small green space on the map, walk over with the girls (when they were little) and find that "Do not Enter" sign. Walking past this particular little park, I see that no one is using it. And yet there is stands: locked. [Some wealthy Londoners with private access to such city gardens "generously" let in the public for two days each year. Read about it here.]

What can I say -- the city has so many virtues. It's vibrant, diverse, culturally exciting, visually -- well, potentially grand. But you have to not mind its problems and at my age, I do mind, especially since so many places in this world, in Europe where I usually travel, do have a pride of place. We're on this planet for such a short spec of time. It seems obvious to me that we are all responsible for the people and places we encounter in our very small orbit. We owe them something. Care, kindness, respect.

Londoners, get it together! Do better by your city!

(I'll leave you with a photo that makes me smile: the discreet sign by the door, announcing my hotel. Nothing flashy, nothing grand. Just small and intimate.)

 

At the airport, I find hierarchies firmly in place and my dedication to Delta pays off. I'm zipped through without hassle or delays. Given my back and knee issues, I am actually very grateful.

And the flight takes off on time. (I watch endless episodes of Frazier for the 8 hour 8 minute flight to Detroit, laughing too loudly, dozing off occasionally. Some traveler recently wrote that on overseas flight, light TV reruns are the best. I agree. Movies are hit or miss and finding one you like can be frustrating, but known to you TV shows? A real chuckle can be had.) And my layover in Detroit is the perfect amount of waiting minutes and by 6 pm, Ed is there at Madison's airport, waiting.

I have missed you, my travel-hating ever patient partner in the project of living a principled, calm and happy farmette life. So good to be home.Tomorrow, I'll take stock of the damage my absence has done in the flower fields. Tonight, I just want to stay content with being back.

with so much love...