An old friend is visiting London from Atlanta over the coming days. She hosted me for a holiday several years ago and we toured the Orlando theme parks, Savannah (I remember ‘Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil’ was my companion book of choice that week) and the beautiful South Carolina Coast.
She’s in London to work, but it’s my turn to host and we plan to snatch a couple of days to play tourist. It occurred to me that I haven’t played tourist in my own home town since I was a child, when I recall being forced to traipse the streets, exposing a succession of visiting American and Canadian relatives to the charms of the Tower of London, Madame Tussauds, Buckingham Palace, St Paul’s Cathedral and more.
This time, I’m looking forward to my couple of days as tourist guide. We’re set to visit a few places that I’m embarrassed to confess I haven’t yet experienced. You know when you live somewhere, you do your best to avoid the backpackers, not join their numbers. So unbelievably, I’ve never been on The London Eye, never stood in Shakespeare’s Globe, never crossed The Millennium Bridge and (shame of shames) never visited the Tate Modern.
All these deficits in my life experience will be rectified this week.
I expect we’ll also nose around market stalls, drink coffee at the riverside and find somewhere eclectic and absent of branding for our lunch. I’ll take my notepad and my camera, and I’ll scribble and snap relentlessly, to capture at least a small corner of London, seen through the eyes of a visitor.
The experience won’t be much use for my current novel, which is set in Turkey. But I’ve discovered I like this writing business, so there’ll probably be another one along later, and who knows, it might just involve old friends meeting in an unfamiliar city.