The rain spits, and the clouds struggle across the 2012 Olympic skyline before a grey wind that makes every colour grey; except for the brown bricks that hold up the flats and council estates and small shops that make up East London. The new buildings are of brown bricks too; and the white of the affluent citadels of penthouses, and the glass of the castles of commerce become also inescapably grey.
It seems few places are free of deterrents to those who might intrude on the private spaces of the unseen inhabitants of the area known as the Isle of Dogs. Gates are barred; they are unlocked only with electronic devices. Private security is in residence or patrols the perimeters. CTV cameras record every movement. At the entrance to Canary Wharf police have a permanent presence. No vehicle gets in or out of here without their inspection. No-one can walk into the office buildings here without either a pass, or a challenge to their presence.
As I stroll in the grey wind along the Thames Path to Canary Wharf, I see a man with a striking resemblance to David Bowie jogging past. South Korean au pairs push prams over the pavement and plead with precocious four year-olds in their care to behave themselves.
I am coming to the end of my stay here.
James and Mia have generously donated the use of their futon for the purpose of my sleeping pleasure, for the last 6 weeks. James is leaving his job at the investment bank, for self-employment adventure land, and I am invited to tag along for celebratory drinks. My recent discovery of the pleasures of sobriety has lead to a full recovery of my liver from the spanking it took in the first 3 weeks here. London beers are Big! I can attest to that, and to the ease with which, in the company of other fellow inebriates, they can disappear down your gullet.
I am asked several times for my opinion of London. I am delighted each time as Wayne jumps into the conversation, pre-empting my reply with “He hates London, He thinks it’s shit!” and letting me off the hook. Philip has perhaps the final word for the evening when he says “sick of London, sick of Life”.
But London is so multi-faceted and richly diverse, it’s not my place, nor do I have the authority to pass judgement on the second largest city in Europe and the world’s largest financial centre behind New York.
The day before I leave I take the tube to Maida Vale in West London to visit my friends Dominic and Angela, fellow Australians who have made London their home, and who have just had their first child, Isabella. I am an hour late; I still haven’t mastered the topography of London. It’s a different world here. The streets are wide and bright and there are white house’s which all boast 12 foot high entrance doors, Grecian porticos and bay windows. Large green plane trees give the feeling of an almost park-like setting, and then there are the expensive European cars. The sun seems to shine a little brighter this side of town.
My friend, the intrepid English Polar adventurer Tim Jarvis and his wife Liz, have moved their family from London to Adelaide, and they have just had their second child, Jack, in Australia. You can check Tim’s exploits out at http://www.timjarvis.org
Is there a universal balancing force at work here?
London has more visitors than any other city, according to Wikipedia. They come to see the great houses of the Royalty; their churches, their parks, their castles, and their jewels to somehow make a connection to the sanitised but still bloody stories that History Masters have imbued to school boys and girls throughout the former British Empire.
But to ignore the reality of the plundering and the misery wrought on those who were weaker in strength and knowledge by their British colonial masters would be the perpetuation of a romantic falsehood. The Royal jewels come from throughout the former Empire, but mainly India and South Africa. The tributes paid to the Caesars that sat the English throne were immense. Gold, silver, and the profits from far-off lands and spices and slaves were all repatriated back to this city and are still clearly visible. The Elgin Marbles lie in London still, despite requests from their true Greek owners to return them to their Parthenon home.
And the Great city has seen better times. The British economy is weak, some would say dangerously so. Unemployment is high, and the Bank of England continues to print pounds to prop up and stimulate business activity. Whether it has worked or will work is a question not yet answered. But hard times have predicated a rise in nationalism, and a more inward looking Britain than the model of tolerance we have previously seen. Immigration numbers have been slashed, and working visas are extremely difficult to obtain, for any non-EU citizen. This is the new trend throughout Europe; those they brought in to perform cheap labour in the boom times are now surplus to their needs; the jobs have disappeared but the immigrants are still there.
I wonder if Australia will take heed.
But London is a survivor if nothing else. Fires and plagues and bombing blitzes, booms and busts, Royal, Political and Premier League infidelities, and the rise and fall of pop and movie stars; London has seen it all.
For me it has been an enjoyable 5 weeks. Reconnecting with Kate and Wayne. Meeting Antony and the Mensa club that make up the Investment Bank Quant team, and the Teachers who were such great fun. Nick Harper was an absolute highlight, and all the other music and shows I saw. I had seen all of the touristy attractions on a previous visit, so I was spared the agony of tramping around London with a camera again.
So, here’s the East London scorecard for a potential home;
Environment (natural and un-natural) 4 (out of 10)
Food (pretty average really in taste, freshness, healthiness) 4
Social (friendliness, helpfulness, welcoming, social opportunities) 8
Security (trustworthy, physical safety) 4
Weather (sorry) 3
Accommodation (quality, comfort, cost) 5
Value for Money (living costs, entertainment) 6
Visa (availability and cost) 7
Total 41/80 51%
Now, I know I will cop some flak over this (except for the weather, that is), however, I would contend that when you stay in a place for an extended period, you adapt to a new norm. New eyes see things a little differently; they don’t have the same emotional attachment, nor do they feel the need to defend or justify their reasons for living there. Obviously, career opportunities are not on my list, and this is a big one for most. Currently, as an Australian citizen, I get an automatic 6 months tourist visa. It would then be easy to skip out and back in again and renew this.
So, I leave London behind and leave for the great unknown of Morocco. Wimbledon is just beginning and it looks like the weather is finally coming good.......pity.
It would be amiss of me if I did not make mention of Paige. Paige is the15 year-old daughter of my good friend back in Adelaide, Trish. Paige was diagnosed with a particularly nasty Lymphoma one week before I left on this trip. I have been getting regular updates and it is so great to hear that she is doing well, and things are looking particularly positive for her. So, I know Paige, many good wishes are headed your way, and we all hope you are completely recovered soon, and back to your normal life.
Now, off to Marrakesh!
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