12 September | Portobello Road

Man, I am completely exhausted. My butt bones hurt. I must have walked ten miles today. Here was my day:

I figured out that paying 2 pounds every morning for a cappuccino meant that I would be spending over 100 dollars a month—on coffee! So I found a stovetop espresso maker for 6 pounds at a little shop near my flat this morning (of course, this was after I had already bought a coffee). Now I just have to figure out how it works.

After that, I headed out to check out Portobello Road.  I needed to get a Tube pass anyways, and I wanted to see how easy it was to navigate my way through. I bought an Oyster card (which is a reloadable pay-as-you-go pass for the Underground and the buses), checked the map, and turned into a hamster in a tunnel maze. Actually, it was really easy. I had to change train four times because some of the lines were out of service, but the tunnels are amazingly well-signed and very clear. I didn’t get lost once! I might be a bit slanted given that I already am a huge fan of public transportation, but I am so impressed that a system that has to support the movement of millions of people is so efficient.

I wasn’t quite sure where to go once I came up from the Notting Hill Gate station…but I just followed the crowds and they led me straight to Portobello Road. One of the guidebooks says there are about 2000 shops and stalls here. It was incredible and really overwhelming. Kind of like the Venice Beach of London, minus grandmas in bikinis shaking maracas. Plus there wasn’t as much junk on Portobello (well, there was a ton of that too, but it wasn’t mostly junk). There are hundreds of stalls and boutiques selling antiques of all kinds—I saw one stall that specialized in nautical measuring equipment, another selling lithographs from the late 19^th century, another selling old apothecary jars, another with a collection of butter dishes. Interspersed with these shops were smaller clothing boutiques, art shops, cafes, and a farmer’s market. I bought the fanciest street food I think I have ever had: salami and brie on a baguette. Brie from a street vendor?! That sandwich would have cost me 8 bucks at a restaurant in Denver. I also bought a pair of shoes (big surprise).

The best part of all this is that Portobello Road is a crooked alley that snakes through Notting Hill—but it is beautiful. It doesn’t hurt that it was a gorgeous sunny day, but where there are not shops, there are old houses squeezed together, roses blooming, ivy creeping, angels and gargoyles peeping from rooftops, curtains fluttering in second-story windows, and a brick lane underfoot. Whenever I looked past the street market or glanced above the first floor of the buildings, I was reminded that this is a very, very old place. And this part of it is quite well-taken care of.

After wandering around here for several hours I was in a bit of a daze, but not quite ready to go home. Plus, by now I had realized that I was in the part of town that all my North Central friends lived in during their study abroad, so I wanted to see more of their area. So I found Kensington Church Street and meandered my way to Kensington High Street (they call the main drag in each part of town the High Street). 

On the way there a couple with English accents stopped me to ask if I was a local because they needed directions—which I thought was pretty hilarious. Evelyn Waugh says, “the English…are already hard to find in London. No one lives there who is not paid to do so. You will find strange tongues on the streets; tourists in the hotels…I believe that London society has ceased to exist.” I was thinking of this of the Tube ride back. I had felt self-conscious all day long, feeling like I stuck out because I wasn’t wearing skinny jeans (and you are right Betsy, they all wear skinny jeans!) and didn’t have a British accent of some sort. But what if, in reality, I am much more of an average Londoner than I would ever suspect? I would guess that a large percentage of people in London at any given time are immigrants and tourists, and thinking about this immediately caused me to rethink my own orientation to the city itself. Will have to ponder this further.

So now after the end of a long day, I am going to take a bath and go to bed like the old lady that I am. I might even use bath salts.