Impressions from the County Hell

Impressions from the County Hell

(31.3. - 4.4. 2006)

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One early March morning, I went on a business trip – and blue plaques hunt – to the far famed city on the river Thames. I survived the "County Hell" and here is a handful of impressions...

London is as messy, busy, overcrowded and shabby as ever. A cross between a dirty old town and a swarming anthill. The tube is a world of its own, a maze of countless lines, transfer stations, dark, dirty corridors, stairways, lifts – a mess with no beginning and no end. Gotta love it. And encountering an opera tenor pouring his heart out at an assigned busking spot in a stinky, overcrowded corridor doesn’t lack its charm either.

Alive-alive-oh

Friday afternoon, Leicester Square. As the awful Swiss Centre loomed into view, the famed "glockenspiel" at its cormer started chiming. A kitsch of kitsches. Several times a day, the bells plunge into a merry tune and figurines move from one end to the other. A chintzy Swiss idyll - a shepherd, milkmaid, dancers in traditional costumes, and cows, lots of cows. But when you are as (un)lucky as to catch the show, you can’t help stopping and staring. I couldn’t recognize the melody, I supposed it was something traditional Swiss (well, it would make sense). When I was just about to say that enough is enough and move away, the melody suddenly changed and I froze in my tracks. I thought my ears were deceiving me - but no way. It was Molly Malone. The tragic story of a sweet poor Dublin girl chimed at busy London square by myriad of bells, with merry Swiss milkmen and cows parading underneath. Loony bin perfection...

Pigeon craze

Weekend afternoon at Trafalgar Square. A place known for the Nelson’s Column (currently covered with scaffolding, only the brave admiral peeping out from among the metal pipes on the top), the National Gallery... and pigeons. Not that pigeons would be something unusual in big cities. But their density at Trafalgar Square is notable. Having already visited the place before, I was prepared to encounter a swarming of grey feathered creatures on the pavements and fluttering of grey wings in the air. And yet I was bemused by the pigeon craze, something between a circus performance and Hitchock’s Birds.

A huge flock of pigeons had gathered on the paved expanse in front of the National Gallery entrance, milling about, making it difficult to pass through. Tourists taking pics, children occassionally breaking into a run through the birds and then bawling and rushing back to their mothers. Still nothing that much unusual. Then a middle-aged, respectable looking woman in a dark-green jacket approached the flock. She looked as if she just wanted to pass through, but suddenly her hand disappeared in her handbag and came out with a handful of grains. She scattered them around, and then again and again. She went on, forcing her way through the mass of feathered bodies, nearly trampling them, not heeding birds landing on her arms, her shoulders, her head. Almost as if she were in a trance. But other people were not; their excitement only seemed to grow. I noticed an old man, deep wrinkles in his tanned face, laughing wide, his hands also full of grains. And his willingness to share his joy immense. Shaking off the pigeons feasting in his cupped palms, he offered the grains to passer-bys. "Take some," his eyes seemed to say as he thrust the treat into their hands, immediately luring flocks of hungry birds. "Great, huh?" his smile suggested as he raised his hand up and poured a fistful of grains into the hair of a young woman. In the next second, three pigeons landed on her her head, fighting for the prey. And their comrades soon joined. The old man laughed and repeated the procedure with another volunteer willing to experience the peculiar adventure. The mass of the birds formed a continuous carpet on the ground, occassionally raising into the air, whirling all around as if preparing for a vicious attack. The fluttering of wings mingled with excited whoops and squeaks of people who found themselves in the epicentre.

While the whole Europe shuddered at the threat of the bird flu, on that busy London square the birds were amusing toys, a funny attraction, an adrenaline sport. After half an hour or so, I gave up watching, although the show still went on. "Bread and games"... Bread for the feathered creatures, and games for the human kind.