London markets
July 8, 2008
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Most of my memories of London are dreary and gray. My first visit happened in March, when I was about twelve. At the time, all I could think of were powdered wigs and rat infested corridors, or of fat kings gorging themselves on pudding and murdering their wives. The damp cold seemed like an impenetrable veil over everything: I couldn' t wait to get out of the Byzantine streets and buildings with musky smells, so full of lives before mine. Not so this go round. Last week brought bright sunshine, all day, every day and never a hint of rain. I wanted to stay forever, and suddenly understood all those who dream of living the era of Howard' s End. The air was crisp and clear and bright, a perfect lure for strolling.
Traveling is wonderful for many reasons, none the least of which is that you feel entitled to lose yourself
unabashedly. You are like a child in a new place, seeing the world for the first time. I took the task of tourism very seriously… proof that I am getting older and wiser. Or maybe just geekier. I wore the same thing for three days, despite a suitcase full of nice outfits: bright yellow athletic shorts, a white t-shirt and huge, bright white tennis 
shoes with socks pulled up to my ankles. Nothing would stop me from walking six 
hours a day…especially not cute clothes. Camera in hand with a tote bag slung over my shoulder, I was the ultimate tourist. And I was truly free. I had the luxury of getting lost and allowing myself to stumble upon patches of daily life unmarked in my maps and untold by my hotel concierge. My favorite discoveries were markets. As I mentioned in Pleasure by any other name, English food is actually quite remarkable–especially raw. The street markets I stumbled into were extraordinary, piled high with seasonal stone fruit. Vendors who stocked produce from farther away boasted 
oranges from Morocco and fresh Turkish figs. It was a beautiful, colorful,
bright site to behold. Nothing like the drab quarters of Henry VIII—though I' m sure he' d have relished some fresh cherries. (Above are scenes from a market in Chelsea, including one indoor fishmarket and the monger himself.)
