Day One

Can you do the Big City Smile? I'm hopeless. I don't understand the dynamics of the Smile. People's eyes meet entirely impersonally and ta-da they flash the Smile. I used to find it extremely nice, this whole grinning at strangers and going-Hello-because-you-have-to-thing. But I've grown out of it now. I can live with it, definitely, but I so suck at it. I always get the timing wrong. I either smile too unconvincedly or time it too late. Practice, practice!

But give me some credit. All that co-ordinated smiling is difficult to manage while navigating oneself around in zero-degree temperature and managing to move around whilst decked in six layers of clothing, with gloves, a scarf, a cap and an enormous handbag. Grace wasn't one of my redeeming qualities anyway.

So I woke with first-day-tourist-gusto of the finest quality and took off to London; which is currently in its Mr.Hyde phase. Most places are unrecognisable, cold(what an adjective. I outdo myself all the time) and hostile. This charming park in Russell Square, I have nice pictures of from 2007, now looks grave and dead. The cafe in it looks haunted. People are walking around like (fashionable) zombies. In a place where everybody wears black, grey or beige, I looked like a repulsive, walking, talking, stumbling wedding cake at the proverbial Undertakers' Convention. I had no plans at all for the day and arbitrarily chose to pay the British Museum a visit. I can see half a dozen people laugh at that. Please, I could think of nowhere else to go. An exhibition called "RevolutiON Paper" about Mexican revolutionaries and prints/drawings currently on at the British Museum. Another one on Aztecs (sponsored by ArcelorMittal, Indian name. w00t.) which I will go to one of these days)Interesting stuff. I spent very little time at TBM. More time was spent in transit(on that lovely,lovely piece of underground railway network they call the Tube) staring at a map than at any one place. It seems I am completely out of ideas. The weather doesn't help at all. The temperature isn't intolerable per se. But so only until the wind blows. At that point, it feels like I could break into the first building I can find and seek warmth and comfort while politely holding its inmates hostage(so what if I don't have a gun? I have charm).

After limitless wandering, I went to the London Bridge and walked along the insanely cold pier. The Thames isn't the winsome-st of water bodies even in summer. Imagine then, the terrible sight, more distressingly, the thought it is in this weather. Brrr.

All that walking lead me to Monument. The Monument, located, at, wow, Monument, is a stone column built as a memorial to the Great Fire of London of the 17th century. The fire lasted for three days and wiped out a large chunk of London. The monument itself is a large Roman column standing in the midst of very sophisticated, modern buildings. To say it is symbolic would be swimming in cliche. It is nevertheless, history amidst London's perennially-new face. Monument recently underwent restoration and was opened to the public. It is a single spiral stairway spanning 307 steps that lead all the way to the top of the column from where you get panoramic sights of London.

I thought my lungs would spring out in protest, but the climb was worth it. London looked white and misty from the top. With a good camera and conducive weather, this is a nice place to visit. The American women there wouldn't agree. "6 pounds for that?" one girl shrieked as all of us carefully climbed down the stairway. The entire monument has an internal radius of three metres or so. And the climb is physically demanding (They know that. Everyone gets a 'Certificate' on getting the top and back. I wonder if I can add this one to my resume. Hmmm?)

"You know, I've lived in this city since birth. But I've never come here." a nice English man who offered to take pictures as I posed like an idiot said. "This and St. Pauls' Cathedral over there" he pointed at the famous dome. "They say there are whispering galleries there. Where you can speak in a low voice..." his voice now dropping to a whisper "...and someone at the other end could hear you." I got a little freaked out after that and left soon afterwards.

The sun proceeded to sink at around four and I decided to call it a day. My trip back home was punctuated with colorful headlines of an evening paper writing about Blair, the cheat and Cheryl Cole's virginity amongst other things. And yes, I can happily claim I'm jetlagged now. Sounds so cool. "Oh man. Jetlagggg". Let me say that again. "God, so tired. Must be jet-lag". I wonder if I can get jet-lag t-shirts and wear it around in Bangalore.

My other achievement for the day was figuring out how this dratted DTH contraption and the sister's gorgeous LCD t.v works. I can now change channels without the t.v going kaput. I'm so proud of me.