London Town

Position: 51°31’0″N 0°02’32″W

Back in the early 1980s, when I lived in London, each neighbourhood still had the distinctive feel of villages. There were greens surrounded by shops and a church. Local pubs were full of locals who had lived there all their lives. If you walked into one, everyone would size you up, and down, just in case you meant trouble. Whole sections of the city were run by gangs and therefore broadly off limits to outsiders. “If yer don’t understand the bleedin’ rules o’ the manse guv, don’t go there, roight?”, was sound advice back then. Property in many places was still affordable. Walking along the Thames you could find faint traces of Britannia’s rule in fading warehouse signage.

That’s all changed now. The empire is gone. (Hell, the Kingdom is barely United. – ed.) London’s wild ride as Europe’s centre for legitimate financial services is faltering under Brexit. The city’s role as a hub for money laundering (a lot through real estate transactions) is also stumbling thanks to the triple whammy of Brexit, Covid, and Russian war sanctions. Dark money helped finance a property boom that made London the most expensive city in the world in 2014. Vast areas became gentrified, seemingly overnight. The East End gained new transport links, thousands of yuppies with bicycles, and hundreds of new coffee shops. Yet, despite higher mortgage interest rates, housing prices are still climbing.

On the plus side, London is the most cosmopolitan city in Europe. The sheer diversity of cultures translates into some of the best dining in the world, at all price levels. And thanks to this year’s slide in the value of the pound, everything is more affordable, providing you’re starting in US dollars.

Oranges and Lemons

For our first few nights we stayed in Whitechapel, about a mile from the bells of St. Dunstan’s and All Saints church. The bells are better known as the bells of Stepney in the nursery rhyme Oranges and Lemons. The rhyme mentions most of the important churches in and near the City of London. It went something like this:

Oranges and lemons, Say the bells of St. Clement’s
Two sticks and an apple, Say the bells at Whitechapel
Old Father Baldpate, Say the slow bells at Aldgate
Maids in white aprons, Say the bells at St Catherine’s
Pokers and tongs, Say the bells of St. John’s
Kettles and pans, Say the bells of St. Anne’s
You owe me five farthings, Say the bells of St. Martin’s
When will you pay me?, Say the bells at Old Bailey
When I grow rich, Say the bells at Shoreditch
Pray, when will that be?, Say the bells of Stepney
I do not know, Says the great bell at Bow.

I stopped for a coffee at the Stepney City Farmer’s Market directly opposite St. Dunstan’s and tried mapping out an ‘Oranges and Lemons’ walking tour. All the churches remain active and lie within about three miles of St. Dunstan’s. Many sit within earshot of each other. Then I thought the better of it. Such a tour deserves at least a couple of days, and a decent camera. Perhaps next time.

Traditions

Walking back to our hotel along Whitechapel High Street took me past a street market and a large mosque. After our Turkish travels, it was interesting to see many more women in burkas and men in robes or shalwar kameez in London. It’s not terribly surprising. My own experience as an expat was the (minority) English abroad clung more closely to traditions than those living in the UK.

The next day Carol and I wandered around Tower Bridge and St. Katharine’s docks. The Thames River there is tidal, so a lock gate maintains the water level in the docks when the tide goes out. A few years ago we met cruisers that had over-wintered in St. Katherines. Sadly, under the marina’s current ownership moorage is no longer the bargain it was. Unless you’re comparing it to renting a two bedroomed apartment in the same neighborhood, of course.

Louise and Chris

Our last visit before flying back to Aleta was with our friends Louise and Chris of Gem. We last saw them three years ago in Horta, in the Azores, after crossing the Atlantic. Along with Huskabean we all left at the same time. Gem, a Bristol 40, suffered a broken forestay and had to take things easy for the last half of her journey. But their relaxed pace brought them several whale sightings. We, on the other hand, had none.

Chris was busy restoring Gem’s sailing funds with roofing jobs, while Louise was putting the final touches on her rental property in anticipation of a new tenant. Our job was to relax and enjoy ourselves. I managed to put a joint of beef in the oven and initiate a collaborative roast dinner. It had been so long since any of us had roasted beef, that we couldn’t quite remember the finer points.

Where the memory fails, the Internet restores. Delia Smith online was, as always, full of good advice. Chris stepped in for gravy duty. Carol’s near lifelong avoidance of red meat put her on vegetable duties with Louise’s support and general supervision. After draining the first bottle of wine everything was ready and we sat down to eat. The dinner’s excellence we agreed was wholly due to the team’s efforts. We left bright and early the next morning for Gatport Airwick, Sicily, and Tai.