Practicing Macrobiotics for me involves making a commitment to my health and well being. This can be an exercise in total futility at times! I know what makes me feel healthy and that would definitely include fresh organic food like brightly colored greens, hearty beans and sturdy grains. These wholesome choices create exuberant energy, good clear skin and a calm mind to make balanced decisions. But...... the baked treats of London are calling out to me. The golden scones whisper in their tantalizing tones, like the Sirens of Greek mythology, "Eat me. eat me NOW!" The Vegan Tofu Cheesecake utters in a convincing voice, "You know you want me. "Crisp, warm vegetable pasties scream out, "We are warm and we melt in your mouth." So, have I indulged in one or two of these tasty items? I'm only human aren't I? What would YOU do? Fortunately I have brought with me some ume plums, ume concentrate, kudzu and kukicha tea to crank myself back into balance. ( yin and yang and all that). Discharges are unavoidable, if you catch my drift!
Almost everything I have learned about British people is derived from the cinema. Colin Firth as Mr Darcy in Pride and Prejudice wouldn't dare laugh aloud let alone smile. the English Patient's Kristin Scott Thomas kept a stiff upper lip through all her turmoils and even Hugh Grant held himself together in the radiance of Julia Roberts smile in Notting Hill. ( but apparently not in LA on Sunset Boulevard!). So....imagine my delighted surprise to see Londoners spilling noisily out of cozy pubs( kind of like Eliza Doolittle's Da in My Fair Lady when he had to, "Get Me to the Church on Time." ). With shouts of raucous laughter these people seem to genuinely be able to enjoy themselves and let loose. Our British Macro Travel Friends enchanted KO and me as they wove their colorful tales of life back in the decadent 70's and the eclectic lives they embrace today. Is it the British accent that makes everything they utter more romantic and engaging? ( The British people we have met think WE have an accent!). The moral of the story is "Don't judge a book by its cover," and "Carpe Diem!).
Now we can write the book about "How to see the British Museum in One Hour." If you were me you would quickly decipher what centuries and cultures catch your eye and make a beeline to those locations in the Museum setting a time frame in minutes for each and switching promptly when the buzzer went off. This would involve expert skimming of texts and speedy footwork. In KO's case, your plan would include standing in front of the Rosetta Stone for a while, setting up the PERFECT photo, reading every single word of the text as slowly as watching brown rice syrup exit a wide mouthed jar, and then thinking about it for several moments. At this point I have already catapulted through the Persian, Egyptian and European rooms. Traveling with a partner proves to be an exercise in Herculean patience and developing genuine respect for different styles of exploring through the world.( on both our parts)
Yesterday, on our way to Old Spitalfields Market we passed through the Lexington Street Tube Station. Upon exiting, there stands a spell bounding bronze sculpture of a solemn group of children. They are dressed in 1940's garb and carrying their comforting furry teddy bears and beat up valises to a New World. In the late 1930's desperate Jews tried to seek safety in many countries, but were turned away as no one would offer them refuge. The excruciatingly painful decision to save as many of their children as possible led to the famous Kindertransports. These distraught mothers and fathers had to choose which of their" lucky " children to put on a train to an unknown destination, never to lay eyes on them again. This spot in Liverpool Station is the first location the bewildered children found themselves. Many British families took the children into their homes and hearts and raised them as their own, often, throughout their lives, not even uttering a word about it. The families of Margeret Thatcher and Richard Attenborough were two such families. Gazing thoughtfully at these statues evoked such emotions in me as I realized these children could have been my cousins who instead perished in Dolginev Bellarus on a dark day in 1942 when the Nazis decimated the whole town. Thank goodness the British were able and willing to help the Jews in those harrowing days of World War Two.
On the Western Line Train to Cornwall now. The quaint villages, patchwork quilt farms and lime green fields pass by my window. I feel the pressure of the city melt gently from my shoulders. Soon KO and I will be ensconced in the land of Rosamunde Pilcher's novels. ( the Shellseekers). Just five hours from London, I can realize one of my dreams: to inhabit a small English seaside artist's town for three days. Off to the land of King Authur and Merlin....
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