Marching to Southbank

Every day here is a physical challenge because there are miles to cover even with the help of the tube. Today we walked an extra few miles due to my own arrogance in my navigation abilities.

You see, I simply forgot the difference between “London Bridge” and “Tower Bridge,” much the same way as the developer of Lake Havasu City in Arizona. In his case it cost him millions, in our case it led to several minutes of embarassing disorientation until I could understand my mistake.

It was pretty cool to walk across the Tower Bridge none the less. It is a marvel of nineteenth century engineering, and I only wish we could actually see it rise for a tall ship while we are here. Once we were on the south bank we wandered in a generally westerly direction which eventually brought us to Southwark Cathedral.

It is odd to go into these ancient churches which contain the bones of many parishioners who shuffled off their mortal coils over the years. No one particularly famous was located beneath the floor, but there were impressive vestibules dedicated to the flounder of Harvard College and William Shakespeare, along with a memorial stone to a bunch of poor bastards who drowned in a boating disaster nearby on the Thames river. Overall a somber experience.

From there we went to see a replica of the “Golden Hind,” the ship of Sir Francis Drake, but I kept hearing the Firesign Theater in my head doing their bit from “Everything You Know is Wrong,” when they mocked a travel show hosted by “Bob Hind.” From that location we strolled through Borough Market where strange foodstuffs were on display, and then to the Anchor Tavern, which is allegedly one of London’s oldest. Proper lubrication allowed us to pass by the Globe Theater and head towards the London Eye, the giant Ferris Wheel that lets one rise high into the sky overlooking the House of Parliament, Big Ben, and a host of other landmarks.

It was quite a sight, especially after the sun went down at five pm. We hiked on after that, crossing to the north bank of the Thames and the correct tube station where we caught a train home. I now sit with aching legs, quaffing cold cider, and digesting a delicious ham and chicken pie purchased at the Ginger Pig. More marching awaits us tomorrow.