Just like being an alcoholic, the first step to tourism in London is to accept you’re a tourist in London. Unlike being an alcoholic, however, being a tourist in London means that you’ll be short of friends for a while.

Tourism in London is something else. Every meaningless nook and cranny is prime photography fodder for excitable Japanese visitors or over-eager Americans keen to document every park bench that’s older than their country (that’s probably quite a lot). They’re everywhere and always will be in London, and moaning about them and huffing and puffing about how they get in the way is a pointless waste of breath.

It was with this in mind that I decided to adopt that classic aphorism: If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.

Let me backtrack a little here: at no point did I don inappropriate footwear, ill-advised headgear and enormously-sized photography equipment before taking to the streets of London. I made an effort not to stand in busy public spaces and tried hard not to get lost in the vicinity of famous landmarks and exposing my ignorance to my fellow Londoners by asking for directions. What I did do, though, was stop worrying and enjoyed myself.

First up was the British Museum. It’s amongst the most beautiful buildings I’ve seen thus far in London, and its reputation is well-deserved. The big attraction is the famed Rosetta Stone, occupying a prominent spot as you enter the museum proper.

Somewhat depressingly, I could barely get near the thing for the crowd of fellow tourists hungrily stretching their arms towards it. For a second I thought I’d stumbled upon some strangely-dressed Muslims embarking on a localised version of Hajj before I realised that they weren’t reaching out to touch the stone, but to take photos of it using their phones.

Sure, all very 21st century. But I couldn’t help notice that a fair proportion of them, once they’d taken their sweatily-framed shot, immediately backed out of the crowd and wandered off in the direction of the Elgin Marbles. Was that it, then? No need to actually look at the priceless artefact on display, as long as you’ve grabbed a blurry snapshot of it? I was bemused.

Still, being a tourist wasn’t so bad. People gave me a wide berth, noting my backpack and distinct lack of ‘local’ appearance. Normally pushy salespeople avoided my eyes for once, possibly afraid I’d corner them to ask where the Alaskan ice floe exhibit was. My fellow tourists even avoided me, jealously guarding the exhibits they thought were best from my prying eyes. It was actually quite fun.

More of the same followed as I visited other places: the Science Museum, the Natural History Museum, the Imperial War Museum. All were the same. However, when leaving the safe surroundings of London’s museums, I was on my own. Wandering London’s ancient streets and gazing up starry-eyed at famous buildings and epic monuments wouldn’t cut it with London’s citizens. The capital is a fast city and it has no time for romantics (or at least, not romantics stood gazing up at Grosvenor Place as travellers bustle past to Victoria).

How long can you keep it up, though, before you become an authentic, tourist-hating Londoner? I’m two weeks in and already finding myself internalising frustrated thoughts at the crowds of people milling around, apparently ignorant of my need to walk past them. How dare they get in my way?! I’m a Londoner! Maybe today’s lesson should be something zen: respect those around you and cherish the experience they’re having, remembering that you too were once a naive, rosy-cheeked London virgin. Just try to avoid Covent Garden on a Saturday though, because it’s fucking mental.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, August 11th, 2010 at 9:46 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.