Day 39: Free, Free, Palestine

... When we first arrived in London, there was one lone tent and a sign that said "Free Palestine", (in carefully handwritten block letters),set up in the grassy area between Parliament and the Abbey. Now the grass is covered in tents, and posters, and flags, and signs... and today these same protestors create a continuous stream of sound on High Street Kensington, shouts and chants drifting through my window as they march outside my door.

"Free Free Palestine! We will never let you die!"... The crackling sound of a blow horn, again, and again.

***

Today was a Portobello day. (That sounds like an actual saying... maybe I'll start using it. hmm... Because a Portobello day is always a good day).

It's been hot. Really hot. All the windows are open, and my room is still an oven. So, I decided to be clever and wear a skirt. But I wasn't the only one with this brilliant idea... we all showed up at our meeting place on the second floor in skirts or dresses. And we laughed at our single-mindedness, but mostly at Rachel, who didn't get the memo and showed up in dark blue jeans.

We've grown a little wiser, it seems. We have a meeting place wherever we go, no matter what we're doing. I guess we got tired of becoming lost or separated... But even if it is wiser, it can still be ridiculous at times, and just as time consuming as getting lost. We'll stand around trying to agree on a meeting spot for ten minutes, and then decide we need to go farther up the road, and debate again. But, in the end, we always find something. This time it was the corner at the upper end of Portobello, where the man with his stand up base always played- The sounds of his old instrument and scratchy voice very familiar by now.

We split up and I walked briskly-with a purpose. I was searching for the Kaleidoscope man. I knew he'd be somewhere on the left side of the road, but he could be anywhere along the length of the road... and it's perty lengthy.

My pace slowed as I reached the hairpins. I loved this booth, and I always stopped to look at all the little rods splayed out like rainbows, according to color and size. The lady who sold them would painstakingly arrange them every Saturday morning, fingering the little ivory and colored glass beads with care. Her red, frizzy hair nearly tamed with a headband, (but not quite), and her thick rimmed glasses falling down her nose.

I stopped this time, and peered at the sparkling little ornaments, my hands clasped behind my back. (Most vendors got nervous if you started touching things, so it was best to keep your hands out of sight... they were nicer if you did). This was, after all, my last time at Portobello road, and I wanted to admire her handiwork a little closer.

As I stood there, she began to tell me about her merchandise, (as most effective salesmen do). How they were made, how each old victorian bead was found and handled with care. But the conversation quickly turned to other things: why I was in London, what I wanted to do with my life, how I'd enjoyed the theatre, and the atmostphere, and the food so far... We talked for nearly 20 minutes. And by the end, we were the best of friends. As I left, hairpin in hand, she wished me the best with the rest of my trip. We gave each other a quick hug, and a kiss on the cheek, (as is expected of friends in Europe), and waved to one another until I was swallowed in the mass of people walking Portobello Road.

I found the Kaleidoscope man a few minutes later. I spotted him between a couple of clock vendors, and I pushed through the crowd to reach his little table. It was only about one foot by two feet wide, and it was filled with kaleidoscopes. Big ones on stands, little ones on keychains, and there on the wall, the kind I was searching for, kaleidoscopes hanging on pieces of leather string. I carefully pulled one from its hook, looked through the eye piece, examined the antique golden barrel, fingered the leather, and handed the man 13 pounds. He asked if I needed a bag, but I just shook my head, and put it carefully around my neck. I grinned from ear to ear, and skipped farther down Portobello Road. I had been looking forward to that Kaleidoscope for two weeks. And now it thumped against me as I walked like a familiar friend.

I was unsurprised to find the rest of the girls clustered around the scarves farther down the road. There were hundreds... hanging on the side of the building in different categories, solids, patterns, wools, and silks. There were probably THOUSANDS more inside the shop, but we never bothered to even venture in there. The stacks of scarves piled higher than we were tall were entirely too overwhelming- it was hard enough to make a decision with the scarves hanging outside!

Robyn and I moved farther down the road, toward the clothing booths that stretched down the side streets. She was still searching for something for her mom, and I had promised Melissa I would buy a few silk scarves for her, since she was in Scotland, and couldn't buy them herself. I fell in love with a dress there, but luckily I didn't have the funds to buy it. (I think if I had actually HAD the 50 pounds in my pocket, I might have given in and bought it). My heart ached for as I walked away... but, I sighed, and continued onward.

We stopped at one of the booths with every color, style, pattern, and variety of tights you've ever seen. I was determined to buy a pair of absolutely heinous, floral, footless tights- because it was something that nobody would believe unless I brought them home with me. And I succeeded. I can't tell you how stylish they are here. (We'll see if I get up enough courage to wear them in the states).

We discovered a tall Jamaican man with his dreads tied up on top of his head, cutting up coconuts with a machete. They were only a couple pounds, and a fresh coconut sounded AMAZING. So we gave him our handful of heavy change, and he sliced the tops off of two bright green coconuts. He popped a straw in each, and told us to come back when we were ready to eat the insides. We wandered around for a bit, window shopping, and drank the thick, sweet liquid that filled the hollow shell nearly to the brim. The stuff was absolutely DELICIOUS.

We headed back after a few minutes, and he chopped the coconuts into thirds, made spoons out of the husks, and showed us how to scoop the meat out of the shell. And after this quick tutorial, we went happily away with our treat. We found a small park in the middle of the mayhem, and sat on a bench to eat. The meat of a fresh coconut is not what you expect it to be. It isn't like that dry, hard stuff you buy in the store. It is soft, and slimy, and sort of melts in your mouth. And my GOSH, it is good.

Robyn and I sat sat and ate quite contendedly. Annie and Jill joined us, showing off their new skirts. I showed off my heinous floral tights... put them on behind a rubbish bin, along with my Union Jack T-Shirt, which was possibly the worst (or best) combination possible, (depending on your point of view). And we all laughed at our antics.

Suddenly Jill let out a gasp or horror, and said in disbelief, "This is not a skirt!... These are shorts!" And she held up what we had THOUGHT was a blue and white floral print skirt, which, sure enough, turned out to be absolutely hideous blue and white floral baggy shorts. Annie held hers up, and discovered she had the bought the same thing. And we laughed even harder.

We took turns looking through my Kaleidoscope- pointing at each others faces, hands, hideous tights, horrid skirts, and empty coconuts. Eventually we had to start walking back up Portobello Road... for the last time.

I tried as hard as I could to burn the many images passing before me into my memory... customers: individual, interesting, walking in and out of booths and antique shops... vendors: bored, passionate, unique, selling their goods and relaxing in the sunshine... merchandise: breads, cheeses, candies, clothes, old guitars, jewelry, scarves...

And I knew I would forget.

But I hoped... I hoped I would remember some part, some piece... I wished that SOMEthing would stay clear and fogless in my silly, mortal memory- a moment in time, recalled as beautiful and serendipidous as when I really walked the street.

And then I waved goodbye, one last time, and descended into the underground, catching my last glimpse of Portobello Road for what will probably be a very long time.

***

We stepped into the British Museum completely exhausted. It was in a part of town we'd never trapsed, so it took a while to locate the building after the rather disorienting step off the tube, and our legs felt like we'd been walking all day. (And now that I think about it, we had been!). The building itself was impressive, to be sure. We stared up at the high, vaulted, dome shaped ceilings, supported by triangular metal bars. And as we stood, perusing our maps, trying to decide how to conquer the museum, we seemed to grow more and more weary.

We went in and out of several rooms, briefly viewing the many statues and pieces of old architecture, and then we found our way to the Rosetta Stone. I admired the tangability of this rock I'd seen so many times in textbooks. It was bigger than I'd imagined. And it was mind boggling to look at those figures etched into the surface, and imagine the people who must have spent years decoding the lost language it contained.

And then, for Jill, we located the Easter Island Head at the rear of the museum.

And after that task was completed, about half an hour after we'd arrived, we wilted completely... collapsing on the front steps of the gigantic building. We were just so very tired.

We sat there on the steps for several minutes, looking up at the high, thick collumns. Talking and laughing at our tired legs. And then, we headed home.

Jill and I sat in the commons, pretending to study for finals, or do homework, as we really blogged or looked at pictures on facebook. We sat together, fighting to stay awake, until we finally gave up the guise and curled up in the crevice of the cushions. I think we both needed that nap in the commons. For some reason, it had been a very long day...

***

I woke with a start, absolutely positive I had slept past the time appointed to meet Jana for the show at the National. But as I looked at my watch, I breathed a sigh of relief. It had only been half an hour. I was right on time.

We walked to the tube, hopped on a train, bumped and bounced with the rest of the passengers, and alighted at Embankment... (being sure to mind the gap as we lept off the train).

I stopped in Cranberry's to grab some yovita raspberries and dried mango, (a little treat for the show). And then we walked across the the westminster bridge, high above the Thames: sparkling and beautiful beneath us.

***

Women Beware Women was... Intense. But it was beautifully done. The set, the costuming, the acting, the music... it was all brilliant. And at the end, as the music rumbled beneath you, and screached above you, the deaths loomed before you, becoming all the more ominous as the vollume increased.

When we arrived home, I was sure I was minutes from passing out. I talked with Ashley, brushed my teeth, and fell into bed.

Another day gone.