18 July 2001 - officially a tourist

Today, all my meetings are done and I was now all tourist.

First order of the day was finding a place to stay for the next three nights – because there was no way in hell I’d shell out my own £170 a night to continue staying in this posh one. I checked my London guidebook and looked for a place that was as accessible but much less pricey. Phoned up two hotels, one was Manzi’s which charged £65 a night and was right across Leicester Square, and the other was, surprise, Fielding Hotel, which charged £76.

Also had to phone up the hotel I pre-booked at in Paris to cancel. If I did go, I was supposed to catch the Chunnel train Thursday, and stay until Saturday morning. Oh well. Better save that for the long European holiday I’ve always dreamed of doing when I reach 30.


Met Ange at around 9:30 a.m. Moved my bags to her room, checked out of St. Martin’s Lane, and we were off.

Haven’t had breakfast yet, but decided to forego that and do some sightseeing while the sun was out. The forecast for the day was rain, so there was this immense pressure to go play tourist before you have to hide indoors again.

Headed for Trafalgar Square first. I loved this place.

In my favorite comic book (or should I say graphic novel), “Sandman,” there was a scene where Death meets her brother Dream at Trafalgar Square sitting by the fountain among the pigeons. While they’re there a teenage guy runs after a stray soccer ball or something and gets run over in the streets, and Death leaves Dream to go and sort him out. Not exactly a very nice thought, imagining Death, while walking around the square, taking pictures.

There was truly a horde of pigeons, and they were the fattest, laziest pigeons on earth. They obviously got so accustomed to the free food that they lost all need to fly high or far. Apparently, it’s reached a point where the authorities made it illegal to feed them already.

Ange and I decided to take one of those hop-on-hop-off tour buses. We wanted to go to Buckingham Palace for the changing of the guards at 11:30. We still had more than an hour to kill so we chose to take the long route to the Palace.

It proved to be very long indeed.


The bus slowly pushed down Fleet Street toward St. Paul’s Cathedral. At first, Ange and I didn’t notice how slow it was because we were having fun on the open air upper deck taking photos and videotaping the whole thing and all its silliness like the stereotypical tourists that we were.

We crossed London Bridge (apparently the original Bridge was bought by some eccentric American millionaire and is now in Texas!) Saw the entrance to the infamous and rather farcical attraction called The London Dungeon – which Ange cautioned me not to bother going into. Then we crossed Tower Bridge and passed by the Tower of London. (I suddenly got confused which parts to italicize.)

We were already on this bus for 45 minutes and it was starting to drizzle so we moved to the covered area of the bus.

The bus crossed the Thames again and I saw in the distance the site of Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre and the Tate Modern. Also saw the Millennium Footbridge that was constructed, opened then closed because it was so rickety that it swayed when people walk on it to cross the river. In truth, it doesn’t even look that interesting. Later swung by Horse Guards’ Parade and saw the throngs of tourists flocking around this poor soldier taking pictures beside him and his horse – even thought the place stunk with horse shit.

After what seemed like forever, we found ourselves back at Trafalgar Square. We were already late for the changing of the guards, but decided to switch to another bus to get there. Hey, we paid £12 for the limitless rides – naturally, we were going to bleed it dry!

This bus’ route took us by St. James’s Palace were Prince Charles took residence (I think). Also passed the Ritz Hotel, our tour guide was brilliant in her commentary but I can’t recall most of what she said now.

Driving past Hyde, Green and St. James’ Park, Ange and I thought of maybe having a picnic at dinnertime. But though it would be grand, we both knew with a certainty that it would be pouring by the time. Sure enough it was.

We actually passed the back of Buckingham Palace. The walls to the Palace gardens were not as high as you would think – only lined with barbed wire. The tour guide recalled that two German backpackers actually managed to go inside the garden and pitched tent there…and stayed for 2 days before they were discovered!

It was half past 12 by the time we reached the front of the Palace and got off the bus. We were laughing hysterically at how stupid it was that we left our fate to a slow moving bus and just sat by helplessly as we missed the changing of the guards.

Buckingham Palace was infested with tourists. The flag was flying so the Queen was in, but there was hardly much to appreciate because you can only stand outside the locked gates and peer through the bars anyway. I wonder what it must be like for the Queen to live here, every time she looked out the window she would see these tourists outside her home – every day, rain or shine.

Took my token photos. Not much you can do about all the people. And most of the time you say “Sorry” or “Excuse me” because either you were in somebody’s line of sight or they were in yours.

Around 1 p.m., we headed to Oxford Circus to meet up with Angela’s dad and her sister, Lizzie. I was starving.



I love Lizzie. She was always such a fun character and when I met her in Top Shop at Oxford Circus, I was thrilled at the thought that I was meeting her for the first time outside of Hong Kong. Wow, huh?

She was here to shop – as if there isn’t enough shopping to do in Hong Kong, here she was collecting more shopping bags. Apparently it was Sale season here in London too. Made a mental note to go check out the shops myself.

Uncle Peter was his lovable self and we all headed for a pub to grab lunch, though not without his suggestions to go for a Chinese restaurant instead. I don’t quite remember what I had, but it was supposedly very English. Uncle Peter ordered chicken – and was later whispering to me that it was the driest chicken he had eaten in his life and we should go eat Chinese food for dinner.

I asked Lizzie, if there were only three things I can see in London, which three things should that be? Lizzie’s top three: National Gallery, Madam Tussaud’s and Top Shop. She was half- serious and her justification made sense. With these three you’ve got a healthy mix of intellectual and fun sightseeing and good shopping. The girl’s got a point.


Angela and Lizzie’s childhood friend, Jason, joined us after lunch. He was actually offering his place for me to crash in for my extended stay. But I figured I’d be too uncomfortable staying with somebody I didn’t know, even though he was quite a fun guy. I felt bad turning his offer down though.

We walked toward Manzi’s first. I haven’t actually checked in at either this hotel or Fielding. The former had the better deal of the two, but I wanted to see what it looked like first before I commit.

Uncle Peter knew exactly where Manzi’s was so we didn’t loose time getting lost.
It was right at Leicester Square and almost in Chinatown. It was right above a famous seafood restaurant and was very, very accessible if I went out at night – a fantastic deal for £60 though I haven’t seen the rooms.

However, when I did get there, they were fully booked for the night. Rather disappointed, I phoned up Fielding, gave my credit card details and proceeded over there to make sure I had a room.

Fielding Hotel was in an alley, but it was a wide enough alley for you not to be afraid to walk through it at night. In the daytime, people sat around this statue in the middle of it and ate lunch there or just whiled away the time. In the vicinity were a number of restaurants, most of which looked like fine-dining…I suppose because of it’s proximity to the Royal Opera House. There were also about five phone booths in this one alley, I wonder how busy this place gets.

The hotel itself was tiny. You go into this really narrow door and you go into a sort of anteroom that can fit only one person. To your left is a small pub where a lobby should be. To your right is the reception. Right in front of you is another door that leads to the main hallway, which was also narrow. There was actually no elevator, so you climb up the stairs and see three doors, two of which were actual rooms and the third is a fire door that leads to another hallway and five more rooms. It’s all pretty weird, but again, very true to all my cliched images of a European hotel.


Met everyone at the FCK shop where Lizzie’s had just done more shopping the whole time I was checking in.

Then we got bus tickets at the Covent Garden Station and proceeded to catch the bus going to St. Paul’s Cathedral – which I saw briefly earlier.

You have to pay entrance to go into the Cathedral, I couldn’t believe it. A church that charged entrance, what’s up with that? It was already afternoon and the place was closing in 30 minutes so we decided it wasn’t worth it, although the 627-step staircase to the Whispering, Stone and Golden galleries at the dome would have been interesting. This dome is only surpassed in size by St. Peter’s at the Vatican.

More photos and for a while I was in awe absorbing what the tour guide on the bus said earlier. This Cathedral somehow survived the blitz of World War II, and he noted this famous photo of the Cathedral dome rising above the smoke and ruins of London. The only Latin-sounding word I know I learned from my theology teacher in college: “Mysterium Tremendum,” a term for that overwhelming mystery that leads you to realize that God exists. This was one of those.


The clouds had been ominous for most of the afternoon and by the time we boarded the bus to go to Westminster Abbey, they decided that they held back the rain long enough.

It got so bad that by the time we got off the bus, we had to take shelter at a pub lest we get drenched again. Then the rain stopped long enough for us to make a beeline for a nearby convenience store and buy umbrellas. Thus, it happened that my one of my first major purchases in London is a £13 umbrella.

When the rain stopped Jason had to leave and would meet us at dinner. Meanwhile, I looked up and saw Big Ben.

They’ve been telling me it wasn’t that big, really. But it was quite a sight. I don’t know why. Maybe it was the shiny golden trimmings around the face of the clock. And maybe because I’ve always imagined it as this old, gray structure that strangely enough symbolized for me everything dreary about London. Instead I saw this rather well maintained landmark standing proudly, reminding me of how much of this city I underestimated. It wasn’t too high, but it still draws your attention no matter how near or far you are, and even if you’re pointing your camera at something else.

We walked past the Houses of Parliament to which Big Ben was actually attached. There was a cue outside for people going in to attend some sessions. Uncle Peter suggested to me that we should go join and ask Parliament whether London will join the EU or something. I suggested other trivial things to ask like the weather or so, I can’t remember what questions we devised but Uncle Peter and I had quite a laugh.


Crossed the street to see the façade of Westminster Abbey, resting place of monarchs, site of many a coronation, and recently the funeral of Princess Diana. However, it was late and the doors were shut. Unlike Spain, everything here in London shut between 4-6 p.m. This, coupled with the crummy weather, leaves limited sightseeing opportunities.

I marveled at how ornate the abbey was, and of course, didn’t leave until my camera had its fill.

We started walking back to Trafalgar Square and passed by this phone booth. We were all in “silly tourist” mode so I insisted we take photos of the classic red British phone booths – surely the booth of choice for any phone booth connoisseur. It did get embarrassing though because there was this guy who needed to use the phone but had to wait while we finished being juvenile.

En route, we passed Downing St., the site of the Prime Minister’s residence. Gates restricted entry of course, but from the sidewalk you can see the Prime Minister’s black front door. I noted that it seemed like poor security -- considering that a sniper can just station across the street and have a clear view of the Prime Minister coming out this door.

We passed Horse Guards’ Parade again. Much to my hesitation, we went in and took a photo beside one of the guards – who promptly marched toward us (in a march that reminded me of Frederick marching out to introduce himself to Maria in “The Sound of Music,” don’t ask why). Emerged at St. James’ Park and again there were female tourists who walked up to me to ask if I can take their picture. They looked Filipino actually, but were from Canada.


Back at Trafalgar Square, we realized that the National Gallery was open up to 9 p.m. on Wednesday’s so we popped in.

I must say, Lizzie was correct to name this among her top three. It is so awesome and extremely beautiful inside. It wasn’t just the inspired works of Rembrandt, Van Gogh or Monet. It was the interiors of the museum itself. I just looked so elegant – which is just appropriate considering that it houses over 2000 paintings from the mid-13th century all the way to the early 20th, making it one of the richest galleries in the world. I can walk around here forever.

Made a note to go back here in the coming days as we left. We were all a bit hungry and we were craving that hotdog at McDonald’s – a testament to how good it was, that I wanted to eat it two days in a row. Good timing too because we were safe indoors at Leicester Square when it started to pour again.

By 7:00 p.m., we went back to St. Martin’s Lane. I got my bags from Ange’s room and made my way to my new accommodations at Fielding. Just to show how narrow the doors and the corridors are, I almost couldn’t get in with my backpack slung behind me. And it was indeed tiring going up two flights of stairs with all my stuff.

The room was ok. Two beds, a teeny-tiny private bath that was so small the washbasin and mirror had to be placed outside (which made me feel like I was in a prison cell). The room had no aircon, which is all right really considering the climate. But when I checked the windows, there was no way of leaving them ajar without any fear of burglars climbing through. In fact, I got a bit paranoid at how easily they can be opened from outside.

Had about 15 minutes to lie down in my new bed, then I was up again to go for a 10- minute walk to meet Angela’s family for dinner.


It started to pour again, but somehow we made it to Chinatown and had a rather filling Chinese dinner. Jason and some friends of his joined us. Along with Angela’s other friend, Carl, whom I met briefly in New York last April.

Interesting enough dinner, but afterwards nobody felt like going out for drinks so we all just dispersed.

I also had to say goodbye to Angela, Lizzie and Uncle Peter because they were leaving for Budapest early the next day to start their 9-day holiday that would also take them to Prague and Vienna. Wish I could join them but I already took my long break early this year.

So hugs, shook hands, thanked everyone and wished them all a great time…and then for the first time I was on my own in London.


I didn’t go straight to my hotel though. I walked around Soho for a bit, it was only 11 p.m. I was determined to check out the nightlife despite the fact that I was alone. I was used to going out by myself. I go to discos alone in Hong Kong, went to clubs in San Francisco. Didn’t really stop me.

I passed by quite a few pubs that flew the gay rainbow banner – among them Rupert Street, which looked really happening, with quite a handsome yuppie crowd too. But I suddenly felt so uncomfortable. In a bar situation, being alone is magnified by the fact that almost everybody else is talking to someone, except you. In a disco or a club, there wouldn’t be much talking, more dancing and, well, cruising.

Wandered in circles for a bit. Passed by some rather seedy alleys lined with peepshows and adult video stores.

Found myself back at Leicester Square and passed what looked like a theatre lobby but was actually the entrance to a disco – the name of which I totally forgot. There were some teenagers lined outside and the bouncers were checking bags and ID’s like you were at the airport.

Decided to venture in for lack of anywhere else to go.

It was quite a large place, three separate bars and lots of seating areas both at the ground and the mezzanine. The dance floor was huge and extended to two elevated platforms on either side. The place was quite empty though. Still a lot of people, but the place was just too huge to fill.

Dropped off my bag at the coat check and went straight to the bar for my standard vodka and tonic. Then I casually wandered to sip it by the railing at the edge of the dance floor to look at the mixed crowd.

Within minutes, this tall blonde guy in white stood next to me. He was quite close, but I wasn’t sure what to do. I wasn’t sure if he was waiting for someone or what. I didn’t know if the place was a gay hangout because the crowd was so mixed. And even if it was, I’m too inexperienced with cruising to know the signals.

He was cute though, wore glasses and had an angelic face. Looked a bit young, maybe in his early 20’s at most. And he just stood there for quite a while, no drink, no cigarette, just stood beside me watching the dance floor. I don’t know what came over me, but I decided to move away. I dropped off my empty glass at the bar and went to the toilet. F*cking stupid. Of course, when I came back, he was gone. Believe me I cursed myself the whole night.

The rest of the night was uneventful. The music was lame – c’mon, they played “Mambo No. 5,” that should’ve been my signal to leave then and there. A good looking guy went up to me and my heart stopped. But he just wanted me to take a photo of him and his friends. He had this Northern Europe sort of accent, and there were four of them, so I decided to name them “Ace of Base.” Ace of Base danced to “Mambo No. 5.”

Started yawning by 2:00 a.m. The rain was pouring as I made my way through the cold streets of London, back to the alley where my hotel was. When I got there, it was a bit dark and spooky. I imagined Jack the Ripper. The door was locked and I had to ring the bell to wake up the attendant. I felt bad for him, but well, that’s business.

Had trouble going to bed, "Mambo No. 5" is at the top of the Last Song Syndrome charts.