Sunday's marathon

First up, I had a great time at Les Miserables.  The theatre is small and intimate.  There were two drawbacks to the evening.  I sat next to a woman who had memorized the soundtrack and sang along through the first act.  Luckily she did it fairly quietly; I don't think she knew that she was doing more than mouthing the words.  The second thing was the circular center of the stage.  I've had issues with dizziness this trip and having the stage move around and around didn't help me much.  But otherwise, I love it.  The singing was fabulous.

I feel like this is a day of three distinct parts.  This morning I was up and out of the hotel early.  I took the tube to the Tower Hill station.  I chose not to stand right at the U-turn where I was last week.  Instead I walked west a few blocks, right at the intersection of Eastcheap and Lower Thames.  It was a good spot.  An odd side note -- the couple to my right were hearing impaired.  Obviously that isn't odd, but the lack of sound coming from them was in stark contrast to the group on my left.  I noticed that they weren't cheering and yelling. 

The atmosphere before the run was very festive.  First there was a band playing old traditional English bar songs and many in the crowd sang along.  Then we got to listen to the church bells for 1/2 hour from 10:30 - 11:00.  At 11:00, a drum group set up shot across the street and played until the first runners came into view.  They could have been playing during the run, but the yelling and clapping drowned them out.

I stayed for two of the three laps.  I had other things to do and I didn't feel the same sense of responsibility as I did with the women.  So I walked along the route and turned north on Philpot.  I wanted to go straight through Lime Street, but the road was blocked off due to the race.  I took the long way around, past the Lloyd's building again before getting out to Bishopsgate.  I walked north on Bishopsgate until I got to the start of the Olympic mascot walk on Brushfield. 

And thus begins part two of my day: finding the eight mascots remaining on my list.  These were the first eight on the Yellow walk that I didn't get to before work last week.  I've kept doing this because they are silly, fun, and make me smile.  The first one was the Pearly Mandeville.

Just a ways down the street stood the Victorian Mandeville.

The route took me into Spitalfields Market, and appropriately, the Spitalfields Wenlock.

The market is quite the happening.  Any other day I would have loved to linger and browse through the traditional brick and mortar stores on the perimeter of the market or all the stalls selling what-nots inside the market.  I stopped at a few stalls and browsed scarves and jewelry, but nothing leaped out and said, "buy me!"

At the end of the market was the traditional, no frills Wenlock.

Back on the street, I went east on Lamb, crossed over Commercial Street and continued east on Hanbury.  The further I walked down that street, the more Indian sub-continent it became.  Right before Brick Lane there was a big, indoor food market -- not a traditional supermarket, but a craft fair set up of individual food and meal vendors.  The sidewalk was lined with people eating take away lunches.  I took two steps inside but it was so hot and the smell so overpowering of curry, meat and cilantro, that I turned right around and went back out.  I wasn't getting my lunch there.  When I got out and started down the same street, I came across the Spice Wenlock.  Loved it!

On Brick Lane, I took a right, heading south.  This little street is lined on both sides with Indian and Bangladeshi restaurants.  As I walked by I heard, "Curry, ma'am.  Lovely curry."  I kept moving, not ready to stop and sit inside for lunch.  Some blocks down was the Sari Wenlock.  There was an Olympic volunteer there and she took my picture.  Also, she was handing out maps that had all the mascot walks clearly marked.  I had 3 more to find and I was just learning that there was a physical map that had their locations?  Unbelievable!  My little notebook is full of cryptic handwriting scrawls where I attempt to give directions taken from the Internet web site.  Sigh.

I did stop when I saw the sign for the sweet shop.  I bought a potato and pea samosa and two pieces of burfee.  I never thought to ask for the spice level of the samosa.  I should have.  It took me gulping 1/2 my water bottle and inhaling one piece of burfee before the fire in my mouth subsided.

Down the road, right in front of a graffiti covered wall was the Park Wenlock.  I really liked this one too.  I liked the simplicity of the green and white and the athletic depictions.

With only one left to find, I took a right on Whitechapel High / Aldgate High Street.  And just a few store fronts down, stood the Dickens Wenlock.  Contrast in styles from the Park Wenlock -- as this was highly detailed, colorful and hard to capture on camera.

And then I was done; 82 little mascots later.  I deserve the gold medal for finding all of the silly Olympic figures.

When I went down into the tube station, this poster summed up my experience, not in stuffed toys, but in photos.

So the third part of day was a pure amazing, glorious, uplifting, accident.  I took the tube from the Aldgate East station to Embankment.  I walked north, heading to Covent Garden and my favorite clothing store for a last hurrah.  Right before I got there, I noticed a little archway and benches on the other side.  It turns out that it let to the gardens in front of St. Paul's Church of Covent Garden.  The front doors were open to the church, so I entered.

Oh.  My.  Word.  There were thirteen choir members practicing in the front.  The sounds coming out of their mouths were so beautiful, the hair on my arms and nape stood on end.  Quickly I sat down on a bench and closed my eyes.  There are beautiful sounds in life -- my child's unabashed laughter, the lap of gentle waves at the beach or the awe inspiring crashes of surf on a gusty day, the contented sigh of my husband when I serve him tea without his asking, unexpectedly and just because I love him and I know he likes the tradition of it.  But the sound of the human voice singing reverently, with devotion, to God, makes me cry because of the beauty.

It can be the ethereal high notes of a lone soprano in a church, the collective power of a group bhajan or hymn, the tinney quality of an early morning call to prayer over the sound system as the sun rises to start the new day, or the haunting quality of a chant.  It doesn't matter if the words are English, Latin, Sanskrit, Arabic, or Punjabi.  The voice signing to God, calling out a prayer is a cool breeze on my restless soul.  So today, I sat on that bench, tears streaming down my face, so happy to be alive and privileged to hear that glorious music.  I don't have the words to fully express how transfixed, transported to a peaceful place -- what those few moments did for me.  I think I will always remember that oasis of coolness, stillness and grace with the sound of worship as the backdrop.  As I got up to leave, I noticed this:

How perfect is that?

The rest of the day was anticlimactic.  I finished up all the shopping I wanted to do.  I walked slowly from Covent Garden, through Leicester Square and Piccadilly Circus and along to Green Park and the hotel.  Next up is packing and making sure that all my stuff fits in the bags I have left.  Otherwise, I will have to mail a box from the Embassy tomorrow, my last work day.