Travel: the way I see it

this is London 

I'm afraid I've neglected you a bit, my dear blog followers. Truth be told, I haven't been doing anything particularly blog-worthy, just wandering around this beautiful city and taking it all in while I'm here to do so. As those who know me well have probably noticed, I'm not one for touristy stuff. When I was teaching photography on the Putney student travel group, I tried to instill one lesson in my students: don't take the same photographs as everyone else. Don't just walk blindly around, snapping shots of this monument, that church, the same famous picture of the same famous stuff that thousands of people have seen and photographed thousands of times before. You might as well stay home and buy the coffee table book. Save yourself the money, the foot aches, the jet lag. Why take a photo of a photo? That's empty, meaningless, and worthless. If you spend all your time in a place trying to capture The Sights, you'll miss it entirely.

and this is London 

As far as I'm concerned, if you're going to experience a new city by running around madly trying to get to every tourist attraction, tick all the Must Do's off your list, you're going to be so busy Doing It that you'll forget to appreciate where you are. You'll forget that this place, this new place you're just now discovering, is home to someone. Someone sees these sights everyday. Someone walks past the Eiffel tower on his way to work. Someone else nods hello at Big Ben on the bus every morning. Someone else forgets to look at the pyramids because he's late to pick up his kids from school. What do the locals see in this "new" city? What do they do? What "sights" do they appreciate? When you stop to look at the things the tourists miss, that's where you'll really see a city. That's when you'll really be there.

and this is London, too 

When I travel, I like to find the pulse of a place. The heartbeat. I like to find the local cafes, the out-of-the-way pubs, the little markets where grandmothers do their shopping on a Saturday morning. I like to see the garbage collectors, the men in business suits outside the bank, the kids getting home from school. Sure, I'll take in a museum or an art gallery. I'll snap the requisite photos of the Important Stuff, but I always try to find a new angle, a different approach. There's nothing wrong with appreciating the monuments, museums, or memorials for which a place has become famous. But don't stop there. Don't let that be all you see, all you do.

it's all London, because it's all real

 A photo of Big Ben isn't a memory. But getting lost because you tried to take the train there yourself instead of the guided tour? Eating a kebab from the little stand down the street because it looked good, not the four-star Lonely Planet-recommended chain pub on the High Street?  You'll remember the people you saw on the train ride, the way your heart leapt when you finally, finally reached your destination all of your own volition. You'll remember the way the kebab tasted, and your excitement at discovering this little place, standing in line with the construction workers who eat here every day. The scents. The sounds. The feelings. Those are worth remembering. Those are the reasons to travel. At least, those are mine.

Camden Market: Of the Weird and the Wonderful

forgot my camera, so you'll have to settle for some stock photoage

Hello, my name is Lizz and I am addicted to London's market scene. There, I said it. Two weekends in a row now,  I've spent the majority of at least one day wandering through market stalls, oggling everything from scarves to cakes and back again. In my defense: I didn't intend to market yesterday. I was meeting a friend for dinner in Camden and figured I'd case the joint early, get the lay of the land. Is it my fault if I stumbled into London's largest, most colorful alternative market scene? I'm the victim here.

Anyway. Yesterday, I wandered into Camden Market, a sprawling, largely underground market catering to the punk/goth/alternative scene. In other words: overrun with teenagers in technicolor mohawks,  studded leather, black lace, subversive-themed t-shirts and piercings on their piercings. An interesting crowd, interspersed with foreign tourists staring more intently at Those Punk London Kids than the goods for sale. I think I heard more Italian in Camden Locks than I did in Rome. Regardless, this market was a blast.

What is Camden like? Picture the touristy section (we'll go with Times Square) in New York City. Now picture the street markets in Florence. Now cross your eyes like you're doing one of those Magic Eyes and blend the two together. That's Camden High Street. The place is buzzing with tattoo and piercing shops, lots of those kitschy places selling London-themed tchotches and plenty of fast food. The markets run the length of the street, up and down the lock (which is also very pretty in its own right) and several side streets. Plenty of vintage, plenty of antiques, and more than enough cheap-looking clothes to keep the kiddies happy.

I don't know if I'd buy anything here, mostly because it seems to run in one of three veins: mass-produced in China, cool and unique at the time but totally useless once it gets home, and antique and expensive. But hey, I'm a dedicated window shopper (or is that stall shopper?) so I'm more than happy to poke my way through racks of furs, piles of metal signs probably stolen in the dead of night from some un-CCTVed corner, and trolleys full of Chanel-type scarves for hours on end. Need a break? No worries: plenty of reasonably-priced ethnic food from every corner of the globe hawked by some very vocal standkeepers. Mulled wine and donuts in flavor varieties I never knew existed? Don't mind if I do. It's an addiction. Or a calling. Or both.