Richmond Park - Gunnersbury to Northfield - 10 miles

It's tough to describe the Richmond Park walk.

First, it was less of a route than a compromise. Dr. Phil had planned to cook a juicy Sunday Roast. Unfortunately, Amanda was down for a visit yesterday, so I could not make a walk on Saturday. This turn about Richmond was a way to bridge the desire for walk and for chicken, of which, both are good for the body and spirit.

Ali and I met at Richmond Station, ordered our prerequisite coffees and headed towards the park. It was quite a jaunt through Richmond town centre, where, despite my bleary-eyed state, I was quite happily window shopping as we passed some fabulous stores.

The view when we got the top of the hill, was pretty cool. Although the sky was overcast and grey, we could still see clearly the bend of the River Thames.

The park itself was huge. Several things were found to be:

1) Within Richmond Park, lies the address, Two Storm Front. There's no real reason for it. it just is.

2) To my shame, despite my years of English prizes, I did not know the plural of deer.

3) Ali may have mistaken when the horns fall off.

4) People were running full pelt around the park, while the deer just lay around, ears twitching in the breeze.



We crisscrossed the park in several directions and eventually made our way back to the station. The walk resumed when we got off at Gunnersbury. The rest of the walk was full of blame points as it was through industrial business estates and by the dual carriage way. I was getting increasingly tired and hungry, in other words, grumpy.

Thankfully, we finally arrived. I would have bitten the next human if they hadn't shoved some chicken in front of me in time.

Bow to Angel - 6 miles

It's been a challenge to kickstart walks for this new year. There were plans for a trip out to Harlow for a country walk but that was shelved due to weather and scheduling issues.

But if we can't get out of the city to enjoy the beauty of the countryside, we should embrace the city and all its grittiness.

We started off early this Sunday morning. After some mild confusion as to which Bow station we were meant to meet, we went in search of the path down to canal side.



Eastside, the views around the canal are fairly urban and grotty. We followed the curve past warehouses, old docks and disused shacks. It was pretty odd to spot oast houses in the area.



It was early, but already, the canal path was crowded. Walkers, dogs, runner and cyclists streamed past in various speeds and gaits. It always struck me as fairly reckless the way cyclists would speed across the path, trusting in walkers to get out of the way in time. Yo, some of us are half-asleep until we've had a gallon of coffee.

I'm still holding out for a walk where some lycra-bodied wheeler will tumble in and make a huge splash.





At one point, it was pretty funny. Two women carting large brown crates on their bikes were trying to get through the path under one of the bridges. The crates were a little too large for them to walk through upright with the bikes. They had to tip them at a strange angle, balanced against the bikes and edge their way past without falling in. We did offer to help but were waved away, so we watched their maneuvers with interest and mild amusement. .





The canal bridges were also covered with graffiti, some tagged by more famous artists than others.





We arrived at Angel in time for hot coffee and pastries.

Ducks, docks and the Dickens with it - 8 miles

As the usual suspects were scattered hither and yonder, I was left to my devices this weekend. Thankfully, I managed to coerce a new walker, Cara (aka Tom to civilised folks) to join the ranks. We met at Tower Hill station, and with a nod to the section of the London Wall, a single, mighty fortification that once surrounded the Roman and medieval cities, we started on our way.

As cheesy as it is, I love this part of London. I remember coming back on the bus from Stansted Airport recently, and watching all the half-asleep tourists who were so far unimpressed by London, suddenly jerk upright in excitement at the sight of the Tower Bridge's gaudy follies and the brutal immensity of the Tower of London. I thought rather smugly to myself, "You will be impressed, damn you!"





Near the modern urbanity of London's financial centre, these monuments are a vivid reminder of London's colourful past. History is not so much covered over in this city, but laid layer atop layer. On one's wanders, it's possible to catch a surprising glimpse of a previous time, and lest we keep moving, it's possible to lose oneself in the past.

The path led us into St Katherine's Docks which were opened in 1828. This area consists an interconnected route of docks, bridges and wharves built in the Georgian era by Thomas Telford, in order to service the smaller ships and vessels which transfered goods from larger ships at West India and East India docks further east. With my penchant for boats, I started to get quite excited.







Apart from the basins and bridges themselves, the streets, buildings and even layout are very much steeped in the history of the development of the river and its relationship to the city's inhabitants. As we headed towards Wapping, we walked past former warehouses turned into pubs, old bases for Port of London Authority and wharf warehouses with their old cranes intact turned into chi-chi residential flats or offices.





But despite the clean up and makeover, this area's salacious and scandalous past was still evident. We walked past pubs with famous ghostly patrons such as Captain Bligh and Fletcher Christian before the mutiny on the Bounty, Captain Blood who stole the crown of Charles II and flattened it with a hammer to make it easier to hide, and Captain Kidd, naval officer turned pirate.

Yo ho ho.. The idea of sailing on the open sea is terribly attractive.

Along this little street, every now and then, there would be a little tiny alley that allowed entry to the water's edge. Many of these, such as Old and New Wapping Steps would lead to Execution spots where crowds in the 17th and 18th century could watch public executions of mutineers and pirates, including aforesaid Captain Kidd.



The Prospect of Whitby, which claims to be London's oldest riverside pub, not only had famous patrons such as Charles Dickens and Samuel Pepys, but still kept the old gallows of its colourful past. Ironically, it swings in parallel to the famous Canary Wharf building. I'm sure many fortunes were hung there too.



After passing the old London Docks, we turned into Shadwell Basin. Shadwell's location determined its place in early history with Roman fortifications built here against Saxon pirates. Currently, it's been prettied up a bit, and even feature the "Gherkin" in its backdrop.



It existed mostly as a fishing village until the 17th and 18th century. The explorer and seafarer Captain James Cook lived here in the 1760s. It was a pleasant surprise to see these young uns keeping up the tradition.



The walk looped back towards St Katherine's docks alongside a rather dingy canal, past some urban blocks, an old Tobacco factory and the Hermitage Basin, an old disused pool of water.



Cara, who refused to hold the book for more than a minute, was however quite useful at pointing out ducks.

"Ducks!" he pointed. "Ducks!"

I started to worry he might be making fun of my previous excitement over pheasants.

"Baby ducks!" he pointed, gleefully.

Oh wow, now who wouldn't get excited over that!?



Back at St Katherine's Docks, we were ravenous and nipped into the Dickens pub for some grub. This pub has three sections of restaurants split over its multi-storey warehouse capacity. We ended up in the Sunday roast section where we had a large yorkshire pudding, roast chicken, roast potatoes and cauliflower and cheese. It was a huge portion. It must have been 4 times the size of a human stomach.



After lunch, we retraced (waddled) part of the way to Wapping and onto the riverside walk. Much of this area still bears the marks of the the 200 years monopoly of the East India Company's trade from the Far East. Along this area, the company built wharfs, warehouses and housing for its employees, as well as shipbuilding and repair yards.



As we enter the Isle of Dogs, so named for when Henry VIII kept his hunting dogs in this area, we came across this rather pretty pub.



But be not fooled by its innocuous appearance, this pub was frequented by Dickens and was even described in Our Mutual Friend (as the Six Jolly Fellowship Porters). The pub has a narrow riverside balcony which at high tide was like being afloat in the water. At one point in time, a ladder led from the balcony to thirsty watermen in their wherries and provided discreet transfer of stolen or smuggled goods. The pub also had a reputation for getting clients drunk and then rowing them out to the river and throwing them over board. The next day, their bodies would be collected and sold for anatomical experiments.

Hmm, you'd be truly wasted there.

Across the street, a large iron sculpture of a herring gull stands on a coil of rope.



It was back to the waterside. Apartment buildings have appeared in recently years with their gleaming aluminum features, dramatic lines and inflated prices.







We paused at the benches by the riverside Sir John McDougall Gardens. There's something about those benches, they're ergonomically curved to support your neck when you slide down on them. In the sunshine, Cara and I sat quite dozily for a while before reluctantly peeling ourselves up.

As we entered the Docklands, recently reclaimed and refurbished into London's new financial centre, the aspirational assertions of 20th century capitalism are evident.





New buildings are still being erected while technologies attempt to scale the heights.





Far from being a cold, financial centre, the Docklands were buzzing on a Sunday with London's young urban crowd out for a drink and a meal.





This is where we see most vividly in contrast the past and the present. The SS Robin, a surviving example of a dirty British coaster from the 1900s, is moored beneath beneath the metallic sail of a futuristic architectural feat.



The old wharfs are transformed into the new audio-visual museum of the Docklands.



Even the old barbed defences of the old Wall are speared with the taste of the present.

Highgate to Hampstead - 11.7 miles

With prerequisite coffees in hand, Mister Ali, Dr J and I inched our way up Highgate hill, still slightly sleepy-eyed on Saturday morning. The entrance fee to the famed Highgate Cemetery was three pounds each. Dr J was a little surprised one had to pay to visit a graveyard, but I wasn't. Death, to my knowledge, has always been an expense.

While my comrades decided to pay their respects to Marx and other communists buried on site, I went for a wander around the grounds. It was a rather sunny day, which made it more pleasant than spooky.



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The guys pointed this one out to me. I still can't figure it out. Was this a solemn psychoanalytic gimmick to help those left behind to avoid denial? Was this a a blunt way, if someone were to rise from the grave, to let them know their current condition? Or or or...



I wandered into a little section of the graveyard which turned out to be the children's area. I should have guessed by the little teddy bear shaped headstone. This old lady was pottering around the graves, weeding and planting flowers. She told me that almost ten years ago, she met a Russian man. His son died and was buried here in Highgate, but his father returned to Russia. As it was such a long way for him to come visit the grave regularly (he visits when he can), she took it upon herself to take care of the grave.



My idea of hell actually: To be set in stone forever with a book, and no hands to turn the pages.



We crested the hill and entered the vast grounds of Hampstead Heath. It was a bit of a family scene, complete with ponds, ducks, children and dogs.



Some chaps from a wildlife bird society set up a tent with super powered telescopes. They were also helpful in identifying the species of birds, which was very educational for someone like me who thinks a squirrel is wildlife.







View from Parliament Hill. We clocked 11.7 miles.

Greenwich to the Thames Barrier - 8.36 miles

Mister Ali, Dr. J and I met up near the Cutty Sark in Greenwich. Not much could be seen of the old clipper, as it had recently been damaged by fire and it's presently covered with canvas while undergoing repairs. We're not used to being up this early on a Saturday, so it was necessary to obtain coffees before we embarked on today's trek. The chaps went to Costa, and despite my aversion to Starbucks' saturation strategy, I am rather partial to their soy mocha latte.

The walk was an unusual experience of revisiting familiar locations that evoked memories and yet encountering the new developments. I was part discovering tourist, seeing with fresh eyes, and part familiar local, sharing bits of gossip and information with Ali and Jonny, both of whom had rarely visited the southeast.

Our walk took us through the large sprawling Greenwich Park. with its rolling hills, historic nooks, old monuments and its Royal Observatory where you could stand astride both the eastern and western hemispheres.



Images of days gone past came to mind. Long languid sunny days lying in the park, pretending to study. Hot afternoons with red wine, barefoot with green grass between toes. Sunday cricket with the barristers against the solicitors, a cheerful thwack against a wicket in the distance. The park seemed cosier then, covered with wildflowers and thick rows of trees. Its tangled corners hinted of historical mysteries.

A short climb up, and the chaps stopped for a bacon butty.



The park is currently cleanshaven in comparison, the grass has been cut, many of the old trees and overgrowth had long been cut away, and concrete paths repaved. One advantage is that there are panoramic views of southeast London.



Back down amongst mortals, we wandered around the town of Greenwich itself, and visited its parish church, St Alfege, which was built on the 11th century site of the martyrdom of Alfege. The old church graveyard was a garden now, its sarcophagi no more innocuous than garden decorations and its ring of headstone faded and smoothed over by the years.





We made our way round to the Greenwich Tunnel, a footpath that leads under the Thames itself.





From across the river, I could see the full stretch of the grand Old Royal Naval College, a baroque example of English architecture. Once upon a time, the site held Henry VIII's favourite palace, nowadays, its opulent structures are often used as backdrops in Hollywood blockbusters.



The compound used to be secured when the Ministry of Defence used its grounds. An ex-boyfriend of mine used to work there, so we had passes into the grounds. I remember one rather lovely Saturday playing tennis on the courts on site. These days it's been freshened up and opened to the public for viewing.

Further down the river, we stopped at the Cutty Sark pub, an old favourite of mine, for bangers and mash. Outside the pub, lay a giant anchor, one of the many marine relics strewn around Greenwich. This old pub lies right on the river and has always served great hearty British food. Many birthdays and weekends were spent here.



As we traveled east along the river, its surroundings became almost unrecognisable as London. A certain length was more industrial and the air took on a sour potency, and round a curve, yachts bobbed cheerfully in the dusk, as if we'd just strolled into a fishing harbour. The sharp spokes of the Millenium Dome were striking against the sky, despite Londoners' ambivalence towards it.







We ended our 8.36 mile walk almost 5 hours later at the alien looking Thames Barrier, a row of mighty gates that would be raised in case of a flood. From afar, the glowing lights of the barriers make them look like individual heads peering above the waters, up close, these giant steel structures reflected the glow of the setting sun.