September 2: Ready to go

On Sunday evening, we went to Broadway Market with Gareth and Fabi. Gareth and Fabi went to Argentina for their honeymoon. Carey wanted a steak. So, we dined at the friendly Argentinian grill nearby. We had a fabulous meal, even better conversation and were home in bed by 10:30. Gareth and Fabi were at a wedding until gone 4am on Saturday night and we – well, we are just old fogies. Fabi is collaborating with a colleague on a series of seminars about the presentation of pain in art – from the suffering of medieval saints to the trauma of Tracey Emin’s “unmade bed”, fascinating material. Whenever Fabi talks about his work, I find myself wistfully reflecting on not being one of his students - it would be a privilege.

We spent most of the last few days walking the city, enjoying its food markets and pubs. The weather has been uncertain, but the city is just so vibrant and inviting (and our room, so small and practical), that we were out despite the rain. An intense shower blew through on a chill autumn wind on Monday afternoon, leaving us, unglamourously bedraggled and huddling under Blackfriars Bridge for the best part of half an hour. And then we were in sunshine again, until the next time: typical British weather.

Today, we traipsed a mile to the nearest laundrette and did laundry, ready for departure tomorrow morning. The laundrette was shabby, in the middle of social housing. It was evident that the owners know their clientele have no local choices. The Service Wash guy – a skinny, bespectacled young man called Hasim – is patient and diligent. My inability to get the machines to take my coins was comical (4 times – one wash and three dyer cycles, zero successes). With an expert flick, Hasim helped me on every occasion.

The Camino is about simplification and gratitude. We, once again, acknowledge the life-altering power (and the luxury) of washing machines (even shabby ones, in under-invested locations).

We snuck in a final visit to the British Museum. Their Hiroshige exhibition ends next week. I’m not particularly moved by Hiroshige, but I recognize his cultural importance. I prefer the serene, clean lines of Teruhide Kato, but the glowing blending, warmth of Hiroshige’s work, especially seen in a gallery, en masse, are undeniable. It was an uplifting, spirit-feeding visit ahead of the inevitable challenges at Stansted tomorrow.

Stansted is consistently voted “London’s (UK’s) worst airport” and never named without an eye roll. It is the “home base” of Ryan Air (enough said). In the name of “efficiency”, it pioneers a regime of self-check-in and tag-your-own-baggage kiosks, used almost nowhere else, that would flummox experienced travelers. Naturally, therefore, it almost exclusively serves budget tourists with forgotten/expired passports, over-weight/not-prepaid luggage and screaming family members (mostly, but not always, children). It’s a whole thing. With meditation and commitment, we should have worked through the trauma by the time we reach Santiago. Another source of gratitude for this walk: that we return via Gatwick