Travel Writing Blog 3: The Great Walking Tour of '11 Continues. London Style.

Although walking tours have outgrown their welcome to many fellow BGB goers, sometimes all it takes to revive an interest in European culture is one charismatic tour guide who doesn’t take all things historical too seriously.  The Royal London Free tour was a refreshing change from the stuffy and often contrite tours given throughout Italy. Right away, it was evident the dynamic of this tour was going to be drastically different from the past week’s tours.

Nothing quite says London like a Queen's Guard. Agreed?

Groups from all different walks of nationalities, literally, converged in Hyde Park Corner next to the conspicuous Wellington Arch to begin the free walk around Westminster. Four tour guides stood on the Statue of Wellington waiting to divvy up the 100 or so waiting participants.  Tour Guide James was about as polar-opposite from Tour Guide Barbie as humanly possible. Outwardly, he seemed like a perfectly average male: not overtly tall in stature, mahogany hair, pale skin, and an already forming five o’clock shadow despite the fact that it was only one in the afternoon. But as soon as he opened his mouth, it was clear his seemingly haphazard appearance was just a façade concealing the true seedy underbelly of James’ obtuse personality. Every other word that James spoke in his thick Irish accent was either a sly remark or crass statement about the members of the tour group. And that occurred just within the first three minutes of the tour.

As usual, London greeted everyone with a brisk, wind biting enough to make a person almost not want to leave the house, but not cold enough to keep you from going outdoors and running the usual day-to-day errands. James couldn’t have cared less with what the weather was like however. Come hell or high water, he was planning on giving us that tour. After a brief introduction of everyone, yes, all 30 of us told him our countries of origin, the group walked a whopping 10 yards from the starting point and reached Buckingham Palace. One would assume a stereotypical tour guide would speak of the quiet yet powerful elegance that stood before you, but that simply was not James’ style. Rather, he told a few tales of drunken homeless men’s mishaps, and how one way or another, the sneaky fellows always somehow managed to break into Buckingham Palace. I have yet to confirm the story of a Michael Fagan, a fellow Irishman to James who apparently drunkenly wandered into the Palace one particularly nasty storming night and ended up chit-chatting with the queen. Sometimes it was difficult to differentiate between fact or fiction from our less than politically correct guide. But James simply proceeded to talk in his crass Irish tones and carried on with the tour.

Me and Lacey in front of Buckingham Palace. How smashing.

One very redeemable quality about James, among many, was his actual touring abilities. He always seemed to find the quieter settings within the area to explain what historical importance was placed on each particular sight. Of course, the area didn’t remain quiet for long, considering James yell-talked quite abruptly when wanting to alert the group he had something to say. Even though our group consisted of individuals living anywhere from Arizona to Australia to many other countries in Europe, James had an uncanny sense of dry and, at times, inappropriate humor that appealed to all who were in attendance. He had an aura about him that exuded hilarity and confidence. The walk from sight-to-sight was a pleasant break from James’ boisterous tones however, leaving everybody to talk amongst themselves as we scurried about from place to place. Greenery was everywhere you looked, considering we walked through several parks, utterly captivating to a person who hasn’t seen a drop of rain until arriving London for over 100 days.

One of the many picturesque parks we ventured through.

Weaving in and out of several other tourists, our group surprisingly didn’t lose a single group member. Some lagged further behind than others, but there was always a constant ebb and flow of how we arrived at each point, and somehow everyone consistently showed up to where the group was located. The sights were wondrous to see, purely London in every sense of the word (although technically the tour took place in Westminster). Buildings ranged from Clarence House, where Prince Charles and Harry reside, to a gentleman’s club, where no females were allowed and notable members included Charles Darwin and CS Lewis. The places themselves were interesting enough, but every little jab and antecdote James said made everything that much more interesting. This was the first time the group didn’t have to tape their eyelids to their eyebrows just to stay awake. Every fact was a little oddity, something most people would never think to inquire about or include. But not a stone went unturned when James was speaking. It was unconventional to say the least, but a refreshing break from the monotony and redundancy of every other guided walk. When else have you heard that the lions in Trafalgar Square actually have the bodies of Cocker Spaniels, since the sculptor who molded them had only seen a lion’s head and not its body? My point exactly.

The tour made a quick wrap up passing St. Stephen’s Clock Tower, which houses Big Ben, and concluding next to Westminster Abby and Parliament. The tour was sequential and easy to follow, expanding my already fast-growing knowledge of London geography. As James was saying his final adieus, I realized for a split second how sad I was to leave this tour. While three hours visibly breaches my gnat-sized attention span, the people in our tour group had become familiar faces, a rarity in a country halfway across the world from your hometown. A couple girls from Arizona quickly became our comrades, and it was pleasant to converse with someone not from within the Baylor Bubble. James’ final words came at a perfect time, because it started lightly sprinkling shortly after we made our final stop under a large oak tree situated next to Westminster Abby. For the first time in two weeks, it was a sad moment to leave the wonder that is called the walking tour and head back to the tube for our excursion home.  There is no doubt in my mind that James earned every pence of the 3 pounds, 25 pence that was tipped to him at the end of our time together. I’ll be honest, for a free walking tour, my expectations weren’t the grandest. But all that was necessary to change my perspective on walking on my already blistered to death feet for a few more hours was a witty tour guide and a proper (positive) attitude. Maybe someone will attend this tour and receive the same joyous honor of having Tour Guide James in the future.

Our fearless leader, James.