by Kim Robinson

Created on: May 20, 2008   Last Updated: January 03, 2010

THE CENTER OF THE UNIVERSE

My husband, David is from Great Britain, so I've had the marvelous opportunity to travel there several times. Since he's from Liverpool, we usually travel north first to visit family and friends, and although, Liverpool has its distinct charms, you know, the Beatles and all, nothing, absolutely nothing, compares to London. I would go, as far as to say that London is the center of the universe.

I was twenty-one the first time I encountered London, and the stimulus of London's, City Center made love to me instantly, savagely, beautifully. I remember getting off the tube, walking up the metal steps, and BOOM... like a rush of heat, there she was... a heart beating outside of a body...a promised land.

Bodies sprinting, taxis screaming, scarves flying, stilettos clicking, double decker buses scrambling. Even the air seems to have a place to go. Nothing is still. Everything breathes in London; everything moves and grooves.

I swear, when I visit London, the hair on the back of my neck ascends higher, and sometimes I forget to breathe. The people. I mean; the Londoner's invented the words hip, cool, innovative, provocative, freak, and unique. The women adorn in wild Amy Winehouse hairstyles, and truthfully, I could wear the same silk scarf around my neck, but for some reason it wouldn't quite look the same as a Londoner. Somehow, the silk just swings the right way. Very swank. Very European.(although England does not consider themselves European)

It's as if the melting pot thawed within one destination. The universe assembled within one place... The Arabs with scarves twisted tightly around heads, the beautiful, dark Pakistanis, the Asians with Toshibas hanging from necks, the punk rockers not grasping that punk is over, the Cockneys' swinging briefcases and hissing on cell phones, the pulse...the pulse.

And if one watched "My Fair Lady," the sense and smells of London are not far off, minus the coal stained cheeks and broad bloomin' hats! The explosion of multi-coloured flowers sold on every corner, hot chestnuts steaming, and even the cockney accent, at times, is so bloody thick, one might want to ask, "Eliza, is it really you?"

The smells of London wrap and rise and become something else altogether: lamb, cinnamon, cloves, ginger, mint, black pudding, curry, and the fat of pork belly crackling on crunching upon a stranger's lips. Oh, the ecstasy of it all, the beauty of humanity uniting together: touching arms, rubbing sleeves, inhaling one another's skin, eyes behind Dolce and Gabbana whispering, "I love you."

Sure, London has glam and glitz and glitter up the ying-yang: The Royal Ballet, Buckingham Palace, Westminster Abbey, Piccadilly Circus, Harrods, Madame Tussauds, The Tower of London, Prince William and let's not forget...The Queen.

But it's not about the castles or the entertainment; it's not even about the breathtaking history (During a tour, I saw 437 engraved in a wall. Yes, the year 437!) No, it's London herself, her geometric body ascending like adrenaline, her heart pounding against our chest like a passionate lover. She can stand on her own. She can do anything she damn well pleases.

*NOTE*
While in London, do not rush anywhere. Sit on a park bench to inhale the countries of the world, observe the people with their chic scarves and Amy Winehouse hair, listen to the double deckers and lush languages, and more than anything, smell the breath of London herself, the red of her mouth will swallow you whole.

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