Magic in London (or, Kat Gets Sappy)

Magic appears in the most unexpected of places.

A park at dusk; an exhibit filled with vintage prints of Hollywood legends; an “Enchanted” palace – they exude a strangely wonderful magic that traps the mind and ensnares the senses. A magic that demands submission to a power not entirely of this world. 

Irrational. Unexplainable. Mysterious. Magic.

Until now, I don’t think I ever truly understood how magic could manifest itself. I grew up, like everybody else, with a healthy dose of Disney doctrine. Poisonous apples, singing animals, fairy godmothers – these represented the key elements of magical reality. And, let’s not forget the weak and ineffectual princesses that Disney seems to be so fond of.

Likewise, my early childhood was spent reveling in the fairy tales of the Grimms and others. It quickly set a precedent. From that point onward, I would always find myself fascinated with tales of the supernatural – from fairies to ghosts and everything in between.

As I grew older, I fell in love with Charmed (a 90s television series about three sister witches) and Harry Potter. But, these characters held their power exclusively. It was not for me to have. I could only hope to enjoy the experience of living vicariously through them.

So what is a girl supposed to do when she’s grown up with Disney princesses and wizards/witches with wands? Well. She’s got to try to make her own magic, and if she can’t, she can at least find it. And really, if you look back on all your most treasured life experiences, some of the best are generally the ones you weren’t expecting.

To be honest, I’m a stumbler. I don't go rushing out into the world looking for fun, magic, or anything. Unsurprisingly then, some of my most treasured moments in London so far have been of a very unexpected nature. When magic hits, it hits hard. Sometimes I wanted to skip and dance. Sometimes I imagined myself to be wearing period clothing – a true lady from the past. Other times, I furiously began taking pictures so that I might share my experience with the world. Crazy, but true. 

It all started with the parks – Regents Park, Hyde Park, Kensington Gardens. Walking along the gravel path, wind rushing through my hair, the sun shining on my back, I felt alive. Mind, body, spirit – all connected, all at peace. As I reveled in the sensory overload provided by the enchanting natural landscape, I couldn’t help but to also take delight in the many human interactions I saw. Children racing each other on bikes. An old couple holding hands as they strolled past the river. A young man stretched out on a flat block of marble, bathing his body in the heady warmth of the sun. Everything there – in every park – was pure, honest beauty. It was as though everything wonderful about life had come together in one place – a natural utopia.  

Then there was the Glamour of the Gods exhibit – where I looked upon the pinnacle of physical beauty. Here were men and women transformed into gods and goddesses. Yet, it was the exhibit’s unintentional representation of perfect love that I valued most. A celluloid romance – all love, only love – captured in a portrait. For the hour I was there, it was nice to believe that I, too, could have that perfect, unchanging love. A love eternally free of all complications. 

And finally, there was the Enchanted Palace, which brought to life all the magic and wonder of human creativity and invention. Fashion, performance, light works, and dazzling spectacle all combine to position the palace state rooms in an entirely new and thought-provoking way. My mission? Find the seven princesses trapped within the palace walls. Mary, Charlotte, Caroline, Victoria, Anne, Margaret, Diana – their voices called to me as I collected their woeful stories.

In Disney, the princesses always married the handsome prince; but, real princesses were betrothed to fat pigs who didn’t care for them beyond their usefulness as a reproductive machine. Or, there was Princess Charlotte, who was running towards love and dancing with death all her life (Yes, I got that from the included pamphlet!) Allowed to marry for love, she died shortly after in childbirth. Why is it that true love is so quickly separated while unions of hate and resentment are allowed to fester on indefinitely?

It’s so often through fantasy that we explore real issues of importance. As such, the exhibit did a marvelous job of constructing a world where fantasy and reality could meet side-by-side. While I’ll certainly attest to the visual magic of the exhibit, it was the stories of the seven princesses that really made the visit one of magic. I found their perseverance in the face of utter failure and their never-dying conviction of their inherent power and independence to be hugely inspirational. Disney preaches, it never inspires.

And there you have it - magic in London. Like all good things, though, such moments must end at some point – a point that usually coincides with my arrival at the tube station. A switch inside flips and I suddenly wake up, as if from a dream. Agitated, I get on the tube, and set back off into the crazy, bustling world of the Now. But the dream never dies. 

A Tale of Two Markets: Oxford St. and Camden

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times – a whole day of shopping, but oh, the money spent!

Feeling the limitations of my meager wardrobe, I decided it was time to go shopping for some British flair. I further justified the need for a shopping spree by telling myself that once I got it (shopping, that is) out of my system, I wouldn’t need to do any more for the rest of my time here. Yeah, right…

Quite fortunately, my delightful and completely non-morbid Jack the Ripper class is situated only a few blocks away from the most divine shopping street in London – Oxford Street. Thus, today after class, I hit the pavement, ready to find some great buys.

I just want you all to know, I did try to be a bargain shopper. I marched myself all the way down the street to Primark (a trendy value store, for those of you who don’t know) where I put all my energy into struggling through the frantic mob of people trying to shove as many articles of clothing as possible into their humongous shopping bags. I got so desperate I even tried walking with my elbows out on either side to discourage people from bumping into me. Unfortunately, I just don’t have the stamina to be a bargain shopper. My disposition is much more inclined towards slightly expensive stores, which by default, are less crowded. And so, happily resigned, I returned to the streets to find the next store.

Because Primark is so far down the street, I had to walk back quite a ways to get to where I wanted to be. Walking along Oxford St. is always an experience because of the sheer number of people out and about. It’s almost like a game, albeit a dangerous one. You have to dodge people and then force people to dodge you. The most thrilling part of the game is when you get to cross the street. If you don’t get run over by a bus, taxi, or bicyclist, then you have to watch out that you don’t get trampled by the mob of people stampeding towards you. While out today, I was immediately reminded of a conversation I had had with a friend last year. As a heavy metal fan, she likes to frequent concerts of the mosh-pit variety. One type of moshing, as she explained, was called the Wall of Death. 

Here’s what Wikipedia has to say about the Wall of Death: “In the Wall of Death, participants are directed away from the center of the standing area by a member of the band until a large, rectangular area is cleared, and, upon the band beginning the next song; the two sides perpendicular to the stage sprint at each other and collide in the middle.” Doesn’t sound too different from two masses of time-poor individuals trying to cross a small street at the same time, right? If you need a visual, I’ve kindly included one (sorry about the sound):

At any rate, I managed to survive the crowds. Barely. But when is fashion ever easy?

All in all, I bought two scarves (one from Accessorize, one from Zara), a pair of black boots from Zara, and a super cute pair of black heels from Debenhams (a department store). Look, I really needed shoes, ok? Don’t judge. 

I toyed with the idea about going to Topshop (again) but the day was getting on and I still wanted to check out…Camden Markets.

And what a juxtaposition to the snobby, flossy-glossy sheen of the Oxford high street. Camden is all personality – gritty, exotic, flamboyant. Instead of Prada and wicked high heels I found studs and a lot of black. It was a side of London that I was pleasantly surprised to uncover. 

Hidden throughout the narrow streets are just stalls and stalls bursting with unusual wares, vintage shops, and delicious food vendors. I myself stopped for a treat called Dutch Dunkers. A tri-brid (?) of donuts, waffles, and pancakes, these little guys were to die for. I had mine with syrup, butter, and powdered sugar. Jealous, much?

Aside from the stalls themselves, the actual scenery of Camden is quite beautiful. The Stables Market area had some interesting statuary and there was a nice view of the Regent’s Canal from several bridges. Unfortunately, unaware of how amazing this place would be, I’d only given myself a few hours to explore (and left my good camera at home!), which meant that I only got to see a very small fraction of what the Camden area has to offer. I have no doubt that I’ll be returning to Camden very soon to finish exploring this beautifully unique section of London.