I Am Not a Tourist

Today I'm in London, I've got a rucksack, a camera and an American accent; what I need is a shirt proclaiming, "I am NOT a tourist"

We're on our way to the Royal Academy to see an art exhibit we heard about on a BBC 2 programme. This isn’t something your average tourist would attempt—finding their way to Tower Bridge is difficult enough for them; locating the Royal Academy (or even knowing it exists) is surely beyond their ken.

Frankly, it’s at the very edge of our combined abilities, as well. My wife has been there before, but it was long ago so she only has a vague idea of where it is. I’m with the tourists; I didn’t even know it existed until she told me about it.

Our best bet, it seems, is to find Buckingham Palace, cross Green Park and then, Bob’s your uncle. The only glitch is, we’re taking an unfamiliar route through the city and are unsure how to get to Buckingham Palace. I volunteer to walk up to a random Londoner and, in a brash, American voice, ask, “Can you tell me how to get to the Queen’s house?” but my wife vetoes the idea on the grounds that, even if she hides around the corner while I do it, someone might figure out she is with me. In the end, we just follow the tourists.

I had suggested this day for our visit because it is the day of the penultimate World Cup match. London would be more easily navigated, I reasoned, with everyone at home watching the telly. What I failed to take into account was the staggering number of tourists. Also, on the route we are taking, we would be unlikely to encounter any actual Londoners even on a normal day: the locals are not as keen on Royal gawking as we Americans, and the types of people who attend art exhibits aren’t generally distracted by such things as the most important sporting event in the known universe.

I’ve visited Buckingham Palace before, but usually we approach via The Mall. This time we’re coming up the road bordering the 42-acre Palace Gardens—appropriately called Buckingham Palace Road—and past the Royal Mews where the Queen keeps her horses and golden carriage (we all need a place to keep our golden carriage, don’t we?). Just beyond the mews and around the corner from the Ambassador's court stands the Victoria memorial and about 100,000 tourists.

 

It’s breathtaking to see the number of people who want to visit the Queen’s house and catch a glimpse of the changing of the guard. (I’ve never seen it, myself, but my guess is one guard comes out and takes the place of the guard on duty so he can go off for a wee and a pint of bitter.) Judging from the size of the crowd, the Royal Family have nothing to worry about—if the British ever dissolve the Monarchy, they could just go to America. We love the royals, and would certainly welcome them. This would also provide the advantage of enabling us to fawn over them without requiring travel to the UK where we have to put up with funny money and dodgy breakfast meats for the privilege.

Also popular with the Americans is the Official Buckingham Palace Gift Shoppe. Filled with all manner of regal tat it’s almost as well-visited as the guard replacement ceremony and is certainly more convenient as it’s open all day. Naturally, I had to go in to gape and smirk, along with my fellow countrypersons, at the souvenir crowns and Buckingham Palace Biscuits while secretly wishing I had the nerve to buy one. I may live here, but I still love this stuff.

Perhaps I am a tourist after all.