Please note the adorable mouse stuffing himself with tea cakes in the upper right.
London, England; January 5, 2017
Happy lunar new year! I’ve been to celebrations of Chinese New Year in Chicago and Singapore, and this year I added London to that list. A couple friends and I staked out a spot on the parade route before 10am (on a Sunday! me! I’m surprised, too).
In perfect London form, the weather was chilly but dry right up until the parade came by us — at which point it started raining. It didn’t matter, we just kept moving. Unlike other parades I’ve been to, this one was small enough that at the points where the route turned a corner, the dancers would do an extended routine on the corner and the rest of the parade just stopped until it was over. This made it easy to walk backwards past the floats and buses containing soggy dignitaries and businessmen, to find the lion dancers and adorably costumed schoolchildren.
After the parade, we lucked into seats at a busy establishment for delicious dim sum, and as we walked away from the restaurant we passed an elaborate dragon dance in Trafalgar Square — an auspicious start to the new year.
When my friend visited this past weekend, her only request for sightseeing was “one of the Magnificent Seven,” and she wasn’t talking about movies. She was referring to the 19th-century cemeteries set up in what were then the suburbs of London, and have since become part of the metropolis itself. People had been overfilling cemeteries in London proper, which meant decaying corpses oozed into the water supply, spreading disease. So new cemeteries with plenty of room were built away from the city center, in less of a cramped and more of a more park-like arrangement, apparently modeled after Père Lachaise in Paris.
We went to Nunhead Cemetery on a gloomy winter day, which is the correct time to go, of course. A few other people wandered through the gates carrying cameras, like us, but they took a different route from us and somehow we never ran into them. Every ten minutes or we encountered men walking their dogs; the dog would give us a sniff and a friendly wag of the tail, and the man would give a slight nod of acknowledgement, and they’d move on. So we mostly had the place to ourselves, which only added to the slightly spooky atmosphere.
Most of the graves were from the 19th century, and apparently left untended for at least the last several decades; gravestones tripped precariously to one side, beheaded angels stood guard over larger graves, stone inscriptions were eroding away or covered in bright green moss. The paths were well-maintained but anything just off of them was left in a perfect state of romantic decay. A Gothic sense of melancholy draped over the stones along with the creeping ivy.
At one point, we were admiring a crow as he hopped about, and then he picked up what seemed to be a chicken bone, and just when the scene couldn’t get more macabre, he fluttered into the air and alighted on a headstone. If you’re looking for a mournful Victorian graveyard to wander about in, I can highly recommend Nunhead Cemetery.
Hail Britannia is the title I settled on for posts about the British adventures I’m having while living in London. It covers London and non-London locations alike. It has a pleasing ring to it but doesn’t, I hope, make us dwell too much on ‘Rule, Britannia,’ not least because I am neither in the Royal Navy nor pro-imperialism.