Strange Days: Fabulous Journeys With Gardner Dozois Read Online Free PDF Page A

I remember Atom Thompson, the old British fan artist, pointing out the same holes and telling us, with his voice quivering with passion and indignation, that the damage to the statues had been caused by Luftwaffe planes strafing the Observatory during the war.
    Walk down the long hill and across the park to the National Maritime Museum, where we go to see the Titanic exhibit, which is quite engrossing. Strange to see the restored items, plates, glassware, uniforms, that had been sitting on the bottom of the ocean under two miles of cold water for seventy years, including tobacco in good enough condition to smoke—which made me fantasize that a cigarette made from tobacco brought up from the Titanic would be a nicely decadent luxury item for some future multimillionaire to buy. Stop for scones, then back to the pier and catch the boat back to the Tower of London. As we cruise down the Thames, it strikes me that almost all of the industry is gone from this stretch of the river, which once bustled with commerce. The river is now lined with former warehouses that have been turned into luxury condominiums—which makes me imagine sardonically that a hundred years from now the tour guide will be pointing out all the buildings that used to be luxury condominiums, but which have now been transformed into warehouses.
    We get off the boat at St. Cathrine’s Dock, one stop shy of the Tower, because one of the boat crew has recommended an Indian restaurant there, and we are running out of time for dinner if we want to get to the theater. Have a hurried so-so dinner there, literally opening the place up, going in a step behind the man with the keys, and then cab to the Old Vic, where Susan and I, still jetlagged, nod out and jerk awake fitfully through an excellent performance of The Importance of Being Earnest. Have a quick drink afterward, and then say goodbye to Walter and Kathy, and take the tube from Waterloo to Russell Square, with one transfer; the only time we use the Underground this trip. It’s a lovely night, and the streets around Russell Square are thick with students heading for one sort of party or another. Ah, to be young in Russell Square at night, pushing through the excited crowds with the eager darkness all around you, with the air like velvet and a yellow moon overhead, and all time and possibility opening before you! But instead we are old, and go upstairs and watch an episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation in German. Go to sleep to Captain Picard barking something guttural in German in a voice that makes him sound as though he has a bad head-cold.

    Wednesday, August 9th—London
    Up at six, work on my trip diary. Susan, who had a fitful night, sleeps until about ten. Too late for breakfast, we go out of the Russell and walk down to the British Museum, having coffee and scones at a little sidewalk place on a side street near the Museum. Later, we look through the Scottish Woolens place across from the Museum, buying some inexpensive gifts, mostly Celtic jewelry, for people back home. Then we catch a cab to Harrods department store. Long bout of shopping there, then an awful lunch that neither of us is able to finish, then another long bout of shopping, during which Susan comes very close to buying a stuffed Obelix doll, but decides not to; we also admire a stuffed plush alligator which is too large to fit comfortably into our living room, and which costs more than a thousand pounds; must be very rich parents indeed who can afford to buy that toy.
    We buy a bag of assorted kinds of bread to feed to the birds, and walk over to Hyde Park. Cross Rotten Row, covering our shoes in dust, and walk up the Serpentine in bright sunlight, almost the brightest of the trip so far, looking in vain for someplace to sit in the shade. There seem to be fewer water-birds in the Serpentine this year, and we see two or three dead fish washed up on the bank. This and several large “NO SWIMMING” signs make me wonder just how bad