At the end of my too-short visit to London, I hastily draft this first dispatch to my friends, a brief taste of my time in such a 'brilliant' city. This is the Brit's over-used version of 'wonderful, marvelous', certainly not a description of the ambient light, as the days have been only slightly less gray and drizzly than the nights. With no sun to re-set my body clock, jet lag has felt like a three-day narcotic.

The naked trees in the garden of St. Luke's reach toward me with spindly grey fingers as I gaze out the many-paned window of this charming flat in Chelsea. The church, normally hidden by near green leaves, is a gothic-arched, flying-buttressed affair with an accurate blue clock set high on its rectangular steeple. Yesterday was the first and only sunny day during my week here and the mustard stone walls glowed in the winter light; I took a picture as though I'd never seen the sun shining before.

Since I was walking by St. Luke's on my way to the zoo, I stopped in for a peek. A be-spectacled woman, casually dressed in jeans, was standing near the pulpit singing clear and strong into a microphone. I recognized the voice, but couldn't hook it up to the face. Then she smiled. Annie Lennox, full Cheshire grin, rehearsing Christmas carols for a Tuesday performance. Sure beats walking in on the janitor. I said hello to god then continued on to the tube.

London's Underground has become my new best friend. I bought a week-long pass and have used it with impunity - I have it so wired I feel downright native. It's like ten BART systems over- and under-lapping: a labyrinth of connections, each station with its own distinct personality. I mistakenly sat next to a drunken man once whose being so exuded rotten alcohol that when he exhaled in my direction, I thought I would vomit. At the next stop, I made a swift exit into the adjoining car, where the air was sweet, and continued reading Dead Babies, my latest Martin Amis.

"Something tells me it's all happening at the zoo..." Ever on the prowl for animal insight, I arrived at the London Zoo around lunchtime, hungry, and so whipped out my handy mocha Powerbar. Nibbling dubiously, I watched a vulture the size of a small man shred a dead rabbit three feet from my nose. Powerbars are mysterious enough - combined with the smell of old blood, I wasn't sure who was eating what. He fixed me with beady eyes every few moments just to make sure his meal was secure - he couldn't know how remote my interest in his lunch could be. Less than remote: revolted.

The penguins looked like wind-up toys and were very happy with the freezing day; the sun may have been shining but there was ice on the ground. The big cats were viewed either from behind a barrier, and so in the distance, or through a glass wall, in which case they walk inches from your eyes. The Siberian tiger was magnificent and perfect, the leopard looked for all like some fancy woman's coat, the lion like a cartoon character. I think this is part of my fascination with zoos: reality is a revelation since the appropriated or animated image was imprinted long before mother nature's version was ever seen. A common childhood scenario scarier than any wild beast...

The chimpanzees were mesmerizing, funny and eerily thoughtful. They looked out at all the laughing people as if we were the amazing exhibit. I'm sure we were.

Some strangenesses in London: you're expected to bag your own groceries at the market checkout stand; not only do Brits drive on the left, but as you walk, oncoming pedestrians are passed on the left; British money is heavy: there are no one dollar bills, but thick one pound coins; and the people seem somehow self-contained and removed - it was like walking invisibly through a foreign film.

Other highlights: the William Morris Museum, a London flea market, used bookstores, and visiting with Bika Reed, a writer I met in Luxor last year. She may hire me on my return to help organize her worldly possessions, so there is more time to be spent here in the late spring when London is indeed brilliant.

Up at 5:00 for an early flight to Luxor... I send this with much love, Zena

London dispatch  9/16/01            DISPATCH HOME