For my long walk today, I decided to go to the river. It's not far to the Thames from where I live, maybe 30 minutes' walk, and the weather was, once again, exquisite.
I was thinking on the way, about how my manager (in Minnesota) always asks me how my weekend was on our Monday catch-up. It's a nice thing - but also nice to be able to say I went to The Thames. That must sound grand to people on the other side of the world - a bit like popping down to the Amazon or the Yangtze for the afternoon. But when you live there, it's just part of your world isn't it?
So I looked up whether there were any major rivers running through Minneapolis. Most of you will know of course, that there is one hefty river flowing through Minneapolis Saint Paul - it's the Mississippi.
That can't be right! I thought to myself. I'm pretty sure the Mississippi empties into the Gulf of Mexico way down in Louisiana - and that's literally at the opposite end of the country!
But it is. The Mississippi is thousands of miles long - thousands! Who knew?
Well - pretty much every one in America - after all, you either live to the West or East of it. And now me (extremely East of it). So that's at least something to talk about tomorrow, I guess. In comparison to the Mississippi, the Thames, our own grand river, is a bit of a trickle really. But today, it looked lovely.
I forgot a couple of things though. Firstly, the path along the river from where I live, is only wide enough for one person - which makes it difficult to socially distance yourself from the bikes and buggies and walkers who want to overtake you. There were a few moments when I had to decide whether I'd rather risk getting stung by nettles, ripped up by barbed wire, or lean over the riverbank to attempt a two-metre gap with passers-by.
I was on the phone (wireless headphones in) for most of the way too, which made it all a bit more awkward.
"Cheers!"
"What?"
"Oh no, I was talking to... oh no, not you, sorry. Thanks. No I just had to get out of the way of... sorry."
Well, anyway, awkwardness abounds.
The second thing I should have realised is that that same single-track path takes you all the way to the Thames Promenade: a classic Sunday afternoon venue for walkers and football-throwers and sun-lovers alike, on the best of days. Being on the phone still, I found myself striding out onto the plush green grass of the Prom... along with thousands of other people.
Oh. And were they socially-distancing? They were not. Were they exercising? Not unless you count sitting on a bench in a cloud of smoke, having a picnic on a tartan blanket, lying around a stereo, strolling carelessly along the bank, or threatening to chuck your screaming mate into the river by picking him up between you like a bag of potatoes, and then rushing towards the riverbank with him.
I sat under a tree for a while and watched the opposite bank with its fancy boathouses and tall elms and willows. One tall tree was caught in the wind and its leaves blew inside out making it ripple with silver. Many of the others were luscious greens and yellows, lit by the sweet gold of the afternoon sun. The river itself, flowing as it always does, a sort of rich, brown colour, was strangely quiet too - but of course, nobody's taking boats out.
Well it's something to talk about, isnt it. It ain't the grand ol' Mississippi; it's Old Father Thames, coursing his way past us in his quaint old way, onwards to London and the ocean. I was glad to be there - and even gladder that I'm way beyond the stage of friendships where my pals might ignore the government rules about social distancing in order to pick me up and throw me in. I remain thankful.
No comments:
Post a Comment