London: City of Canals?

Actually, yes. It’s cracked with them.

Sunday I explored a part of town called Little Venice, over by Paddington station. When you debark from the nearest Tube stop you actually walk uphill toward Little Venice, which is a bit odd, but there you have it: the canal is higher than some of the surrounding streets. And actually it’s nothing like Venice aside from having a canal or two. No charmingly decaying buildings, no labyrinthine waterways. At first I was a bit disappointed as I walked the street beside the canal. But when I crossed over to the other side and could get down to the walkway right by the water, its charm grew on me. Canal boats—many of them some 20 yards long and maybe 8 feet wide—line the waterway, a few tied up side by side. Many are residences to what I assume are independent-minded people. A welcoming sign indicates that boats can be moored here at no charge for up to 14 days a year, with a fine of only £25 a day for overstaying. There are also tour boats, of course, plus a floating puppet theater and a delightfully cozy canal boat/café. The canal itself was covered with broken ice. A pair of swans made their way slowly through the alleys between the ice sheets.

The stately beige three-storey buildings that overlook the canal indicate a high income level for the area’s permanent (unmoored) residents, but the canal boats themselves look comfortably downscale. Wood smoke drifted up from little chimneys, and many boats had old bicycles roped to their low roofs.

I took a side jaunt to explore a distinctive-looking old church with a long narrow footprint reminiscent of the boats themselves. I think it was called St. Mary Magdalene. Though it was 2 in the afternoon I could hear a service going on inside. As I got closer I made out what was apparently a small African Pentecostal congregation, with trumpet, drums, and a miked singer. Apparently it’s an Anglican church, but my guess is another congregation uses it on Sunday afternoons. I looked for an open door, but gave up shortly after finding a very cold-looking African youth in a thin white liturgical robe pounding on a door to no avail. Apparently he was supposed to be inside, but either the loudness of the music, the powerful presence of the Spirit among the worshipers, or the remoteness of the door from where the action was in the long building prevented anyone from hearing him.

A couple of other vignettes from Little Venice: The surprise of coming upon a sailboat with a tall mast on a waterway crossed by very low bridges (though there is another waterway leading in that I didn’t explore). And watching a Canada goose (or whatever the British equivalent is), sliding along on the ice, head bent over to concentrate on its own feet as it flapped its wings for balance.

Just another lazy Sunday afternoon in a city full of unexpected delights.