Old Brompton, the bane of my existance.

I have a love-hate relationship with Old Brompton Road.

Yesterday as I was walking, I took a turn wanting to walk back to my flat on a street parallel to the one I had been on. Long story short, I got lost. Walked on such small dinky streets, that I couldn't even find them on google maps when I did get home.

But I made my way back and ended up on Old Brompton Road.

Today, same thing happened with more misfortune. I got lost, and again found myself walking on Old Brompton. God knows how or why.

I decided to make the best of it, considering the fact that I refused to look like a tourist and whip out my map in front of everyone.

So I kept walking.

On my left hand side, after a few blocks, I noticed an entrance to what appeared to be a cemetery. I thought, Why not?

So I waltzed in as if that had been my destination from the beginning, walking around the tourists who stood by the gate confused which way to go.



I happen to like visiting graveyards and cemeteries for the history of them. Sometimes one can find so many interesting people buried in them without even realizing it.

The cemetery had an oval layout with a combination of crypts and headstones of extravagance and of modesty.

And as I so casually strolled through the paths alongside the graves, I happened to look and catch sight of a grave of a Polish General who had fought in WWII and against communism. I'm glad no one was around because I could only feel tears coming down my face, as I stood in awe.


I suppose I was also in awe of my luck to have found this cemetery by pure chance rather than having planned a visit. And I stood in awe, because of the hero buried in the grave in front of me.

But my adventure did not end then. I decided to continue with my pilgrimage to Portobello Market. I was determined to find a cheap and effective watch. I took a break while alone on a bench and carefully examined my map, without any admittance to being a tourist.

I made my way to Holland Park and became disoriented yet again.

I should explain that in London, there are no street signs. You won't see an elevated sign with the name of the street on a main intersection. You might come across the name on the street posted on a building, if you're in luck.

So I stood across from Holland Park and decided to go in and take a look. I happened to see three different regiments of the Royal British Military. I gasped. What luck! The cemetery and now this?

I walked in and gawked at all the men and women in uniform, admiring them from a distance. They stood there for a while until they commenced their march. I followed them for a while, and what a good thing that was. Everyone in the stores and on the streets came out and applauded for the troops.

Side note, by following them I found my way back home.

Even though I'm exhausted from walking practically all day long, I can't complain. I loved every minute of being in the cemetery and watching the soldiers.