Source: The Telegraph (Story by Will Hide)
After almost three decades as a travel writer, this was the year I branched out. After an intensive two-year training course and 12 exams, I qualified as a Blue Badge Tourist Guide in London.
Since I began showing visitors around the capital, I’ve discovered a great deal – not just about the city itself, but about holidaymakers’ habits, other guides, hotel staff, and, most importantly, where to find the best free loos.
Most of my guests so far have been Americans. If you’re expecting to roll your eyes at tales of their odd or exasperating habits, I’ll have to disappoint you. They’re generally an absolute joy to guide: polite, curious, and full of “wows” and “awesomes”, even when jet-lagged and straight from Heathrow.
Whether I’m pointing out 16th-century graffiti in the Tower of London or assuring them that Spotted Dick is actually delicious, they remain relentlessly enthusiastic.
Unlike the stoic British everything’s-fine approach – even when it clearly isn’t – Americans will tell you when something’s wrong, you fix it, and everyone keeps calm and carries on.
Of course, you can’t please everyone. When I asked one client recently if they’d enjoyed Westminster Abbey, the reply was: “It’s just dead bodies.”
Another, after watching the Changing of the Guard at Buckingham Palace, said: “Our local New Year’s Day parade is better.”
And after two hours inside the Tower of London, one visitor just asked: “What was the name of that place again?”
Child’s play
Children tend to pose the most head-scratchy questions, and often come armed with awkward queries from their history lessons.
Suddenly you’re scrambling to recall the name of our 16th monarch and debating whether that count begins with Æthelstan, Alfred the Great or William the Conqueror.
But then there was the party of teenagers from the West Country who could only grunt and shrug when I asked them about their trip, and who collectively dived onto their mobile phones at every opportunity.
In contrast, the 11-year-olds I guided from Merseyside couldn’t have been more different – inquisitive, engaged, well-mannered and just good fun.
When one of them said of Big Ben, “Wow, that’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen”, I got rather emotional.
Royal approval
The Royal family inevitably dominates conversation with US visitors, overwhelmingly Harry and Meghan, though few of my guests seem to be fans of the latter.
So far, not a single question about Prince Andrew – perhaps it is still too raw a topic. No one asks about Brexit; the rest of the world, it seems, has moved on.
Guiding has also taught me a lot about people. You have to be patient. A strict 9am departure to reach Westminster Abbey for its 9.30am opening can evaporate instantly if a guest decides to change socks or handbag at the last minute.
A ride on the top deck of the No 15 bus towards St Paul’s Cathedral is, to someone from Atlanta, the height of adventure.
Everyone wants fish and chips, but the fame of a Greggs sausage roll has crossed the Atlantic. And a day’s schedule, I’ve realised, is largely dictated by bladders – you simply can never have too many loo stops.
Under the influence
Social media has become a force as powerful as any guidebook.
Every teenager from Boston to San Diego wants a selfie with Instagram-famous chocolate-covered strawberries in Borough Market.
Many of my guests, whatever their age, have planned their trips through YouTube videos rather than leafing through guidebooks.
There’s almost universally positive admiration for the Tube, even if many find it daunting initially, and genuine astonishment that most of our police don’t carry guns.
Visitors are charmed to find that many officers are happy to stop for a chat – a small act of soft power that leaves an impression far stronger than any official PR campaign.
Many Americans remark on how clean central London is, but they find it odd that we bang on about the weather so much.
Not every encounter is smooth. Some hotel concierges at grander addresses can be surprisingly frosty.
I won’t name the posh property near Hyde Park Corner that told me to wait outside in the rain before clients came down, but I will salute the consistently charming staff at the boutique Egerton House Hotel in South Kensington.
Counting the cost
London can be eye-wateringly expensive (when it comes to many hotels and restaurants), yet full of remarkable bargains, and those I guide accept the yin and yang.
It costs just £1.75 to take the No 24 bus up to Hampstead Heath, where the views are free and spectacular.
You can bag a £15 ticket for part one of Harry Potter and the Cursed Child at the Palace Theatre.
And while admission to the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York is £23 and the Louvre in Paris £19, our own great institutions – the British Museum, National Gallery, Natural History Museum, Tate Modern, Victoria and Albert Museum and many more – cost diddly squat.
I’ve learnt that most of my fellow guides are an impressive, encyclopaedic bunch, endlessly generous with help and advice. But also that a few unregulated ones – often Spanish or Italian-speaking – shepherd vast groups that block pavements, blaring their spiel through tinny amplifiers that make locals wince.
If New York is the Big Apple, perhaps our capital should be the Big Onion: 2,000 years of layers, each one stripped back to reveal one story on top of another. (And yes, if there’s a Tube strike or you’re stuck in endless traffic, the Big Onion may well make you cry.)
But from Roman ruins and Tudor palaces to soaring skyscrapers and royal dramas, it’s endlessly fascinating – and the world never stops being mesmerised by it.
Long may London keep giving so many reasons to say “wow”.
See willhide.com