Opinion – Zeca Camargo: Everything but Big Ben

When I first fell in love with London, a band that saved me spiritually called Everything But The Girl was successful here, in a hasty translation. Forty years later I am back in town and again she comes to my rescue.

This time, however, salvation is less spiritual; It’s more of an inspiration. Fans of Everything But The Girl, originally the slogan of a store that sold everything for the house (except the “girl”), might imagine I’m referring to “Missing”, the band’s worldwide hit in 1995.

It would be easy to adopt the song’s chorus, which talks about saudade, to evoke a city I haven’t visited in so long. But I prefer to use the name EBTG, the nickname of the duo formed by Tracey Thorn and Ben Watt, as a metaphor for the London I’m finding again.

Everything is different, from the bars and restaurants I used to frequent to the very spirit of the London streets. Yes, between my last visit and this one, we had a pandemic. Not to mention Brexit, a handful of upheavals in the British crown, political mischief, among other changes.

But even taking all that into account, I can’t hide that I was shocked by the differences I found in the city I used to come to at least twice a year. It’s like everything has changed except Big Ben.

When we visit a place too often, we inevitably create a ritual each time we go there. Let’s call the phenomenon “tourist routine”.

You fall in love with a menu, for example, and you always want to eat there. In that store where you once bought a life-changing record, say “Eden” by EBTG, you always come back and take another one in hopes of a new revelation.

A honeymoon souvenir purchased at Convent Garden always makes you return to those arcades to relive that emotion. Passing by a small but important art place like the Serpentine Gallery has an almost sacred character, like checking out which artist is in the great hall of the Tate Modern museum.

There’s a discount store for a famous brand, like Paul Smith, where you always buy a little something. And the bookstore where you always mentally negotiate what you’re going to take so you don’t weigh too much on your luggage.

Don’t hesitate: I went there to check it all out. Only things were slightly different.

Yes, I was surprised by the Sudanese Kamala Ibrahim Ishag who is currently exhibiting at the Serpentine. And I freaked out about Cecília Vicuña spilling her art all over me in Turbine Hall.

Having lunch at Busaba, I saw that the Thai menu has changed radically (for the better?) and I bought at least two albums at Sounds of the Universe, a survivor in the music market there in Soho.

I didn’t take CDs, which practically disappeared from their shelves, but vinyl: one by Sault and another by Gabriels, bridging the gap between nostalgia and the present. And at Paul Smith’s “sale shop”, I was shocked to learn that you can no longer have the “tax free” discount in this new England.

On the shifting pedestal of Trafalgar Square, Malawian artist Samson Kambalu challenges Admiral Nelson in his column, but my way there didn’t allow me to find any bookshops, not even the traditional Stanford travel specialist, now selling designer clothes. Dutch Scotch & Soda.

I’m still trying to understand what happened. Has London changed, or have I changed? The city, yes, is different. And this visitor of yours? Does he realize he’s changed?

I still have a few days here to look for answers. As my eyes search the sky for flying saucers. “Green grass, blue eyes, gray skyes, God bless.”