Brick Lane/Spitalfields, London: Day 5

Saturday dawns bright and warm. After breakfast, Greg and I decide to go our separate ways for the first half of the day. He heads off to the London Transport Museum in Covent Garden, whilst I am off to Brick Lane, in the east end. Known for its ethnic flavour and street vendors, the neighbourhood has seen rapid changes in the past decade.

Brick Lane has a long history. Its name derives from the factories that used to manufacture bricks and tiles back in the 15th century. By the 17th century, however, London started experiencing the first wave of immigrant settlement, with the arrival of the Huguenots, Protestants from Roman Catholic France, who were fleeing persecution in their home country. This group was followed, in succession throughout the centuries, by other groups, including the Irish, the Jews, and the Bangladeshis. Brick Lane joins Whitechapel High Street, famous for its association with the Whitechapel Murders of the late 19th century, when eleven women were assaulted and killed, allegedly, by Jack the Ripper.

The buildings in this area, seeming to echo its multicultural demographic, are a mix of three-storey, 18th century Georgian; ornate Victorian orange brick; and mid-20th century modernism; their facades are regularly adorned with both English and Bengali signage. Outside, the street vendors sell mainly vintage goods and the most intoxicating foods from South Asia, India, and the Middle East.

Today, Brick Lane, like other London neighbourhoods (such as Spitalfields to its west), has been experiencing rejuvenation and gentrification, its small shops selling locally-produced fashion,  accessories, and music.  In fact, this is part of the reason why I am here, early on a Saturday morning: I'd come to check out a sample sale on the upper floors of one of the neighbourhood warehouses.

Sample sales, to me, are wonderful and rare opportunities to buy high-end designer clothing, shoes, and accessories for up to 80% off the original price, though, on reflection, this neighbourhood, given its history, demographics, and decidedly local focus,  seems an incongruous one to be riffling through rack after rack of McQueen, Westwood, Burberry, Armani, and Margiela; but I suppose this was part of the allure of the experience: I feel drawn to contradictions. After an hour and a half, I come up empty-handed. Either something does not fit well, or the prices, though drastically reduced, are still unaffordable (a Margiela coat I love, and marked down from 2500 pounds, is still expensive at 300). Still, I appreciate feeling the fine fabrics and closely examining the impeccable workmanship of the garments; and I must say, in the musty, dark surroundings of this warehouse space, with its cement walls peeling white paint and uneven floorboards, the racks of clothing looked like an art installation in a hip gallery. Perfectly wrought white suit in front of cracking concrete: Fantastic!!!!

Back out on the sidewalks, I take in the crowds, now sizeable, since my arrival at the warehouse. It is a steady mix of local Middle Eastern, Indian, and South Asians interspersed with camera-toting Caucasian tourists. Taking this scene in, I am reminded of Toronto's own multicultural neighbourhoods - Chinatown east and west; the Danforth, with its profusion of Greek culinary delights; North York, a newer haven for Asians, Iranians, and Pakistanis - and am charmed by the seemingly peaceful intermingling. Despite the international conflicts that the media inundate us on a daily basis, here is a real example of human harmony, at its most arresting, yet at its most pedestrian!

I walk north, along a main street; the smell of curry in the narrow lanes is sweet and warming. Following my nose and the crowds, I find myself drawn into an inner courtyard by wonderful music. The courtyard opens up, revealing dozens of kiosks under a huge tented structure. These sell everything from art books to cds to clothing, most of it vintage. I buy a cd by Reel People, a funk/disco group that reminds me of Sisters Sledge, a steal for 5 pounds. Still hungering for a wonderful piece of clothing, I spy a rack of vintage cashmere sweaters, in a rainbow of colours. True to form I choose two rich charcoal grays - a pull-over and a cardigan - which, worn together, I decide would make a charming set. I take them, at 22 pounds for the pair. Cheered by the serendipity of my (ridiculously affordable) purchases - and here I was lured by a silly sample sale: ha! - I decide it is time for lunch and make my way back to the main street.

In time, I remark on a solid brick building, which, from the front, looks open on the inside. I walk in and discover that it is open. Light filters in from enormous rear windows and skylights; coupled with the heady fragrance of jasmine and spices, I realize that this is the place to eat. Kiosks lined the sparsely furnished space, all serving a variety of South-Asian cooking, many of which I have never before seen. I opt for Cambodian, which consists of sweet rice, chicken marinated in some kind of plum sauce, and giant mushrooms: Delectable, fresh, and healthy, the enormous pots tended to by a young woman and her mother exude heavenly aromas. The finishing touch to this slightly surreal scene: A DJ spinning at the back of this wonderful space. Oh to have this experience in Toronto! I find an unoccupied table and sit, basking in the wonderful sensuality of it all.

It is time to head back to Aldgate Station, where I earlier parted with Greg. Along the way, I pass through Spitalfields, the neighbourhood contiguous to Brick Lane. Here, the streets are even narrower and more lane-like than the ones in Brick Lane, and this narrowness, coupled with the charmingly dilapidated three-story Georgian buildings that line them, have me pining to live here.

Spitalfields's history goes back to Roman London (i.e. 47 - 500 A.D.), during which it thrived for hundreds of years (Roman cemeteries have been excavated in the area). Later, the New Hospital of St. Mary's Without Bishopgate was founded in Spitalfields in 1197 and became one of the largest religious hospitals in operation for over 400 years; it was dissolved by Henry VIII in the 16th century. Spitalfields's more recent fame, though, has been its association with the silk industry, when, during the 17th century, Protestant Huguenots from France, fleeing religious persecution, settled and set up cloth-weaving operations in this area. At the time of their settlement, Spitalfields was outside of London's municipal boundaries, so the Huguenots' choice to settle here was a purposeful one: They wanted to avoid being subject to the same civic restrictions  - such as taxes - as those living within London's boundaries. These weavers' skills were extraordinary, and resulted in an industry that flourished for over 300 years, until the Victorian era, when, as now part of the city of London, they were subject to restrictions that favoured the import of lower quality French silks. This resulted in a decline in the industry and the eventual degradation of the area.  Many of its residents were either forced out or became indigent, and the neighbourhood itself started to earn a reputation for high rates of violence and crime.

Modern-day Spitalfields has recently experienced a surge in popularity among the young and more affluent, eager to partake in its storied past and recent gentrified status. Urban conservationists have made great effort to preserve many of the Georgian townhouses, and renovations have been undertaken on Spitalfields Market and other significant landmarks, which hasve resulted in clashes between race and class. Much of Spitalfields's indigent population was displaced, replaced by those who could now afford the higher market prices.

I keep walking and encounter Chris Dyson Architects on Princelet Street. I peer through the windows and spy several maquettes on a table. The all-white interiors seem to have retained their old-world charm; but, just like some of the buildings in Bloomsbury, their patinas have been modernized slightly, all to great effect. From my vantage point, the rear of the building opens up to a light-filled courtyard, which, I can only imagine, must serve as additional reception space. I sigh with envy. Oh to occupy such a delightful space! What a congenial work/live environment the place must be!

I tear myself away, now running late, and resolve not to be distracted any longer. I pass more lovely streets and richly-coloured buildings as I wend my way back to the station, including the serene Christ Church, Spitalfields, with its attenuated lines and creamy palette. I regale Greg with my chronicles; he shares his own from the London Transport Museum. We then head south to Greenwich, where the rest of our day unfolds.

References: 
1. Wikipedia
2. TimeOut Guide (London 2010)

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