London Ontario – Eldon House

I was petty towards a person who was desperately in need of a job and was doing everything to secure one. I felt for her and let her be for the rest of the trip. Perhaps she could have waited till the end of the trip to continue her calls. I will never know. As I disembarked at my stop in London, Ontario, she had just finished her calls about 5 minutes before, and my trip was over 3 hours. She was going farther, and it could be that the offices would have closed by the time she got to her stop, or I was just excusing her lack of social manners.

I made my way inside the International Transit Terminal, which neither had the look nor character of its name. It was deserted. I greeted the operator and asked where to purchase the city’s transit tickets. He gave me the directions to the city’s transit office. Of course, this was the international terminal, and the city’s terminal would be different. I exited with my luggage rolling behind me, backpack in place, and phone in hand. Found the transit office in a commercial building on Dundas Street, where it has an office on the ground floor. It was small and had no traffic. Not that it was necessary, but I came from Toronto, and just drawing a contrast. I bought the city pass of 4 rides, each with 90 minutes of transfers, for $10. A fairer price than the $17.75 for 5 rides in Windsor, Ontario. I paid, asked for where to get my connecting bus, and he gave the directions. I decided to get lunch to-go before getting to my motel. I got chicken coconut curry on steamed rice from Rice Box at the Covent Garden Market, a historical and cultural landmark in London. It was built in 1845, and still holds a weekly farmers’ market and some of the city’s cultural events. I noticed its warm and quiet feel. It reminded me of the Exhibition Center in Toronto, where all vendors have shops under one huge ‘umbrella’, each business differentiated only by its branding and stands. 

I made my way back to the bus stop and got on the #2 all the way to the Argyle Mall, and walked 6 minutes to the Motor Court Motel, where I met an indian lady at the reception. She was older, around mid-fifties, about 5′ 1″ tall, and had a quiet confidence that not only come from age, but showed she’s been at this job for a long time. There was no performance of the usual greeting of guests with a smile. She asked for my name and ID. I replied and handed her my driver’s license. She made some input on her computer and told me the fee for my 2-day stay, $166.12, and a 100$ security hold on my credit card. I attempted to pay, and she advised no tap service. Shoot, I don’t remember my PIN. Such is the flip side of the digital age. I thought, what’s going to happen if I can’t pay? I asked if I could do an Interac transfer, which was also not available. Another guest had arrived and was waiting, so I excused myself so he could check in. I opened my banking app and successfully added a new PIN, but I have to use an ATM at a physical branch to activate the new PIN. I updated the lady, and she directed me to the nearest one, which was only 4 minutes away. Came back to the motel and finally checked in at around 5:45 pm, and settled in.

I called my children and got updates about their day. They were doing fantastic, except it feels kinda ‘weird’ not having me at home, my younger son said. Being a single mom means you’re often the only adult around, and now I am gone. I ate my lunch from Rice Box, and had a hot tub bath while drinking the hibiscus ginger star anise tea I prepped at home before leaving. I added a tea bag to a glass cup and poured sparkling water that I stopped to get from the Dollarama in downtown London. I didn’t like my dinner much; it looked great, but the taste was underwhelming. The chicken was bland, the coconut cream was light, and the meal was just not flavorful altogether. I hoped to have a better food experience while here. Hopefully, it was just a bad first impression. As a foodie, I’m aware of my tendency to be critical of food, so it probably was not as bad. The tea I made, however, was delicious and beautiful. I watched as the sparkling water started to turn into tiny bubbles of pink, then red colour, from the hibiscus I added. After a while, I put the cup close to my nose; it had an earthy aroma with a mild floral note. It smelled great. The star anise was diffusing through, and I was soon lost in thought about what my impression of London was so far, as I listened to my Spotify playlist of relaxing piano music. So far, London is quiet, slow, and a bit uninteresting, or simply uninterested. London was uninterested in me? I hope not, as I let out a small laugh. In contrast to Windsor, the people did not lock eyes, even when I looked at them. In Windsor, we would lock eyes, smile, and give the usual Canadian nod. I felt connected to them, welcomed even. The people in Windsor had a general sense of warmth and openness. Here, the people were not cold, just indifferent.  At least, this was my first impression of London, Ontario.

Then, I remembered seeing lots of bird poop in the downtown area, but no birds in sight. Where did that come from? I made a mental note to look out for birds in the city, next day. 

The city of London itself looked beautiful and ancient, like an antique piece well preserved but with a recent upgrade of modernity. The downtown area is lined with skyscrapers and lots of businesses, but somewhat sparse with people, unlike a typical commercial center, though with a more steady flow of human and vehicular traffic than I observed in Windsor. I noticed the number of homeless people suffering from addiction at every corner I turned and wondered what the city, if the city has a robust rehabilitation program to combat addiction and help people suffering from it. I had the privilege of analyzing big data on the opioid crisis in Canada and got to learn firsthand about addiction, he substances, the sufferers, and why some intervention programs fail. We wrote about the strategic placement of the injection sites and, together with my colleagues, in partnership with the Institute for Smarter Government, published our insights on better placements of the sites where they would be most impactful and other practical ways of combating the crisis. People with addiction need help and support and not abandonment, criminalization, and stigma. After all, addiction, also known as Substance Use Disorder (SUD), is a disease.

I picked a towel, added my papaya soap, and lathered. I scrubbed my body and gently washed my face, avoiding my eyes. I got up and drained the tub, and turned on the shower to have a proper bath. A proper bath? Is washing in the tub not a proper bath, and why do I do this, still shower after a soak? Oh, the tub water is dirty. I sat in it for so long and scrubbed while there, so my body needs a proper rinse after. I rinse my face gently with warm water, and then my body. The whole eating, tub, music, and shower thing was deeply relaxing. I got out and used my body lotion dispensed into an airless pump jar that once held my Korean face cream. That’s the new skincare rave, Korean skincare. Though I didn’t notice any visible difference after splurging my hard-earned $400 on them. Even as a pharmacist, I too am not immune to social media trends and influences. The only difference is, once I try something and it doesn’t work, I am not repurchasing it. My curiosity is satisfied, and now I can happily move on with no FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out). The Gen Zs have a contraction for everything, don’t they? It’s so difficult to keep up!

I applied retinol face cream and face butter after the cream dried, then body oil for the rest of my body, and got into my sleepwear, which interestingly always comes off when I actually get into bed to sleep. It’s safe to say that I wear pyjamas only for the plot.  I started to write. It would be nice to have some scented candles burning right now, I thought. Actually, I watched a little bit of Beauty in Black by Tyler Perry on Netflix first, picking up from where I left off before deciding the drama of the show would disrupt my relaxed state and calm mind, which I needed to write. 

Eldon House

I went to bed around 12 midnight after replying to all pending emails. I woke up first at 6 am, then at 9 a.m. Dressed up, found a Tim Hortons location near me and got a breakfast of eggs, sausage, and cheese on an English muffin, with double-double coffee, then took the bus #7 downtown. I walked four minutes to Eldon House, a historical 18th-century house built in 1834 by the Harris family on 11 acres of land now known as the Harris Park. The house was once home to Captain John Harris, his wife Amelia Ryerse, and their 10 surviving children of 7 daughters and 3 sons, and six more generations after them, with over 200 maids across the generations. The house being passed down through the sons until it was gifted to the city of London in 1959.  

 

I stood in front of the building and took it all in, a symbol of a world I never lived in but was there to be in, to see, feel, and interact with in a way that could give a glance into the lives of the people of that era. The Harris family was socialites and well-regarded in high society back then. I walked through the front garden, taking note of the plants with the botanical names labelled on them. The garden was lush, though fall is here. I started to take pictures, walked on the grass cushioning my feet like luxurious rugs only the rich can afford.

I faced the building and took more pictures, far shots, and near shots. Though not a professional photographer, I have always loved taking pictures. I enjoy being behind the camera, capturing moments and time. Moments in time. Behind the camera is like having a secret eye, to watch, observe, absorb, and analyze. It is to feel the flash of a smile that only lasts a second, or the leaves that disconnect from their source and fall to the ground, dead. It is to capture moments, movements, stillness, and thoughts. It is such a privilege to be a witness to events that will otherwise be unnoticed. 

I made my way to the front door and saw a sign that said to knock, so I did. A lady answered the door almost immediately. I suspect she already saw me on the CCTV screen approaching. She was white, about 5’ 8”, of a larger frame, and had a somewhat alto voice with a richness and firmness to it. She was wearing a black fitted dress with length somewhere between her knees and ankles, and a black pair of shoes. She welcomed me warmly and began to tell me about the rules in a rehearsed version that only comes from doing that several times a day. She told me about the Harris family history and how the house came to be gifted to the city by Lady Louis. She told me about the fragility of every item in the house, which is why visitors are not allowed to touch them. That most of the items are exactly as they have been left. That filming and of or with staff is not permitted, and to follow the circular direction of the barricades. We were surrounded by antiques of real value, pieces of time, and I wanted to touch and feel them so badly. I told her how I desperately would love to touch them, and we both laughed. She understood. She handed me a piece of the wallpaper, which they have partially framed for the visitors. I touched it, felt the 3D crafting. The paint on the paper looked handmade. She finished with the rules and regulations, asked that my camera not be extended, and must be held at all times. She collected my backpack because it could touch the items. For some reason, that did not feel right, especially as there were no designated places for visitors to keep their bags. I noticed as she walked away with my bag that she was completely out of sight. As a black woman that have been told many times by store associates to hand items I was purchasing to them because they were ‘helping me’, and followed around the store as I shopped, this was familiar. It was uncomfortable. I focused on the moment and why I was there; I would think about that later. Right now, I would be experiencing the Eldon House, so I started my tour quietly, spending time in each room and examining the items, and labeling where available, without touching them, of course.

I saw brass items, silver, glass, what looked like tin, ceramics, linens, wood crafts, and books. Now, as I write, I realize I did not see gold, or I should say I do not remember seeing any golden items. I saw paintings and black and white photographs, head busts, curtains, and rugs. The Harris family’s first son was an engineer and loved to travel and had collected souvenirs from all around the world, including animal heads and different types of swords from Africa. Just then, the lady appeared from behind me and asked to tell me more about the African collections. She told me the Harris’ family were not trophy hunters but collected items from game hunters. She said the Eldon House was an inclusive place. I wondered if she made sure to clarify this for me because the topic of trophy hunting is controversial, or that I would love to know since I was clearly black. I started admiring all the animal heads from Africa and how different the swords were, in shape and size. Did each serve different purposes? Now, I was suspicious of the information she just shared, since I didn’t ask. Have some visitors been here and complained? It reminded me of the artifacts in the British museums that Africans are asking to be returned, and the huge diamond on the British crown that some people have said was stolen from India.

I took photos and videos of the rooms. There was the Green Room, Pink Room, Blue Room, Red Room, dining room, nursery, laundry room, and more. Just as I was finishing, there was another knock, and the host headed to open the door. I listened as she opened the door and welcomed the group of 5. She started to tell them the rules and history as I gave the ground floor area one final look, and made my entry into the visitors register. I observed she did not ask to take and keep their bags. She asked if I was done, and I affirmed and thanked her. I asked if she knew how big the bedrooms were, because I had noticed they were quite large and wanted to add it to my jottings, she answered she did not know, but warmly said the house itself was just shy of 10,000 sq ft and that the bedrooms were considered like a living quarters themselves in that time. It made sense they would be that big. Bedrooms are only a fraction of that size now, if you are lucky to fit a kingsize bed and dressers and have ampoule amount of space left, you are probably upper-middle-class rich. She said I could still walk around the garden as I exited. I took a glance at the group who had started their tour now; there were two women carrying bags. 

I set up my camera stand outside and took more pictures of the building again, with me standing in front of it. Technology has made things easy these days, with a small device in my hand connected via Bluetooth to my iPhone 15 Pro Max, I can take pictures or record videos hands-free at the press of a button. I decided to take her advice and walked around the entire property. It was quiet and clean but lacked the glamour of modern demonstration of opulence, but for the lush, beautiful gardens and park bordering it, it would have faded into the background of the community, forgotten.