A Psychogreographical Look at Camden Town

“It's survival in the city, When you live from day to day, City streets don't have much pity, When you're down, that's where you'll stay” The Eagles.

Once you think you know and understand London, you travel 40 minutes on the underground and end up in some obscure place with a completely different lifestyle. In Kensington everyone is rushing. What’s the big rush?

I decent down the dark, damp, mouse infested tunnels to board on the Piccadilly Line. In the circular gloomy tunnel I walk with the swarm of people that alighted the lift with me. We twist, turn, walk down some more stairs until we are at the lowest point of London. The windy tunnel pushes the stale air in your nose and mouth and fills your lungs. Shove your way onto the packed train towards Cockfosters, and you’re off. Please mind the gap, and don’t get caught in the doors or you’ll get a bruise.

Sitting in the tube is an unpleasant way of passage, if you even get a seat. It squeals and hisses, tugs and pulls while the different trains criss and cross in the underground network. The person next to you seems to get closer with every breath you take. You step back, and they move with you. You are one body now. What is that smell?

At last, Kings Cross, the metropolis of trains. It is time to switch and go north to Camden Town. I’m going to the market, where I have never been before. I’ve heard many great things, but it’s taken me until now to explore it.

I alight at Camden Town and immediately realize I am not in Kensington or anything like it anymore. Instead of perfectly tailored suites and loafers, there are dread locks, jeans, hemp hoodies, leather, chains, and boots. This is urban. This is Camden Town. I walk down Camden High Street and am bombarded by shop keepers selling me their wares. I don’t need any trinkets or clothes sir, thank you though. ‘Get a piercing here, love, we will give you a discount.’ He directs me to an ally and I just keep walking. I do not need a piercing here, especially not in an ally, from some random guy in Camden.

Walking on, I pass hemp shops and hookah bars. The thick white smoke streams lazily out of their client’s noses and rises to the dark sky.  The shops are filled with dull indolent colors that decorate their shirts, bags, and posters. People here are friendlier, not like other parts of London. The pace of life is slower in Camden. People are here to enjoy themselves. There are smiles on their faces and looks of content.

I press on down the dimly lit street with strung Christmas lights and a couple random street lamps. I crossed Regents Canal and saw Camden Lock Market. It looked brilliant. I couldn’t resist the allure of this infamous market place. Trying to cross the Regent Canal Bridge with all the traffic was nearly impossible. Waiting, waiting, waiting while these cars speed over the tiny, made for one bridge. Zoom, zoom, zoom, red car, white lorry, yellow car, black cab, motorcycle, air pollution.

There were booths of every sort. Jewelry sparkled in small string of lights that was above them, while the smell of leather bound books wafted through the air. Mulled wine and crepes were on every other corner creating a heavenly Christmas smell in the entire area.

As I walked deeper into the market, the more unique and alternative the shops became. Metal Militia was filled with shirts of every metal band you could think of. Metallica, AC/DC, Pantera, Megadeth, Slayer. It is was a British Hottopic. So this is where all the alternative excitement is. In a city as big as London, there had to be a punk section. This is it!

Has this always been alternative? Banksy’s art is on every shirt, poster or iPhone cover. This area smells of rebellious anti-government youth. Ones that cry “Come you masters of war, you that build all the guns, you that build the death planes…I can see through your mask”. The IRA guy throws his bouquet of flowers into the next market section.

Camden town market is forever laid out to be a giant labyrinth, ultimately leading you to Cyberdog. Neon lights, motherboards, and cyborg contacts fill this rave store in Camden Town. It is hard to avoid. The lights draw you in.

Keep walking. Walk past the pale man covered in piercings with dark thick hair that drapes down his back past the hem of his black leather jacket. Keep walking. Walk past the food stands that offer you free samples. Walk past the other that sell some sort of cooked up cat and dog. Are you sure that is chicken?

How do you leave? Where is the exit for this maze? Did someone make this plan? Creating this mess of a market as confusing as possible so you cannot escape. You are doomed to stay and spend all of your money. I think it is a strategy. Without all of these stalls and booths there would be nothing. Would it be a big open car park?

After I while I found my way out of the market, and I walked back down high street to get back to the underground. While I was on the tube I reflected upon everything that I had just seen. Camden is nowhere near similar to Kensington yet they are hardly 5 miles apart.  The differences between the two are immense. People in Camden were real.