THE HIP YOUNG INVESTMENT BANKERS HAVE LEFT FLEET STREET for the shiny glass and steel offices on the Queen’s Walk along the River Thames. But while it’s no longer the epicenter of London — and in turn, of the world’s financial markets — Fleet Street is still quintessential London, a cacophonous jumble of autos, taxis, buses and briskly walking middle-aged businessmen in dark suits, bright shirts and ties.

About a hundred yards along Fleet Street, west of Farmington Crossing, is a dark, narrow alley. Even on a sunny day, it smells old and moist. On the left side of the alley is a large wall of ancient gray stones, roughly cut. On the right there is a dark wooden exterior of a nondescript pub. Uneven cobblestones form a path to the pub’s door, which is adorned by a small circular sign with faded tan letters: “Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese.”

When you step into the little alley — and you should — you leave behind the glamour and harshness of 21st-century mega-commerce. The pub is hundreds of years old, paneled and floored with English oak worn to a deep ebony. There is a small bar and seating room to the right with heavy floral-patterned furniture around a chessboard, and a small restaurant area to the left. Between the two rooms is hobbit-like spiral staircase leading down to a second level that extends the length of the pub. Wooden tables and chairs line this dark rectangular room. A small but cheery fire casts shadows on the sandstone walls and low ceiling, and people speak in whispers. It is a room where secrets are violated.

The next level down is the best room in the pub. This one has a higher, rounded ceiling and was once part of a 13th-century Carmelite Monastery. Another dark English oak bar with several beer pulls lines the west wall. Two of the other walls are original sandstone, and the last wall is wood paneled with old illustrated pictures hanging askew.

Tables and chairs are on the perimeter, but the room is dominated in the center by a sturdy oak table. A faint low-watt light illuminates the long and narrow table, which, though built before 1700, is still sturdy. Its frame and legs are black, but the paint is rubbed from the tabletop. If you look closely you can see wine and ale stains left by generations of careless drinkers.

It was at this modest table, in the middle of this dark, earthen room with its smell of fish and chips and English beer, that Dr. Samuel Johnson sat, drank and vehemently argued with the other brilliant minds of 18th-century London. Brilliant ideas poured out of that pudgy, pear-shaped literary genius at every turn. Staring at the table, you can almost hear Johnson’s loud, tic-laced voice and imagine his wild Tourette’s-induced gesticulations as he set about defending or attacking the vagaries of poetry and literature, the ideas of the Enlightenment, or the ungrateful and villainous behavior of the rebel American colonies.

While less well-known today than William Shakespeare, Johnson was probably the Bard’s equal in the impact he had on British literature and the transformative quality of his writings. Johnson’s Dictionary of the English Language, published in 1750, provided a foundation for language, grammar and expression that carries to this day. His genius was far-reaching and touched every aspect of the Age of Enlightenment, from poetry to politics, church to scholarship, novels to essays. He is acclaimed as the greatest critic of English literature and the father of modern biography.

The juxtaposition of the literary giant and his old pub a few yards from Fleet Street, the icon of British commercial might, is the perfect image of modern London, one of the most enduring and robust cities in the world.

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AT THE END OF THE PLEISTOCENE ERA, a great glacier sliced across the western edge of Europe. As it withdrew, it cut a trench across the western peninsula, creating a long island. It also created an estuary fed by a large and powerful river. Upriver from the sea, or channel, was a wide sandstone promontory overlooking the fertile plain along the estuary. The west of the promontory was protected by hillsides, and the river protected the promontory from the north. A wide plain stretched east toward the channel, rich in grains and grass and wild game. The river teemed with salmon and other fish.

Ancients — probably Druids, Celts, and remnant Neanderthals — lived in huts along the river, trading bits of iron and stone tools among themselves. In the first century A.D., the Romans came in force, crossing in boats from the mainland, looking for slaves and territory. The estuary pulled them in, and they rode the tide upriver to the large promontory. Realizing that the site was convenient and protected, they built an outpost, and called the place Londinium. Their engineers laid out a city center along square-mile boundaries.

The Romans brought order, central authority and taxes to the island inhabitants. Eventually they also brought Christianity. And to Londinium — because the geography of the site provided a perfect point of access and trade from the mainland — they brought commerce. Fish, grain, and lumber from the magnificent English oak forests that covered the island could easily be traded to mainlanders for cattle, sheep, wine and iron tools. Little did the Romans realize that centuries later, this tiny settlement above the River Thames, a distant northern speck of the Roman Empire, would evolve into history’s major financial and trade center.

The evolution of that small trading post is one of the world’s great stories — complete with larger-than-life figures like Henry VIII, Queen Elizabeth, Nelson and Cook, and more recently Winston Churchill, Elizabeth II and Lady Diana, as well as scandalous villains like Richard the III, Jack the Ripper and Kim Philby.

From the beginning, London was a place of immigrants. Its location and prosperity made it a focus for the world’s adventurers, from the Vikings to the French, both of which invaded multiple times. Today, the city remains an immigration crossroads. With laws that allow easy access from its Commonwealth countries — those once part of the great British Empire of the 19th and early 20th centuries — London is vibrant with disparate cultures. More than 300 languages are spoken on London’s streets, and that doesn’t include the broad swath of various English accents from places like Ireland, Australia and California’s Silicon Valley. Like New York, London takes in the world’s desperate for freedom and a better life, and recasts them into the most curious of people — proper English who “mind the gap” at the Tube, mutter “sorry” as they push along the sidewalk, and cheerfully crowd outside Buckingham Palace for a glance at the Queen “mum.”

One of my favorite spots to view this cornucopia of wanderers is Harrods, London’s famed department store. I particularly fancy the ground floor, which features exotic treats from all over the world. In the corner, Italian men in dark Armani suits chat up bejeweled women nibbling on caviar and sipping at flutes of French Champagne. Older British women in sable coats study the thousands of various teas in the tea department, while African statesmen awash in brightly colored robes admire the exquisite offerings of the sushi bar. Among the shoppers, an oil sheik from the Middle East sweeps through with his entourage, looking for the perfect chocolates. The older men are bearded and wear tan-colored robes, the wives are in dark Burqas and the sons and daughters wear skinny jeans and the latest hip European fashions.

The streets outside Harrods are equally interesting. Property in most European capitals is far too valuable to waste on parking lots, and in London, like Paris, it is a mess to find a spot for your auto. It is doubly hard to park around Harrods, but somehow it’s done. The streets are a veritable auto show of the world’s most expensive cars. Ferraris cruise to find a spot; Maybachs vie with Bentleys at the curb so passengers can disembark; and BMWs and Land Rovers brightly glisten whenever the sun pops out briefly from behind the city’s constant cloud cover.

It is a paradoxical and amusing fact that Londoners who live in a city with exceptionally good public transportation, including a taxi system that is infinitely convenient and user-friendly, will spend a fortune on a Porsche or Audi. Having no place to park it and few places to drive it, they will cram the car into a spot on the street, where every dog that walks by relieves itself on the alloy wheels.

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WITH 14 MILLION RESIDENTS IN ITS METROPOLITAN AREA, London is the largest of Europe’s cities. And while the rest of Europe staggers under a recession, London is vibrant and prosperous, drawing the best and brightest from the Commonwealth nations. Young Indian financiers drink beer in bars overlooking the Thames; African students in bright dashikis study medicine at the University of London. Islamic women in hijabs stand next to bejeweled dowagers on Piccadilly corners, waiting for a bus. Young American high-tech workers banter with Irish engineers in the pubs.

While Paris prides itself in maintaining its exquisitely beautiful boulevards and 17th-century architecture, London is more willing to sacrifice old buildings to modernity. Though not quite as compulsive about changing its identity as Manhattan, construction cranes dot London’s cityscape; after all, “The City” (as the finance district is called) washes clean billions of pounds in oil money each day, and some of this cash inevitably gets funneled into London property. With cash, architects are more than willing to impress with stunning examples of their creative engineering. Examples are numerous, but the Millennium Bridge, with its “blade of light” across the River Thames, and the Gherkin building at 30 St. Mary Axe, are two standouts — boldly juxtaposed with Christopher Wren’s masterpiece, St. Paul’s Cathedral on Ludgate Hill.

All the same, London is not flashy like Los Angeles. Except for the gaudy (and sometimes lewd) newspapers, there is a cultural bias toward understatement and personal emotional restraint that is unheard of in America. Taxi drivers call male fares “gov’nor” and except for an occasional “bloody hell” there’s a general absence of profanity. Manners prevail in almost all interactions, giving visitors a sense of ease as they navigate the warren-like streets of Soho or queue up to visit the Tower, a monument to the grim and murderous history of the Stuarts and Tudors.

One thing about London that continues to confound is the dichotomy in the symbolism of the monarchy. Historically, the monarchy has been a source of both exceptional strength and debilitating weakness for the English. For every King Arthur, Richard the Lionhearted and Elizabeth, there was a “Bloody Mary,” Edward II and Richard III. King John was such a tyrant that his feudal barons rose up and forced him to sign the Magna Carta (aka the Great Charter of Liberties of England), which restricted his powers by law and protected their property rights. This remarkable document was one of England’s most precious gifts to the world — it established the rule of constitutional law. It was the foundation for Parliament and eventually, modern representative democracy.

Yet despite this tradition of democracy, Londoners venerate the monarchy, in particular the current Queen Elizabeth II. Even young, sophisticated professionals revere the Queen as a symbol of what is good and proper about England. Politically, Londoners have the same frustration with and distrust of their elected officials as Americans have of theirs, but Londoners have an idealized affection for the Queen and her family, particularly her grandchildren, William and Harry. Of course, the entire world is enthralled with the pregnancy of Kate Middleton, William’s attractive young wife.

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A WANDER THROUGH LONDON WOULD NOT BE COMPLETE without multiple pub visits, an evening or two at the theater and a long, dedicated visit to Borough Market. Pubs are the English equivalent of the Continent’s cafés — a “clean, well-lighted place,” to borrow from Ernest Hemingway. Pubs — or public houses, open to the public, as opposed to private homes — trace their history back to Roman taverns. While the inhabitants of Great Britain have been drinking ale since the Bronze Age, it was the Romans and their road network that created inns where travelers could rest and refresh themselves during long journeys. And since water was often of questionable safety, beer and ale became the drink of choice.

With the decline and departure of the Romans, these first inns gave way to alehouses. An Anglo-Saxon wife would put a green bush up on a pole to let people know that her brew was ready. Such alehouses served as the village meeting place, where news and gossip could be exchanged over a tankard and a bit of kidney pie — and these drinking establishments have been a cornerstone of British culture ever since.

Modern London continues the pub tradition. There are all types, sizes and themes for pubs. From those like Johnson’s Cheshire Cheese, which are hundreds of years old and steeped in tradition, to new gastro-pubs like those along High Street that feature California-class cuisine and fine French wine. All serve as a magnet for the neighborhood, a cheery place where Londoners can spend a couple of relaxing hours. Unlike the Irish, whose pubs are filled with song and alive with music, English pubs are filled with conversation and chatter about politics, sports or politicians’ shortcomings. All of it is great fun and not to be missed. If an evening spent drinking beer and arguing soccer isn’t that appealing, then you might enjoy the pub during Sunday roast, a uniquely English family tradition featuring roast chicken or Beef Wellington.

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HOMER MAY HAVE BEEN THE FATHER OF THEATER, and the Romans may have spread it throughout pre-medieval Europe and North Africa, but it was clearly London — fueled by Shakespeare’s genius — that pushed live theater to its thrilling and soul-enriching heights.

London’s theater movement rose as a reaction to the 16th-century Puritanism that held sway over city politics and culture. Various forms of Elizabethan entertainment and pleasure were pushed out of the city proper at the time, across the River Thames to the South Bank, which then was a rough-and-tumble neighborhood of prostitutes, gamblers, criminals and actors. The infamous Clink Prison dominated the area.

In 1587, the Rose Theater opened with afternoon performances. William Shakespeare, who was born in 1564, was an actor and playwright who struggled to gain a foothold at the Rose. Eventually, he and his friends opened the Globe to feature his plays, particularly the tragedies and upstart comedies. Shakespeare wrote and acted in his own plays, and struggled to survive even as his genius soared. Eventually, the hits came.

Despite fires that burned down venues and various crackdowns on the “bawdy” shows, London managed to nurture theater through the centuries. Shakespeare’s remarkable plays that encompassed the realm of human experience served as its foundation. There are now more than 40 theaters in London, most of them in the West End, and the variety and richness of the productions are stunning.

In the late 1990s, actor and director Sam Wanamaker led a movement to reconstruct the old Globe that had burned around 1613. The new building, called Shakespeare’s Globe, is a reconstruction of the original, and built within a few hundred meters of where the original stood. It opened in 1997 with “Henry V,” and continues to keep Shakespeare’s work alive and robust.

London is full of college students from around the world, and productions at Shakespeare’s Globe are packed with youths, some in period costume, who interact with the actors much as the original Elizabethan audiences did. The Globe, like most of London’s theaters, is priced far more reasonably than most live theater in the U.S. Discount tickets for students and walk-ups keep the seats full and provide a rich connection to London’s cultural past.

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TUCKED UNDER CRISSCROSSED RAILROAD TRESTLES in a kidney-shaped area of Southwick behind the cathedral and north of the London Bridge tube stop, is Borough Market. Established in the 1850s, Borough is London’s oldest continuous food market; today it features more than 70 stalls. Vendors from all over London — and Europe — offer every form of local and exotic cuisine. On a busy Saturday, thousands of people jostle among the stalls and the rich, penetrating smells of cooked food enliven the senses. The musty smell of soft cheeses from France compete with a nearby stall of fresh-cooked sausage rolls. Huge pans of paella bubble at a stall around one corner, the rice turning yellow as the cook adds saffron. Monkfish with gnarly, toothy heads that dwarf their bodies glare out from cracked-ice beds. Large Spanish hams, jamon serrano, are displayed on wooden boards with chrome holders, the hoofs still attached to the legs. Their delicate meat has a translucent quality, and a deliciously salty flavor.

Rare candies from Turkey, small dark olives from Greece and dairy goods from Suffolk are for sale in adjoining stalls, and there is a large vegetable and fruit stand in the middle. The owner sources fresh produce from all over Europe and London’s best chefs are key clients. He told me proudly that he was known for having strawberries for Christmas. “The only place in London wit’em,” he boasted proudly.

Around the corner is Stillfield’s Meats. Wild hares, partridges, and other fresh-killed animals hang above the meat case, and the butchers will skin and clean them as you wait. Down a bit is Northfield Farm’s stall. On Saturdays, Jan McCourt, an investment banker who decided he was happier as a meat monger, works the stall himself. The quality of his meat is unsurpassed, his beef organically raised to the highest standards. He says he still keeps his hand in finance, but adds that raising cattle is far more interesting.

The rest of the market is like that, a tightly packed jumble of stalls and vendors that feature the best food and cuisine available. The variety and quality is stunning, easily dispelling the notion that Londoners don’t know how to cook and what to eat. And when you tire of the market, there is a pub across the street where you can slip away for a pint. If the main floor is full, a staircase will take you down to the basement where you can sit in one of the small ancient cells that line the wall. Three hundreds years ago, these cells formed a local pauper’s jail, but today a young waitress will serve up fish and chips on a crude table with a laugh and hand you a bill according to the cell number you’re in.

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DESPITE ITS EXCEPTIONAL PUBLIC TRANSPORTATION, London is best experienced on foot. The city is still laid out along the original Roman grid, and a decent map can guide you to all the remarkable neighborhoods, and splendid landmarks like Trafalgar Square, which commemorates Horatio Nelson’s decisive victory over the French in 1805, the Museum of Natural History and Buckingham Palace. London is an ancient city, with beautiful buildings and parks, and neighborhoods like Piccadilly, Soho and High Street that are dynamic and bursting with vigor and excitement. Frankly, it is a wanderers paradise and best absorbed spontaneously.

Since its two millenia ago, London has been a trading center, its arms open to the world. Like New York City and Silicon Valley, it is driven by huge amounts of money. These great financial centers draw dreamers of all sorts, people who display their ambition and drive for all to see, from a financial whiz designing the next market-rattling credit derivative to a young Sicilian couple hoping to start a restaurant, then a family. It is these hopes and dreams of a better and more prosperous life that makes such cities so robust, and in the end, so human.

Grant Cooke is a long-time Benicia resident and CEO of Sustainable Energy Associates. He is co-author, with Nobel Peace Prize winner Woodrow Clark, of “Global Energy Innovation: Why America Must Lead,” published by Praeger Press. Cooke and Clark are currently writing a second book titled, “The Green Industrial Revolution.”