Notes from a Small Island

April 17, 2014

NOVEMBER 22, 2001

Arrived in London around 2-ish to find it as expected: cold and cloudy. But I felt an electric rush as I stepped out of my tube stop at Kensington High Street. This is going to be a good trip, I thought. Heck, it was already off to a good start since my luggage managed to arrive with me.

By the time I went to sleep sometime past midnight, I had hauled my suitcase up five flights of stairs, (anyone who’s had the displeasure of ever carrying my luggage will know this is a herculean task), exchanged currency, checked out the Surrealism exhibit at the Tate Modern (one of the few attractions in London open past 5 p.m.), dined at a Thai Vegan restaurant in SoHo, shopped for some books that I could only find in the UK, drunk a pint at the neighborhood pub, and possibly injured my one good foot (still nursing an ankle sprain from earlier in the year on the other foot.) Damn cobblestones!

Oh and I managed to get a nice British guy’s number. He had been on the same flight and got on the train with me. A few minutes into the ride into London proper, he turned to me and said, “You know those folks you were talking to gave you the wrong directions to Winchester.”

Earlier, having to burn three hours at the airport (security still on high alert after 9/11) before the flight left, I struck up a conversation with three folks from Manchester who flew out for the weekend to catch Lennox Lewis box in Vegas. The friendly lot asked me what I planned on doing in England, and in addition to the the usual tourist things, I said I would go visit my friend Azelle in Winchester.

If you know British people, you’ll know that one can spend an entire day arguing the best way to get from one point to another. I took copious notes of the train and bus lines they advised me to take.

Turns out that Matthew – the British guy – had been sitting behind us at the airport lounge and caught the whole conversation. He gave me corrected directions, as well as his number.

How’s that for a meet cute?

 

NOVEMBER 21, 2001

Got an early start to the day, overjoyed that the room rate included a hot, cooked breakfast of eggs, bacon, sausage, tomato, and almost anything else I wanted.

Arrived at Parliament hoping to be able to see the British legislative process in action, only to find out that visitors weren’t allowed in until 3 p.m. (contrary to what the guide books had said).

I grumbled my way across the street to Westminster Abbey hoping to catch the 10 a.m. tour, only to be told that it wasn’t open to the public until 1 p.m. and that perhaps, PERHAPS!, there might be a tour then.

Exasperated, I checked out the Jewel Tower, no surprise that it was open and had no queues because there really wasn’t much to see.

I then headed over to St. Paul’s Cathedral, which was thankfully open (at least the damn Catholics got something right). I climbed the 530-something steps to the top of the cathedral dome. No easy task. This was a workout unlike any other, with the big payoff of a fantastic 360-degree view of London atop St. Paul’s. It took less than 45 minutes to descend, reaching ground level in a healthy sweat, and the pain in my ankle now extending to my knee.

I returned to the Abbey to take my chances on the possible tour. If you’re ever in London, it is well worth the extra money to take the verger-led tour of Westminster Abbey, as you are allowed into areas otherwise roped off to the general public while receiving an interesting history lesson as well. A verger, by the way, is kind of a vicar’s assistant. What exactly he assists with… well, you can ask when you get there.

After the tour, I headed over to the half-priced ticket booth at Leicester Square and secured tickets for a showing of “Chicago.”

Then, back to Westminster so I could ride the London Eye, which afforded a breathtaking night-time view of London. I might have enjoyed it more had I not seen the half-price ticket booth right next to it. I could’ve saved the trip to Leicester Square.

“Chicago” was AMAZING! One of the best musicals I’ve seen yet. I truly enjoyed it, despite the kink in my neck as a result of craning up to see the stage from my front-row-center seat.

 

NOVEMBER 22, 2001

Today, a day trip to Bath & Stonehenge. My friend Alex and I got up early and got to our supposed pick-up point, the Thistle Kensington Gardens Hotel, as directed by the nice Swedish lady at our hotel reception. Only to get there and told that we actually had to be at the Thistle Kensington PALACE hotel, on the other side of this enormous park. With 15 minutes left before our appointed pickup time, we hightailed it across the park and barely made the courtesy coach! Not even 8 a.m. and already drenched in sweat. Again.

Shortly after departing London, the guide wished us Americans a Happy Thanksgiving. I didn’t even realize what day it was.

You can see Stonehenge as you approach it, easily spottable from the highway and exuding nothing remarkable about it. I was surprisingly underwhelmed by Stonehenge but I don’t know if that’s just because it was bone-chilling cold and I wanted to get back into the warm fuggy comfort of the tour coach.

After an hour’s ride through the verdant, rolling English countryside, we arrived at the ancient town of Bath and visited the Roman Baths. We dared to taste the water and were subsequently told by some old man that we were going to hell. What exactly he meant by that, I don’t know, but I’ll ask him when I get there.

The city of Bath is lovely and picturesque, and one must really visit England during the fall to witness the exquisite autumn colors.

We returned to London a little past 17:00, which allowed me enough time to squeeze in some quality power-shopping time at Harrod’s before it closed at 6 p.m. What is up with the British and early closing times???

After dumping my purchases at the hotel, we set off for dinner and found a pizza place in Notting Hill. Forgetting for a second time today that it was Thanksgiving, we didn’t even bother finding a place where we could enjoy some turkey. Eh, my feet were tired and I really couldn’t be bothered.

 

NOVEMBER 23, 2001

Another day tour. The day’s stops were Oxford, Warwick, and Stratford.

Now that I knew which hotel I had to be at, I got up an hour early and beat the morning rush, getting to the Underground station before 7 a.m., getting off at a stop on the north end of Hyde Park, and proceeding to take a leisurely stroll through the park on my way to Thistle Kensington Palace Hotel.

I walked by the enormous Serpentine Lake and stopped to take pictures of the famous Peter Pan statue (which didn’t come out on my digital camera, but hopefully the ones I took on my SLR came through). The park reminded me a lot of New York’s Central Park, and to be at the park during sunrise was some sort of religious experience. I even made it to my pick-up point way ahead of schedule. Already a good day.

The first stop of the day was the lovely college town of Oxford, and a tour of one of the colleges.

Then it was on to Warwick (pronounced “wuhr-rik”) Castle, where I had the pleasure of being thisclose to a peacock. Unfortunately, none of the peacocks found me attractive enough to flaunt their feathers, so my peacock pictures aren’t all that exciting.

Last stop: Stratford-upon-Avon, home of some famous writer. I think people all over the world read and perform his works, but I’m not really sure.

Anyway, had I read the tour description carefully, I would have noticed that this stop in Stratford was a quick, cursory one, and that there was only time to visit that guy’s birthplace. I was dying to take pictures of Anne Hathaway’s cottage, but that’s a visit included in another tour. Bollocks!

However, the upside to this minor disappointment was that I was able to purchase The Complete Works of Shakespeare ON SALE, right there, at his birthplace. I lugged that 20-pound sucker in my backpack all the way home.

 

 NOVEMBER 24, 2001

Alfie, one of my dearest friends from elementary school, came down from Cambridge to visit with me. The original plan was to go to Windsor Castle and then visit the Tower of London (which was #1 on my to-do list). However, after a late start, we opted to start out with the Tower, and do Windsor if we had time.

Saturday was the most beautiful of all days during my stay in Britain. The sun was out, the skies were blue, and at some point, had to take off my coat because I was TOO hot!

Tours of the Tower of London are led by Yeoman Warders (commonly known as “Beefeaters”) who are retired British soldiers. Our Beefeater had preferred to be called “Gin-lover” instead.

After the tour, we set off for lunch at St. Katharine’s Docks. We had walked across the famous Tower Bridge before realizing that the Docks were behind us. Aaaaargh! My feet were hurting, so I had to sit and take a break, the throbbing pain unbearable by this point.

I suppose all that pain was worth it, because we arrived at the docks and it was a lovely area – boats, swans, yaddayaddayadda, wow! I don’t think it’s all that popular with the visitors, because it was NOT teeming with annoying tourists. We lunched at a pizza place, sharing chicken wings and a veggie pizza with mushrooms, asparagus and eggplant (which, over here, is called ‘aubergine’). A beer helped soothe my aching body.

Afterwards, we set off for the Leicester Square/Picadilly Circus area to grab a cappuccino and do some more catching up. London had been pleasant until this point. But this place was crowded and full of pushy tourists. I suppose I should consider myself lucky that it had been days before I encountered such uncivility.

We found a café and sat on the outdoor patio, watching the world walk by and getting accosted by beggars. For a minute, I thought I was back in Santa Monica. Having conversation over cappucino and cigarettes was quite lovely and it felt right, as if I belonged here. Then it was time to say goodbye, and I headed back to my hotel to get ready for my date with that nice British gent.

Matthew took me to an Indian restaurant on King’s Street (or is it King’s Road?), an area popularized by the Beatles. Afterwards, we went to Ealing to the cinema (saw “Kiss of the Dragon” and got some interesting inside scoop on the various martial arts techniques used in the film; Matthew studies Aikido.) Afterwards, he drove me around London, showing me the sights (even driving by the All-England Lawn Tennis and Croquet Club, where the Wimbledon championships are held.)

I learned that “Big Ben” actually referred to the bell in the tower and the actual tower has its own name, which escapes me at the moment.

Before I drifted off to sleep, I had noted that, remarkably – with one day left on my schedule – I had managed to cross off everything on my to-do list (except a visit to Windsor) AND go on a date.

 

NOVEMBER 25, 2001

Managed to sleep in until 9 a.m., most sleep I’ve had on the trip.Then I caught the train to Winchester; actually, it stopped in Basingstoke. Due to “engineering difficulties,” passengers were forced to take a bus for an extra 40-minute ride. I finally arrived in Winchester, which was, by the way, the capital of England prior to London, and my friend Azelle picked me up at the station.

We went to Azelle’s lovely house, which is almost done. (The joke here is that she bought this house shortly after I met her on a Contiki tour of Europe in 1996, and she had been working on remodeling it since.) Got to play with the dogs: Doobie (an aging Yorkie), Casper (the sleepy Pomeranian), and Barney (the collie/Cavalier King Charles Spaniel mix).

Azelle made a terrific dinner of roast pork (those from that Contiki trip will appreciate the irony here because our dinners were always either chicken or pork and it didn’t take long to tire of it) with potatoes, peaches and carrots, veg with a creamy cheese sauce, and trifle for dessert.

We chatted plenty and took a trip down memory lane, looking through albums of our trip (complete with choice blackmail material). The time was just too short, and I promised to visit sometime v.v. soon.

Super tired at this point, I fell asleep on the bus back to Basingstoke, and was jarred awake when the driver slammed on the brakes, causing my head to slam into a pole. Managed to get on the right train and get safely back to the hotel for my last night in London, so I doubt I suffered a concussion.

 

NOVEMBER 26, 2001

Ah, time to go. You gotta love a town where the taxis come 15 minutes early. I read somewhere that taxi drivers in London are ridiculously friendly and go out of their way to drop you off exactly where you need to be.

But the flight provided more confirmation that my luck had run out, that the only cute guy on the flight was asleep the whole time, and that I was stuck sitting next to a smelly guy. At least my nose was slightly stuffed up, so I wasn’t too bothered.

I couldn’t sleep. I tried reading a book, writing in my journal, and watching no fewer than three films. Nothing diminished the feeling that I missed London already, that the next time I go, someone will have to drag me away, kicking and screaming, because I just might not leave.

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