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Day 4, Meetup Day

Today is “on the move” day. We have an arduous journey to Windsor that involves a tube ride, transfer to a train, transfer to another train and a walk. Oy.

Our bags are packed, mostly and we’ve managed to fit coats and jackets into the nooks and crannies. My hat finally showed up. My cane is fully extended. I ate half a coffee/chocolate bar and my burgeoning caffeine headache is at bay. We ate yogurt and granola bars for breakfast.

The plan is to leave the luggage at the hotel, bus to the British Museum, visit the Elgin Marbles and meet my London compatriot. Following that we’ll return for luggage and begin our multi-step journey to Windsor. I’m wearing a knee brace. Wish us luck!!

There comes a point in every vacation when you run out of steam and tolerance and just hate where you are and what you’re doing. Turns out that “on the move” day coincides with me kind of hating the world.

The British Museum is hella crowded and with a long security line, crammed with tourists and schoolkids and essentially it’s a zoo. We find the Elgin Marbles, which continue to thrill me (although it was more lovely the last time when hardly anyone was in attendance and I had the hall to myself). My husband is thoughtfully taking photographs. Of each marble. Every marble. Multiple exposures. He is in heaven. Deep heavy sigh. I open my Kindle app and start reading.

45 minutes later it’s time to meet up with my London cohort who buys us a coffee and tea and chats with us for just over an hour. He is a lovely man and this is a pleasant interlude. I’m really glad we took the time to meet him.

He heads back to the office and Les heads back to the Elgin Marbles to finish his photography project and I find a bathroom and a bench and resume my book. So. Crowded. Very. Warm.

I dig out a Kind bar to tide me over while waiting. We regroup and discuss lunch options. I’m hot and hungry, my knee is killing me, and I’m bored. It’s a lethal combination. We can’t agree on a lunch plan so head back to our hotel to collect luggage and begin the journey to Windsor.

It’s tedious – we have one big suitcase, one little suitcase, one carry on bag, Les’ 30 pound camera backpack and my backpack. We take the lift to the right level for our train, haul everything across the gap and stand, swaying while the car fills up and up…..exit and backtrack to find another lift, another train, exit at Paddington and trek a long, long way to the main station.

We wait in line to buy tickets for Windsor and snag a couple of meat pies and some water for lunch. We’re not sure which train is the ‘right’ train and then I think I see it. We can’t agree, there’s no signage, Les backtracks, we start hustling and the doors close in our faces. We are left on the platform with our luggage, our pasties and thoroughly bad tempers.

There is nowhere to sit while we wait for the next train. I think there’s another option on a different platform but it is decided that we’ll wait for the train we know. We finally board and are in a car with a very young child who is playing a screaming game with mommy’s best friend. Screaming game morphs into a running game. The child careens down the car, bounces off a stranger, and hurtles back. Repeatedly. Les and I are united in our dislike for the situation and the game in which the child slaps the friend, who laughs hysterically every time a blow lands. We are old. We are crotchety. We are not amused.

The train drops us at a little station in Slough (pronounced sluff). We are directed up a lift but then face a choice of tracks. I direct Les to figure out which one is the correct track and wouldn’t you know that our train puffs off just as I get onto the platform. Another 20-30 minute wait. It’s hot. We are drenched in sweat and thoroughly dehydrated. We have little to say to each other.

Finally we board a tiny little train that puffs into Windsor. I think it’s like 90 degrees when we arrive around 5:15 and our program orientation starts at 5:30. We haul the luggage out to High Street and finally make the correct turn to get to the hotel.

We follow an extremely well-dressed couple inside – he’s wearing a splendid outfit that I think is a morning suit, and she’s decked out in a floral chiffon dress and fascinator. They head for the bar and she says “I think I’ll spend a penny first” as she disappears into a loo. First time I’ve heard that outside of a book and I’m delighted.

The main floor has multiple stairs and no elevator to the lobby so we bump and drag our luggage to a really hot reception area and receive our keys and directions to go down a flight of stairs, cross the parking lot to another building and our tour orientation is in there. This building also has stairs and no elevator but fire knee and I persist and we take the last two chairs.

We’re the last ones to arrive at the orientation and we droop in our chairs slurping water while introductions are made. But at least we are here. The group seems pretty nice (we might be the youngest people at the table) and there are 2 other librarians, 3 nurses, a semi-retired physician and some teachers. Most people have gone on multiple Road Scholar journeys and know the drill. We get “whisperers” and directions to dinner which starts in an hour.

Upstairs, our bags have arrived, and we get settled. The room is quite comfortable, and the bathroom is bigger than a postage stamp, which is nice. The group dinner is fun – we are a congenial group – and the only confusion is who ordered what. If people don’t figure this out, then it’s going to be a long trip of “Did I order that? What did I order?” My fish and chips are quite tasty and the Guinness goes down smoothly.

After, most of us head outside for a brief guided walk to Eton. This also serves as our “whisperer” training. The sun is setting and the sky is golden. There are very few people around as we wend our way down the hill and across the river. Eton seems to be a nice campus with ancient buildings and our guide points out the school uniform and sporting goods shops that line the road. It feels good to be walking. Tomorrow we storm the castle!

I regret not popping in to see this exhibit

Day 3 London

Tuesday AM

My knee is killing me – the tendonitis is red hot and feels like fire. I kept waking up last night trying to find a comfortable position. While Les is getting ready, I drape a cold washcloth and imagine ice. We’re moving slowly this morning and decided to revisit Le Pan Q for breakfast.

My original plan was to trek to Hampton Court but it’s closed today so we tube back to Oxford Circle and Regency Street in search of Sotheby’s. They have a free of charge display of tiaras. The day is warm and breezy and it’s a pleasant walk past the rich and wealthy. Think Rodeo Drive, times 3.

The Sotheby’s exhibit is fantastic. The tiaras are delicate, floating in space, refracting light as they twirl slowly. Diamonds, emeralds, pearls. They are wonders of engineering, many convert to broaches, necklaces, bracelets. I’m quite taken by a butterfly design and the ones with botanical inspirations. Ivy and palm motifs are charming when rendered in diamonds and topaz.

Apologies, professional cameras and flash were disallowed

Unfortunately, all that glitters does not inspire us for the rest of the day. I’m tired of planning things and Les has no ideas. I suggest a few things but get little response. It’s hot, we are tired and dehydrated and things are not going well. We trek to Fortnum & Mason’s for tea shopping and are overcome by too many choices and not enough luggage space.

Empty handed, we retrace our steps and stop at a bookstore cafe with air conditioning. This shop has three cafes so we take the lift to the top and settle in with beer and snacks. The cool air revives us and we’re able to make it back to the room without incident. It will be an early dinner and a better night.

We lie down for another nap and mine is brief because I had an iced coffee from Black Sheep and my veins are singing. Les has a higher caffeine tolerance and he drops off like a baby. I abandon the nap and do some preliminary repacking because tomorrow we join our tour and I am READY. For some strange reason things that didn’t fit into the suitcase in LA do fit now. This is not bad news!

At 5ish we head up to the “Coal Drop” – another redeveloped area past the redeveloped mixed use office space and cross the canal to an area where they’ve installed posh shops and a ton of restaurants. We don’t have reservations but hope we can get dinner before 9:00 PM. It’s hot, and the late afternoon sun is blazing as we trek past the greenspace, office buildings, fountains and restaurants that shunned us the previous night.

We’ve chosen a Tapas bar and are greeted with the familiar “Do you have a reservation? No? We can seat you at 9:00” “We’ll wait,” I hiss at my husband. My fire knee is not going on walkabout tonight. Despite the attitude, it all works out. The hostess reluctantly seats us at the bar with other non-reservation slackers and we settle in for some vino and small plates.

Our server is on day 3 of his new job and his spanish-inflected english is charming. We order a house version of sangria – red wine with a wedge of orange, sparkling water and a mist of sherry. It’s refreshing. He leaves us a carafe of water – first time that’s happened! On Les’ right is an intense Japanese couple who meticulously document every bite of food and on my left is an older British couple who communicate with the server in rudimentary spanish, which he seems to appreciate.

We’re hungry so we begin our meal with meat – chicken thighs and romesco sauce and lamb skewers in pimento sauce. The lamb is aromatic and tasty but the chicken is ambrosial. It’s garlicky and crunchy with nuts and the smooth romesco sauce chases it perfectly.

Next up is a spanish tortilla that is a perfect hockey puck of satiny potatoes and onions that runs with a creamy eggy filling. Our forks dance as we vie for each bite. We almost lick the plate.

By now our server is a friend and he glows when we order the spanish cheesecake – “Made famous in the pandemic!” he announces. It’s a rich eggy concoction redolant of sheeps milk that is lightly burnt on top and beyond delicious smoothness. It’s not too sweet and it’s a measure of our relationship that we share it more or less equally.

I leave Les at the bar while I check out a store that’s popped on my Insta – Wolfe and Badger. True to form, it is more interesting online than in person and has nothing that I need or want. We take an alternative route back to the hotel and are charmed by potentially edible artichokes blooming by the road. I’ve read that artichokes are members of the thistle family, but never expected to see them in a garden. It’s fun to see them emerge from a bright purple stalk.

I think that’s a pleasure of traveling. You can read about something, but you gain understanding when you see it out in the wild.

I think about how greedy we are – how entitled – that water would be free and bread and butter or chips will magically appear on the table for no extra charge. We expect leftovers and aren’t used to paying a fair wage for service. It’s very different here.

And then the strident voice of a lost soul shrieks obscenities into the evening. We navigate around a sad human sleeping in the street. Maybe it’s not so different.

So many visits to the UK and this is the first time we’ve seen corgis! Perhaps they are more likeable than the queen?

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On the road

Day 1

I am in a tiny London hotel room, not much bigger than the infamous Hotel Metropole where Vickie and I stayed a hundred years ago when we were on our Catalina adventure. You can’t quite touch both walls at once, but the suitcases and jackets require wrangling. The chair barely fits my butt, the pillows are wafer thin and the bathroom is best enjoyed with an open door.

We are weary, jet lagged and not quite able to believe we made it. Our 10.5 hour flight was mostly sleepless and mostly uneventful. I broke up a gang of passengers who were looting the mid-cabin galley for liquor. The air stewards were pretty dismissive when I mentioned it to them but one of them decided to check out the crime tip and then there were reinforcements hustling up the aisle. Much later I got a grateful thank you for bringing it to their attention. My fantasy is that they will upgrade me to business class for the flight home. (They do not)

For a wonder we packed early so there was a minimum of last minute drama and crisis. Everything fit and I don’t think we forgot anything. Of course, one of us was feeling his feelings, but we made it onto the plane, and later we got through the endless halls of Heathrow and onto the right train to London.

The Heathrow express dropped us at Paddington where we caught the Circle Line to San Pancras/Kings Cross. Then an exhausting bumpy walk to our lodgings. They are not luxurious but should do for a start.

The latest jet lag wisdom is to nap for 30 minutes and then get on local time. We manage the nap and find a neighborhood bistro for some much needed food. I have a delicious egg with salmon and hollandaise and start to feel human. The eggs are that peculiar bright orange that one finds in the UK but since I’ve seen this before, it doesn’t quease me out. My tea is hot and strong, milky and sweet and my consciousness comes back.

The streets around here are filthy – it’s a well used neighborhood. There’s grime, trash and homeless people. A polyglot of cultures. A street preacher reminds us that God loves us and some Muslims line up for prayer. A Hassidic couple with baby check both ways before crossing the street. Suitcases are everywhere because this is a great crossing place in London and people have places to go.

We pause at the Black Sheep coffee house and I see “brown cheese with jam” on the menu…is this the trip where I finally try brown cheese? (It is not).

Day 1 – we made it, we have lodging and caffeine, we are good to go. Adventures await!