June 13th – We land at Heathrow around 10am after a six hour flight and five hours lost through various time zones. After disembarking, we fly through the fastest luggage retrieval of our entire lives, and queue up immediately for a taxi. Somehow, we manage to fit four adults and an excess of luggage into a single cab, and the driver has the single most overblown, stereotypical cockney accent I’ve ever witnessed. It’s all: “Ow, eez ye-ooa san, is e? Wal, fewd dan y' de-ooty bawmz a mather should, eed now bettern to spawl a pore gel's flahrzn than ran awy atbaht pyin.” We pay him (and well), and run away.
Too early to check into to the hotel, we drop off our bags and take a walk down the Queensway. I’m struck by how familiar London looks, despite the fact that I’ve never been here before. Of course, ninety five percent of the stores are ones I’ve never heard of (Whiteley’s, Snappy Snaps), and the architecture is a bit more Georgian then anything I’m used to seeing out my office window, but the city as a whole doesn’t feel foreign or exotic to me. It could pass for an older American town, despite the fact that they drive on the left.
After check in, we go for a stroll though Kensington Gardens, across the street from our hotel. It’s one of those perfect warm days, and we learn what Brits can’t get enough of when the weather gets like this: lying down in the grass. On our short walk we see hundreds of people—shirtless kids, older gentleman in suits, whole families—just sprawled out on the ground. The good weather continues through our entire trip, but this phenomenon is localized only to London.
Jet lag hits in a big way, so we go for a snooze (not in the grass) and wake feeling entirely better about two hours later. We jump on The Tube next, riding from Lancaster Gate to Piccadilly Circus. The London Underground isn’t nearly as confusing as I’d once let myself believe (not that I took the lead or made any decisions there whatsoever). Everything is well marked and the trains are all equipped with an automated (and totally hot) female voice to guide you along your way. “This train terminates at Hainault via Newbury Park. Thank you. Mind the gap. Have a brilliant day. Love to your mum.”
We see Buckingham Palace. It’s more or the less the same as Union Station in Toronto, except for the Union Jack flying over head.
June 14th – Having spent the first day in Westminster, we start the second day in London proper.
a gemstone can only be so big before it starts looking like costume jewelry. And you only glue so many diamonds onto a thing before I stop caring about that thing.
The other major culture stop of the day is the Museum of London, which dedicated to this history of the city itself. It's vaulable to me because I really don't the first thing about London's history, and between this and the Tower of London, I'm starting to get a handle on the royal line (although I can't rattle the names off in order like Sarah can--which makes her kickass at trivia but not so fun at parties). [Says YOU! - S.] We put a lot of time into the first few exhibits but crap out around 1850 or so. I find myself interested in the big facts--plague, revolution, debauchery--and not so much when it comes to the small stuff. If you piled up and torched all the olden days armoires in existance, I wouldn't even consider it a crime.
That night, we take in a play at the Theatre Royal Haymarket. It's Hay Fever, a Noel Coward play, and it stars Dame Judi Dench. It's about a bohemian family--actress mother, novelist father, layabout brother and sister--who all invite prospective lovers to the house for the same weekend. There's some mixing and matching of couples, but in the end each member of the family is more interested in the drama of falling in love than the act itself. Funny, strange, good. And it was strangely normal to see Judi Dench only thirty feet away (she was amazing, by the way).
Too early to check into to the hotel, we drop off our bags and take a walk down the Queensway. I’m struck by how familiar London looks, despite the fact that I’ve never been here before. Of course, ninety five percent of the stores are ones I’ve never heard of (Whiteley’s, Snappy Snaps), and the architecture is a bit more Georgian then anything I’m used to seeing out my office window, but the city as a whole doesn’t feel foreign or exotic to me. It could pass for an older American town, despite the fact that they drive on the left.
After check in, we go for a stroll though Kensington Gardens, across the street from our hotel. It’s one of those perfect warm days, and we learn what Brits can’t get enough of when the weather gets like this: lying down in the grass. On our short walk we see hundreds of people—shirtless kids, older gentleman in suits, whole families—just sprawled out on the ground. The good weather continues through our entire trip, but this phenomenon is localized only to London.
Jet lag hits in a big way, so we go for a snooze (not in the grass) and wake feeling entirely better about two hours later. We jump on The Tube next, riding from Lancaster Gate to Piccadilly Circus. The London Underground isn’t nearly as confusing as I’d once let myself believe (not that I took the lead or made any decisions there whatsoever). Everything is well marked and the trains are all equipped with an automated (and totally hot) female voice to guide you along your way. “This train terminates at Hainault via Newbury Park. Thank you. Mind the gap. Have a brilliant day. Love to your mum.”
We pick up theatre tickets for a show on Wednesday, and from there it’s one big stroll. First to Trafalgar Square, where Nelson’s Column could not possibly have more scaffolding then it currently does, then through the Admiralty Arch and down the Mall towards Buckingham Palace. Before we get there a motorcade passes us by and Sarah spies Prince Edward in the last car. I totally miss him because the car he’s in is like any other and I keep watching for something phat and stretch and tricked out. (Later, Prince Andrew drives by in a second motorcade and it’s Sarah 2 - Dave 0 in our Spot the Royal competition.)
Tube Stops That Could Double as Porno Titles
- Canons Park
- Goodge Street
- St. John’s Wood
- Roding Valley
- Cockfosters
- Mudchute
We see Buckingham Palace. It’s more or the less the same as Union Station in Toronto, except for the Union Jack flying over head.
June 14th – Having spent the first day in Westminster, we start the second day in London proper.
The plan is to spend the morning at the Tower of London, which really sounds like too much time to me, but I absolutely enjoy myself. We join a guided tour that’s led by a Yeoman Warder (or Beefeater, for you gin fans out there). The Beefeaters are the ceremonial guard of the tower, and in addition they provide tours and also live on the property with their families. Our guy is fantastic, brilliant sense of humour and a mouth full of real British teeth—like cigarette butts jammed into two pieces of toffee. We get the history (construction, destruction, reconstruction), hear about the famous prisoners (Anne Boleyn, Sir Thomas More), and we walk the grounds a little. We get to see the crown jewels which are… okay. Frankly
Fun London Fact**This and all subsequent Fun Facts are provided courtesy of Sarah’s dad.
- While today we consider most working-class Londoners to be cockneys, traditionally you were only a cockney if you lived within hearing distance of the church bells of St. Mary-le-Bow.
a gemstone can only be so big before it starts looking like costume jewelry. And you only glue so many diamonds onto a thing before I stop caring about that thing.The other major culture stop of the day is the Museum of London, which dedicated to this history of the city itself. It's vaulable to me because I really don't the first thing about London's history, and between this and the Tower of London, I'm starting to get a handle on the royal line (although I can't rattle the names off in order like Sarah can--which makes her kickass at trivia but not so fun at parties). [Says YOU! - S.] We put a lot of time into the first few exhibits but crap out around 1850 or so. I find myself interested in the big facts--plague, revolution, debauchery--and not so much when it comes to the small stuff. If you piled up and torched all the olden days armoires in existance, I wouldn't even consider it a crime.
That night, we take in a play at the Theatre Royal Haymarket. It's Hay Fever, a Noel Coward play, and it stars Dame Judi Dench. It's about a bohemian family--actress mother, novelist father, layabout brother and sister--who all invite prospective lovers to the house for the same weekend. There's some mixing and matching of couples, but in the end each member of the family is more interested in the drama of falling in love than the act itself. Funny, strange, good. And it was strangely normal to see Judi Dench only thirty feet away (she was amazing, by the way).
Comments
I mean...
...wait...
Seriously though, my trips to Rochester sound horrible in comparison to Dave's continent-tripping ways. Of course, it would sound horrible with the exception of my awesome cousins and the matter of a half-keg....
http://pielkenrood.fol.nl/x/indexri.htm
Goodge is the new Gunch.
That is exactly how I navigate foreign subways, by following those who know where they are going.
COURTNEY-O ===> In another time, in another place, we could've been a great... er... other cliche...
:)