LONDON: October 1998
Day One: Our day began early as our British Airways flight from Boston was an early 8:20am. Not knowing what sort of traffic we might encounter we rose at 4:30. We dressed and ready by 6:00.I had called for a cab the previous night and he arrived a few minutes past 6:00. In minutes we were sailing through the Ted Williams Tunnel on our way to Logan Airport and a new adventure in our city.
We arrived at the terminal by 6:30 and whisked our bags to the check-in desk. We were ready for the usual long lines but we stopped dead in our tracks. No lines at all. The BA personnel were chatting among themselves. My heart skipped a beat. Had we arrived much too early or late. In a moment we were waved over to the desk by a most charming gentleman by the name of Juan Portugal. (an omen, it turned out as next to London, Lisbon is our favorite city.) Mr. Portugal sensed my wonder at the lack of lines. " Where would you like to sit?" he asked as the plane, a 777 was only half full.
If you haven't flown on a 777 you're in for a treat. The coach section felt more like business class with wide seats and individual video monitors. Best of all the seating is 3/3/3 across. We had requested an aisle seat for my wife as she gets up frequently. Thanks to Mr. Portugal we had three seats to ourselves.
When I thought it just couldn't get better my wife, Joan, noticed that the in-flight movie was the X Files movie: her favorite TV show. She was ecstatic. This was the start of a wonderful holiday.
The flight was a pleasure. In fact I do believe it was the single most comfortable flight I've ever had in coach. We arrived on schedule(7:05pm) in London's Heathrow and literally zipped through baggage claim and customs in what seemed like minutes, We had planned on buying our 2 zone tube pass right at the airport but found the London Transit desk was closed for the night. No matter. Stepping out the terminal door we proceeded to the AirBus station only yards away. The AirBus was included in our package so within minutes we were on our way to Bloomsbury.
Arriving at the Tavistock we checked in and within an hour we had unpacked and freshened up. A quick nightcap was all I needed and off to bed.
Now, a word about the Tavistock. We had chosen it because the neighboring Russell Hotel was booked. We'd stayed at the Russellthis past April and loved it. Now, there is really nothing wrong with the Tavistock. But it isn't the Russell. It's a very busy tourist-class hotel. The rooms are fair sized and clean. The bathrooms adequate. No real frills, not much in the way of amenities but pretty inexpensive and very well located.
The busy, sometimes smoky lobby is like a melting pot of people from all over the world. You'll hear more languages spoken in that lobby than at the UN. If your attitude is right it can be an interesting experience. Sort of like a scene form "Casablanca."
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Day Two: After a good nights sleep (and I might add, NO JET LAG due to the daytime flight) we embarked on our first day of touring this wonderful city. Today we would be exploring the Piccadilly/St James's area. But first breakfast.
If we thought the lobby of hotel was a hectic, noisy place nothing could have prepared us for the breakfast room at the Tavistock. What seemed like hundreds of confused tourists were lined up waiting to be seated. We took our place in line and we were eventually seated. Continental breakfast was included in our room rate but I opted for the "full English" breakfast for an additional £3.95. My wife had her free rolls, toast and coffee while I lined up with the starving masses at the rather limited breakfast buffet.
The food was, to put it kindly, adequate. But somehow we both knew that we'd be eating breakfast out hereafter. The overworked staff did their best in what seemed to be organized chaos. The scene was strangely surreal to me. I watched while the servers tried desperately to keep up with the ever-turning tables in a room that seemed like a weird combination of Rick's American Cafe and Ellis Island. Not to worry though, with what we were spending on the room we could afford to eat out for breakfast.
Our entire package was less than $800.PP for air, ground transport and seven nights hotel. And in Bloomsbury you could certainly find a better morning meal for £3.95.
Now we were off. The holiday had officially begun. Not having yet purchased our tube passes we headed off on foot for Piccadilly Circus. It's an easy walk from Bloomsbury. Just down Southhampton Row (the Street in front of the Russell) to Oxford Street. From there to Shaftesbury Avenue through Cambridge Circus and finally to Piccadilly Circus.
It is somehow fitting that Eros, the God of Love, resides here at the beginning(or end) of Piccadilly. One wonders viewing Alfred Gilbert's statue how many romances began in this spot? A one wonders as well if ones eyes are playing tricks or is God of Love actually moving? It's not an hallucination; the 8 foot statue is actually swaying slightly in the wind. Gilbert cast it in aluminum, the first time the material had been used for statuary. On a windy day it does sway. Or is it trying to uproot itself to join the Goddess of Peace fittingly at the other end of the street?
At Piccadilly we stopped at the Underground Station and bought our passes. Two 7 day 2 Zone passes for £16.60 each. A bargain to my mind. No lines to wait in. No times blocked out as with day passes. I just consider the pass part of cost of going and, even though we often walk to our destination, consider it insurance. If it's late or we're tired we can hop on the tube or any city bus with ease. Definitely recommended.
From Piccadilly we turned to strolled along the wonderful Regent Street.
We popped into Liberty looking for some glasses Joan had seen this past April. Liberty is like looking a word up in the dictionary and being distracted by so many wonderful words you forget the original word. I somehow ended up in the rug department and although I have no real interest in carpets spent quite a while rummaging through what seems like some branch of the British Museum. To a carpetmaniac this would be heaven.
I cannot begin to name the stores along Regent. It must be where deprogrammers take shopaholics to cure them.
Returning to Piccadilly we came back to our original intent. Heading west on Piccadilly we stopped in at St.James's Church. One of the many Wren churches in London it's been greatly altered over the years (by a bomb in 1940) but still maintains the original 1684 features.
Said to be one of Wren's favorites, it may have seen better days but is still worthwhile. The altar screen is by master carver Grindling Gibbons as well as the marble font and the ornate carvings above the organ. The poet Blake was baptized here. On the day of our visit the church was bedecked with an enormous array of fresh and aromatic flowers. The beauty and tranquility of the scene was in sharp contrast to the two scruffy street urchins in their sleeping bags among the pews. One shot an angry look at me presumably for disturbing his sleep.
Outside is a seedy flea market with nothing of great interest to us. We, however, were of great interest to a young woman who seemed to always be in very close proximity to my wife's purse and seemed very interested in it's contents. Between the urchins and this woman who seemed questionable we said good-bye to St. James's Church and headed across the street to Albany Courtyard.
Originally built for Lord Melbourne the renown bachelor's quarters look more like a charming hotel or club than an apartment building. Home over the years to such bachelors as Lord Byron, PM Gladstone, authors JB Preistley and Graham Greene and more recently actor Terrance Stamp. The Albany abuts the Royal Academy of Arts founded in 1768. The incredible Michelangelo relief of the Madonna and Child are among it's many wonders.
Back out on Piccadilly again we headed west toward St.James's Street. (Unable to pass Fortnum and Mason we stopped in to peruse the goods at this marvelous and peaceful shop) A left on St. James's St will bring you down to St. James's Palace but before you get there be sure to note Barry Flanagan's whimsical bronze rabbit sculptures in the courtyard of the Environmental Building at number 25.
Arriving at the Palace diagonally across from the start of the Pall Mall. The name, pronounced by Londoners with two syllables as Saint "Jamesis" comes from the leper hospital that once stood on the site in the 13th century. Henry VIII bought it in the 16th C as a palace for Anne Boleyn. He had made Whitehall Palace his official residence but he regarded this palace as home. In fact it became the official residence of the British Monarchs in 1698 (when Whitehall Palace burned) and remained so until Victoria ascended in 1837 and moved to Buckingham Palace. Charles II, James II, Mary II and Queen Anne were all born there.
Sadly St James's Palace is not open to the public but the staterooms built by Christopher Wren in 1703 can be seen from the Mall. The four story red brick clock tower looms above the huge gates of the gatehouse still manned by a soldier of the guard. The scene has an almost Gilbert and Sullivan unreality to it.
Strolling along the Pall Mall (named after the French croquet-like game palle maille played here in the 1600s and pronounced Pell Mell) one is struck by the endless line of what were once the most exclusive gentlemen's clubs in the city. The wonderful architecture and grand doors leading in to the clubs broken only occasionally by a modern building such as the turquoise and steel structure at number 45. It isn't difficult to imagine this street lined with hansom cabs delivering the rich and powerful to the sanctuary of these exclusive dens where no woman could ever set foot.
Near the end of the Pall Mall you will find yourself at Waterloo Place. The statuary here reads like a who's who of Britain. Beginning at the other end at the Duke of York Steps is the base of the 137 foot tall column upon which rests the Dukes statue. It is so tall in fact that it can only be seen from some distance. At the base it looks more like a smokestack. Behind the Duke Waterloo Place is lined with the high and the mighty such as Arctic explorer Robert Falcon Scott with Edward VII at the center and the Crimean War Memorial at the other end flanked by Florence Nightingale (probably the only women so honored in this male dominated part of town) and Secretary of War Sidney Herbert.
After a visit to Carlton Gardens, De Gaulle's old digs during the war, we crossed the Mall into St. James's Park but only after stopping (like everyone else) in the middle of this busy street to look west for that most spectacular view of Buckingham Palace.
St James's Park really is the most perfect Royal park in the world. Literally created by Henry VIII and the pet of many British Monarchs it was the last walk of Charles I on his way to his execution. He wore two shirts on that day saying "If I shiver with the cold, I do not want my enemies to think that it is fear."
Afterward at the other end of the park we crossed Horse Guard Road to the Clive Steps(past Churchill's War Rooms) to Whitehall and on to Trafalgar Square. Intent on getting up to Covent Garden we couldn't resist a stop at the National Portrait Gallery.
How to sum up the Gallery is a mystery to me. It is the family album of a nation. From the Tudors to the Windsors. From Gladstone to Blair. From Pepys to the Beatles and so on. It really requires a half day at least to even begin to absorb it all.
Now, up Charing Cross Road to Covent Garden after a quick stop at the French House pub. I did want to pay my respects to the French resistance by toasting Charles DeGaulle here. It was his unofficial headquarters during his exile from France. I did so with a half-pint of Guinness (Strangely they don't sell pints). It's a charming pub with a real "local" feel to it. If you find yourself near Dean Street have one for me.
Next stop the Theater Museum in Covent Garden. It's a wonderful museum over on Russell Street filled with theatrical memorabilia from playbills and costumes to actual pieces of long-gone London theaters.
They also house the National Theater Video Archives, an ongoing collection of clips of actual performances. We sat in the small theater and watched with great fascination the otherwise lost scenes from great plays and musicals. A wonderful idea.
We were beginning to fade now but I was determined to cap off the day with dinner at the Lamb and Flag pub on tiny Rose Street. I'm not sure how old the pub is but there's been a pub in that location since the 16th century. We entered all smiles and got a couple drinks from the bar only to discover that the Lamb and Flag servers only lunch. Finishing our drinks we popped around the corner to the nearest fish & chips place and went home satisfied to our beds.
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London Travel Journal
Day three: We decided to make some last minute changes to our itinerary. Since there are more trains running on weekdays than on weekends we switched Canterbury from Sunday to today, Thursday.
We rose early and decided to give our hotel breakfast one last chance. We queued up with all the others in and waited for a table. When finally seated we queued up again at the breakfast buffet (I use the term buffet very loosely). We had both opted for just continental breakfast this time. The free "continental" breakfast consisted of some dinner rolls, toast and coffee. Of the trio the coffee was the best of the lot.
I've had continental breakfast before so I knew what to expect. What I didn't know was the others that I have had were from the European continent. This one came apparently from some other, less bountiful continent. One upon which food was in very short supply and whose inhabitants were starving. The toast and rolls disappeared as quickly as the sad-faced cooks could bring them out. As quickly as they would put out a few dozen slices of toast the starving masses would scoop up six or seven slice with no regard for the next person in line. One man actually took all of it in one massive raid. Some of the servers seemed genuinely afraid to put their hands too close to the food. I finally managed to get a few slices of this manna for my wife and myself and retreated to our table near the buffet where we could watch as wave after wave of famished travelers assaulted the pitiful harvest. When the food was gone they just stood in silence staring at the empty trays until the now terrified cooks brought another round of rations.
Leaving the hotel afterward we walked past the Manhattan Coffee Co. right around the corner on Woburn Place. Before I even entered the door I knew I had found our new breakfast home.
Still hungry, I ordered a "big breakfast" which consisted of bacon, sausage and eggs on a grilled bagel. I quickly learned that a "white Amercain" was an American style coffee with milk. The food and coffee were delicious and the seating arrangements consisted of table and stools or sofas with low coffee tables. The servers were polite and cheerful and the total for my breakfast was £2.70. After only one day they counter help remembered me and I felt welcome. Compare this with our "free" breakfast which made me feel like Bugati begging Rick for the letters of transit.
Sated we now raced off for the Russell Square tube station. We smugly zipped past the seemingly endless line of those who had not purchased passes. Before they even had their tickets we were whisking along the Piccadilly Line to Green Park where we would change to the Victoria Line and then on to Victoria Station.
Victoria Station is a marvel in itself and if you love rail stations you will surely love this one. Long known as "The Gateway to the Continent" it is the jumping off point for England's south and southeast as well as all of Europe.
Now, those of you who know me probably know by now that I am a hopeless romantic. As a boy I read all the Sherlock Holmes stories and it always seemed he and Watson were boarding a train at Victoria for some new adventure. Never did I dream in those days that one day I (and my Watson) would be boarding a train in the same station on an adventure of our own. Joan just shrugged when approaching the ticket window I said "Do you mind if I call you Watson?"
British train stations are what we would call today "user friendly." Everything is clearly marked and buying a ticket is as streamlined a process as one can be. Simply get in line at a window marked for "travel today" if you are taking a day trip as we were. When you get to the window ask for a "cheap day return" ticket (It's the most economical) for whatever destination you want. Our ticket to Canterbury was £13.70 return. Then just check the boards for your track, hop on board and "Bob's your uncle," you're on your way. If you miss your train don't worry. The ticket is good for any train leaving London for Canterbury that day.
Of course we didn't miss the train and within minutes of boarding we were on our way. For this trip we needed to make a change at Faversham but that proved to be no problem as it gave us a chance to have a coffee at Faversham station before our connection arrived.
The trains themselves are modern and spotlessly clean as well as quiet. The snack and beverage trolley offered a full selection of goodies from which to choose. The toilets were clean and modern and the electronic sign in each carriage offered continual information regarding what stations we would be calling on and so on. All in all a very simple and pleasurable journey.
We arrived at Canterbury East Station and checked in at once with the local TIC (Travels Information Center) which happens to be right in the station. As always the staff was friendly and helpful and quickly oriented us and recommended a map.
Leaving the station we headed right for the Cathedral. It is the centerpiece of this wonderful town. And what a centerpiece! We entered through the magnificent Christ Church Gate. The sight of the Cathedral is breathtaking as you pass through the gate. The massive structure is most impressive with it's 12th and 13th C. stained glass and central tower (Bell Harry) looming before you.
It is said that when Pope Gregory saw the beautiful, fair-haired children at the slave market in Rome he asked where they came from. When told that they were Angles he replied "Non Angli, sed Angeli" ("Not Angles, but Angels") and sent Augustine off to convert them. Augustine arrived in Canterbury in AD 597 and established his abbey, a center of learning and the cathedral which followed became the seat of the Archbishop of Canterbury the head of the Anglican Church.
The ruins of Augustine's Abbey is just blocks away and well worth a visit.
The interior of the cathedral is visually stunning. The highlights include the largest Norman crypt in England as well as the tomb of Edward Plantagenet, the "Black Prince" and of course the shrine of Thomas a Becket the martyred Archbishop whose death spawned a never-ending pilgrimage to the town for the last 800 years.
The town itself is a pleasant stroll. Many ancient buildings remain in spite if Hitler's orders to destroy Canterbury ("The main center of British hypocrisy" he called it) in retaliation for the RAF raid on Cologne. Roman pavements are to be found here as well as the fascinating ruins of a Norman castle.
We strolled along St Peter's Street and found a restaurant called Queen Elizabeth's Chambers. We enjoyed lunch there all the more when we realized that it actually had been the chambers used by Elizabeth I on her many visits to Canterbury. We dined in the very rooms where the Queen had entertained the likes of Shakespeare.
After lunch we tried for the Roman Museum but got there right at closing. We then headed for the Canterbury Tales, a museum that takes you through Chaucer's tales through the use of wax figures and actor's voices portraying the various characters. A bit hokey at times but enjoyable just the same.
Now it was time for us to return to London. We made it down to the station minutes before the train back to the city would arrive. With a few minutes to spare Joan made a quick stop at the station shop where she made a discovery which would plague us for the rest of our trip: Cadbury Chunkys! The most delicious little candy bar I ever had. Resembling the old American "Chunky" but filled with a nougat and truffle center. We spent the rest of our days there looking for more. We brought home dozens of them as gifts for friends. They made the return trip to London most enjoyable.
In 90 minutes or so we were back at Victoria and soon after that at the Tavistock. Too tired to venture out for dinner we ate at Jacques Wine Bar right in the hotel and retired early after a long and rewarding day.
Day four: On day four we head west again on the Piccadilly Line to the Gloucester Road Station in South Kensington. We knew the area well because we had stayed at the Bailey's Hotel on Gloucester Road a few years ago. We walked up Cromwell Road past what appears to be the renovation of all those wonderful mansions and apartment buildings in South Kensington into, presumably, condos. Some very impressive real estate along that stretch of road.
On the left past the Natural History Museum is the Victoria and Albert Museum. One of the most engrossing museums in London. The Queen had wanted it named after Albert only but was persuaded to use it's present name instead.
How to begin to describe this fabulous museum, founded in 1857, is a good question. It has been described as "the Nation's Attic." But I don't agree with that moniker. What is most amazing about it is how a museum could contain so much history and yet be so contemporary. Where else can one see a Chinese vase from 900AD and Doc Martin boots in adjoining exhibits? Where, for that matter, could one a collection of two thousand years of pottery and an exhibit of Barbie Dolls, including, (I swear it) India Barbie!
My wife is a William Morris fan so she headed off to the Morris room while I wandered around looking for the armor collection. One could easily spend a day or two in this massive edifice. Some of the exhibits include: European Ornamental Art; Chinese and Indian Art; 20th Century Art and the wonderful Constable Collection, the British artist who captured the English landscapes so vividly.
Afterward we went directly to the V&A's regal neighbor, the Brompton Oratory. What an incredible place is the Brompton Oratory. Built in 1884 and named after the St Philip Neri Oratory in Rome. This was England's primary Catholic church until the opening of Westminster Cathedral in Victoria in 1903. The wonderful Italianate interior is stunning in it's Baroque style with statues from Sienna Cathedral. As an example of these are the huge marbles of the 12 Apostles carved by Mazzuoli. The "Lady Altar" was brought from Brescia. To the right of the main altar in a small chapel look for the Altar of Ste Teresa of Lisieux. It is a marvelous piece of work featuring the Saint in marble and gold leaf. The building itself was designed by Herbert Gribble at the age of 29.
Afterward we strolled slowly up Cromwell Road to Harrod's. Of course it's difficult to be near Harrod's without going in which we did. It seemed in marked contrast to our two previous stops. I can only take a very little bit of large, busy department stores. And that goes double for Harrod's. One thing I can deal with though is the food halls. They really are an awe-inspiring sight. I wandered around them for a while until the sight of all that bounty made me hungry.
Stepping outside we found ourselves in front of that terrific pub on Cromwell, The Bunch of Grapes. We had a wonderful lunch there. Shepherd's Pie and a very nice pint of Bitter.
Fortified we headed east toward Holborn. It's an easy trip from there on the Piccadilly Line. It's only five stops to the Holborn Station.
At Holborn we exited the station and walked west along the bustling and noisy High Holborn. On the right you will find the turnstile that leads into the area known as The Inns of Court. It amazing that although you are only a short distance away from the busy thoroughfare the noise level is reduced so drastically. We soon found ourselves in Lincoln's Inn Fields. This is "legal London" and as beautiful as the square is I tried to imagine it on execution day for the area had been used for that purpose and many died here at the end of the executioner's rope.
On a more pleasant note the square is home to many fine homes. Indigo Jones designed numbers 57 and 59. Also found here is the wonderfully eccentric Sir John Soane museum at number 13. It's one of our favorite London museums. If you're in the area don't miss it.
At the Southeast corner is Lincoln's Inn. One of the four "inns" of court, Lincoln's Inn's alumnus roster is rather impressive to say the least. Thomas More, Gladstone, Donne and Cromwell to name but a few. Dickens worked here as a young man. The oldest parts of the building date from the 15th century.
Walking down Serle Street (south away from Lincoln's Inn) we came to the rear entrance of the Royal Courts of Justice. We were determined to view a trial. If you've never been there before go around to the front on the Strand. The front is a good picture spot with London's regal symbol the griffin at Temple Bar. We were attracted to the rear entrance though as there were a number of press photographers milling about the steps.
The guard waved us through the metal detector and Joan passed through but could seem to make the cut. BEEP! I began removing any metal objects like keys. BEEP! Money clip. BEEP! Loose change. BEEP! Finally the good-natured guard tried a manual search. "We're Americans" I said "but we're not armed." "I'm shocked" he replied waving the wand over me. "Maybe it's my cameras" They were in my raincoat pocket. Ah, Sorry, no cameras allowed. I promised that I wouldn't even remove them from my coat. This rule it seems is inviolable. No cameras are allowed in the building. I was crestfallen. This meant that I wouldn’t get to see a trial.
"Not to worry" said the guard. "Come with me." At this point he left his post and led me outside to the steps. Pointing down the street he indicated a copy store on the corner. "Take your cameras there and they will hold them free of charge until you're through." I did so and gave them to the smiling clerk behind the counter.
Catching up with Joan inside the Courthouse the guard winked and said to go up to such and such a courtroom. "I think you'll find it interesting."
We followed his direction stopping along the way to look at the historical artifacts along the way. Ancient robes and wigs used in trials over the centuries. Manuscripts and court documents from trials down through the years.
Further along we came to the room we were directed to. People were milling about the corridor outside it. The entryways to the room were very crowded. We edged our way in and as people left we inched closer and closer to the front.
I could see the panel of wigged judges and to the right a very dignified and bewigged barrister making a point to the court.
In the center of the room sat the "Boss" himself. Bruce Springsteen. He looked rather incongruous in this setting. In his black suit and tie but with the same scruffy, uncombed hair. He was in sharp contrast to the others in the room all looking very British with that air of seriousness about them. I expected that at any moment the "Boss" was going to stand up and break into "Born in the USA!"
Instead he sat there quietly looking slightly bored by the proceedings as his barrister, in the most polite and civilized manner grilled Springsteen's former manager who squirmed at times in the dock.
All in all it was a fascinating process. Springsteen or not if you in that area go in and watch a bit of a trial. Better yet go down to the Old Bailey and watch a criminal trial
Afterward I retrieved my cameras from the copy shop and started back along Carey Street. We paused in front of the Seban Stars a pub along the way. Outside robed and wigged barristers and solicitors discussed the days happenings at court over a pint.
It was late afternoon by now and it hit us that we were both suddenly very tired. We hopped on the tube and in minutes we were back at the hotel and napping.
When we awoke it was time for dinner. We freshened up and strolled out into the pleasant night air. Walking along Torrington Street to Gower we turned south to Stone Street which becomes Percy and takes you to Charlotte Street.
What a wonderful street Charlotte Street is. All the more so if you are hungry. It's Bloomsbury's restaurant row. Both sides are lined with every sort of cuisine in every price range. The sidewalks are filled with life as tourists and locals alike peruse the menus outside each establishment.
At the corner of Goodge Street is the Fitzroy Tavern. London's literati gathered here over the years. Geniuses like Dylan Thomas and George Orwell were regulars among many others. It was here that one of these wits dubbed the area "Fitzrovia" a nickname that sticks to this day.
We entered the tavern and were immediately carried through on the wave of humanity inside. The place was packed should to shoulder. So much so in fact that we couldn't even manage to get near to the bar let alone get a drink. We tried the downstairs but it too was crowded. We tried to mingle but it was useless. After a bit we just let the current of this human wave carry us back to the door and we were outside again. Well, that was the Fitzroy Tavern.
Getting hungry now we started looking in earnest for someplace to eat. We probably could have just thrown a dart and gone into whatever restaurant it hit. There are that many here that appealed to us. Down at the north end on the rightwe found Navarro's, a Spanish Tapas Bar.
We were greeted at the door by the most charming Scotsman who explained to us that if we didn't have a reservation he could give us a table but only on the condition that we vacate it in one hour and fifteen minutes. We agreed to this arrangement and we were seated as he spoke in flawless Spanish to the crew of happy and energetic waitresses. The food was marvelous and we ordered several dishes each of deliciously spicy prawns, creamy crab crepes and my main entree: an incredible lamb kabob which was served suspended vertically over rice like a delicious "sword of Damocles."
Halfway through our meal our charming and genial host stopped to visit. We talked about his wonderful hometown of Edinburgh and how a Scot came to manage a Spanish Tapas bar and speak such wonderful Spanish with just a hint of a Scottish accent. Graciously he offered to move us if we wanted to stay longer. We did and after drinks and wonderful desserts we said our good-byes and wound our way back through the streets of "Fitzrovia" to the hotel. One predominate thought was in my mind all the way: Life is good.
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Travel Journal
Day five: We had planned for day five to be a somewhat leisurely day. It was my birthday and that's always a good day to take it easy and do exactly what you want.
We slept a little later than usual. Had a nice breakfast and lingered over the papers with our coffee. Our plan was to go to the Tate today.
Once again we were on the Piccadilly Line headed west. We changed to the Victoria Line at Green Park and in a matter of minutes we were at our stop, Pimlico. Exiting the station we merely followed the signs to the Tate. It's very clearly marked.
The museum itself is housed in 1897 building right along the river on Mill Bank. To report on what the Tate has to offer would take up several posts so I'll just mention what we had gone to see.
We had read earlier about a John Singer Sargent exhibition called "Moonlight and Firelight." We're both Sargent fans so we were in heaven.
There really is much to view at the Tate. Perhaps the star attraction of the Tate is the Turner Bequest. It is a true treasure not only of the Tate but of all London. The collection is remarkable. At his death Turner left his nearly 20,000 paintings and drawings to the museum. As a body of work by a single artist this collection is national treasure. His watercolors alone would be worth a visit to this most wonderful museum.
The museum is also home to a virtual wealth of the greats of the art world. Rodin's "The Kiss" is among it's many wonders.
It really is a marvelous and welcoming museum. We spent all of the morning there. In fact I forget the exact time but we probably didn't leave until early afternoon.
On a personal note I still had my cold. In the morning I took three of what I thought were aspirin in an effort to knock it out. Aspirin usually does the trick for me with colds. What I didn't realize was that I actually had taken three 500 milligram Tylenol.
I noticed on the ride over that I was beginning to feel strange. By mid morning I felt that I was walking around with a heavy weight pressing down on me. vision was blurring slightly and my God was I thirsty. Soon I felt so exhausted I only wanted to sit down. This feeling was in direct conflict with my desperate thirst. I sat down and rested but my real desire was to bound out of the building and start drinking out of the Thames. Well, that's a slight exaggeration. But I was thirsty.
Not wanting to worry my wife I told her I was feeling a bit tired and that I'd sit for a while downstairs by the restaurant. After she'd gone I went to the counter and order every beverage that seemed healthful. Seltzer, orange juice, cranberry, still water and anything else that looked remotely wet. I sat and slowly drank them all until Joan returned and we stepped outside into the cool, fresh air of England.
As we walked up Mill Bank toward Lambeth Bridge we turned to see the Tate and, in the distance, Vauxhall Bridge diminishing in size the further we walked. I don't know if it was the massive infusion of liquids or the fresh air but the feelings I had experienced earlier were subsiding rapidly. By the time we reached Victoria Tower Gardens, where we sat a while looking out across the river, I was feeling much better. By the time we were at Parliament it was as if it had never happened. I felt perfectly fine. And now feeling out of the woods and cocky I thought "It would have killed a lesser man."
We paused in front of the buildings that house Parliament looking at the statue of Oliver Cromwell. It made me think of the statue of Charles I at the other end of this magnificent street and the words of Thomas Appleton on Whitehall: " At one end you'll find a statue of one of our Kings who was beheaded; at the other, a monument to the man who did it. This is just an example of our attempts to be fair to everybody."
We walked across Westminster Bridge to the other side of the Thames and stood for a while watching tourists from all over the globe take picture of those regal buildings with Big Ben standing at the head of it all like a great lighthouse. I recommend that vantage point very highly. Quite sobering.
Later we continued down Whitehall stopping only at the Horseguards for the simple yet elegant ceremony of the changing of the sentries at the gatehouse.
Soon we were back at the Tavistock. A nap was now in order before venturing out tonight for my birthday dinner. We had made a 7:30 reservation at Rules for this special occasion.
In 1798 while Napoleon was mounting his Egyptian campaign Thomas Rule was preparing to open his restaurant and it was an immediate success. Now, two hundred years later I would be celebrating my 52nd birthday at this wonderful London landmark. My wife had told them it was my birthday and they gave us a coveted corner table in the main dining room. The best table in the house in my opinion as it affords you a view not only of each other but the entire room as you dine.
We started off with a martini for me and champagne for Joan. For soup, the Stilton & broccoli with toasted almonds. For entrees I had the Partridge with fois gras, pease pudding and thyme sauce and Joan had the Wild Salmon filet. And a "jug" of the house Claret.
For dessert I had the Sticky Toffee Pudding with butterscotch and vanilla custard and Joan had the Dark Chocolate Pudding Souffle.
And finally coffee and a single malt scotch. Well, my God, It was my birthday!
If I went to Rules with expectations it lived up to every one of them. The food the service and the atmosphere were "smashing!". To say the least.
Rules even has it's own game preserve in the High Pennines from which all it game and fish dishes come.
As we surveyed the dining room I could imagine the star-studded clientele that frequented this place over the many years of it existence. Writers like Dickens, Thackery, H.G. Wells, Waugh, Le Carre, Dick Francis and Graham Greene.
Greene in fact, although a voluntary exile from England, always returned from France every year on his birthday to celebrate at Rules.
Stage and screen stars like Olivier, Gable, Keaton, Chaplin, Barrymore, Laughton and Rex Harrison dined here and their pictures adorn the walls.
This, truly, was a birthday dinner that I will never forget.
Day six: We began day six with coffee and bagel sandwiches at Manhattan Coffee Co...... Since it was Sunday we lingered a while over the papers on the sofas. By this time we were beginning to recognize people here. We exchanged "good mornings" with the regulars among whom we counted ourselves. For this week at least.
After breakfast Joan had to go back up to the room for something or other so I took the opportunity to run over to the ATM by Russell Square. I popped my card into the slot and was politely asked (even the machines in England are polite) what language I wished. English. I was then prompted to enter my PIN . Which I did. And finally what amount of money I wanted. I punched in the amount. The machine took a quick look at the state of my finances and after determining that I was a good risk delivered the appropriate bills. "Thank you and have a pleasant day." said the machine. "And you as well" I answered.
Joan met me in front of the Tavistock and in a few minutes we were on the tube once more winging our way across London. At Gloucester Road we changed from the Piccadilly Line to the District line and Watson and I were off on another adventure. This one entitled "The Adventure of the Thames Walk."
In a short time were at the Richmond Station. As we tried to exit the turnstiles we received an ominous warning: SEEK ASSISTANCE! Our pass was returned to us but the gates didn't open. At the end of the turnstiles a guard beckoned us. No mystery here. Through the process of deductive reasoning I determined that we had simply ventured out of the area covered by our zones 1&2 pass. Richmond is in zone 4. This was quickly remedied by paying the nice man £1.10 each.
Outside we surveyed the town of Richmond. A pleasant little town, Richmond owes it's name to Henry VII who built a Palace here in the late 15th century. Henry, the first Tudor King, built his palace on the site of a the 12th century Sheen Palace and named it Richmond after his estate and hunting ground in Yorkshire.
We found an alley opposite the station which leads to Richmond Green on the street parallel to Kew Road. Before we crossed onto the Green itself we stopped by the Richmond Theater for a look. The theater building's red brick front offers a splendid example of Victorian use of brick and terra cotta.
Crossing the street we walked diagonally across the Green towards the gate of the remains of Richmond Palace. I could feel the presence of the ghosts of brave Tudor knights as we walked along. This green was used as a jousting field centuries ago. On the gateway you will see Henry's Coat of Arms. Richmond was also used extensively by Henry VIII and Elizabeth I died here. On the other side of the palace is a road which will lead you to the river. The charming White Swan Pub is just before the bridge. At the foot of the bridge is a path leading off to the right. If you take it you'll follow the Thames as it winds it's way up to Kew.
After about fifty yards we came to the footbridge that spans the river at the point of Richmond Lock. We walked to the center of the bridge for a better look at the river and the lock.
The morning was brisk but sunny and nearly cloudless as we meandered along river bank. Huge white Herons sat placidly watching us pass, turning their heads occasionally to judge the rowers gliding silently and swiftly along practicing presumably for the Henley or some other regatta.
To our left the River of History flowed on majestically while over our heads what appeared to be wild parakeets squawked out their noisy song as they darted from branch to branch. On the left side of the path the moist dark forest of Henry's Deer Park beckoned us to enter. The deep moat surrounding it was covered with a deceivingly thin layer of moss. So perfect and untouched was it's surface one might be tempted to try to walk across it into the forest.
Gazing across the river we could see the steeple of a church in what we learned later was the tiny village of Isleworth. The walk is only three or four miles and could easily be done in less than two hours. But we took much longer. Stopping everywhere to look and listen and to breathe in that delightful, indescribable scent of river and forest. We passed many locals along the way. Mostly dog walkers and the occasional cyclist.
Finally well after noon we came to Kew Bridge. From my photocopied map I knew we had to turn right here and cross Kew Green to enter the Royal Botanical Gardens as they are properly called. From the road behind the park we could see the rear of the wonderfully eerie Kew Palace. As beautiful as it is the building has, to me, a sad sort of loneliness to it. We used it as a beacon to find the gate to the park. We found the entryway to the gardens and paid the fee (£5.00).
If you haven't been to Kew all I can say is: Go! If you have even so much as a window box you will be inspired. It is a masterpiece of landscape genius.
As we entered our second stop (after a long walk by a rushing body of water you can guess where our fist stop was) was the magnificent Palm House. I really do think that the Palm House is worth the price of admission by itself. This huge Victorian glasshouse is majestically positioned on the pond and directly in front of Kew's breathtaking Rose Garden. To it's right is the charming Water Lilly House and to it's left is the Temple of Bellona.
As we entered the Palm House we were immediately dwarfed by the massive palm trees stretching up to the catwalk that runs around the roofline of the building. We climbed up on it. It's fascinating to look down upon the tops of these giants. Not a view one would normally ever get.
In the basement of the Palm House is a display of marine plant and animal life. The tanks house displays of ocean vegetation such as coral and algae as well as the fish that are sustained by them. I found it more fascinating than any "aquarium" I'd ever beento in that the fish were not the stars of the show but the marine vegetation without which life as we know it would cease to exist.
By now we were getting hungry so we headed over to the Orangery which houses a really delightful cafeteria restaurant. We lunched on seafood pie made the way a Shepherd's Pie is made with a thick "crust" of mashed potatoes and served with wonderfully fresh broccoli and carrots. Even a pint of bitter to wash it all down. I'm a simple man, it doesn't take much to make me happy I thought as we dined.
After lunch Joan browsed through he gift shop housed in the same building and I sat outside on a bench enjoying the warm afternoon sun. That phrase keeps coming back to me: Life is Good!
When Joan joined me outside we walked around behind the Orangery to the Filmy Fern House. The mood in the Filmy Fern House was magical. Even down to the smell of a long-hidden glade in an ancient forest. Wonderful! I expected a gnome to jump out from behind one of the dwarfed trees in the little gem.
We spent the rest of the afternoon roaming around the gardens. The Alpine House, the Princess of Wales Conservatory, the Woodland Glade, the Japanese Garden, the Rock Garden and so on. All wonderful.
If you go to Kew allow yourself enough time. Minimum of a half day. A full day if you really want to explore this 300 acre marvel. You will not be disappointed. There is something here for everyone.
Soon we were on the train again. Tired but excited by our adventure. Happily sightseeing through the windows more like children now than Holmes and Watson. In time were back "home' again in Bloomsbury. Night was falling as we walked up Woburn Place from the Russell Square station to the hotel.
Not hungry Joan decided to make it an early night. I on the other hand set out in search of food and drink. I'd passed a Greek restaurant on Woburn many times and decided to give it a try.
The Yialousa Greek Taverna was a lively little spot with a varied clientele of a few tourists and what appeared to be mostly locals. Always a good sign. The owner/host seated me as he raced around the dining room seating customers and filling water glasses, even taking orders in between.
I had the Chicken Kebab and a couple of bottles of Greek beer the name of which escapes me now. All very good though. A small Greek pastry afterward and another beer and I was ready for bed. It had just struck me that we'd covered a lot of ground today and I was tired. I would need my rest tonight for tomorrow we would be off to Oxford.
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Day seven: Well, today we're off to the charming city of Oxford. It's an easy train trip from Paddington to Oxford station. From the station virtually all of the city's wonderful sights, some dating from the 11th century, are within walking distance.
We exited the station toward Park End Street passing a veritable sea of bicycles in the "commuter lot" outside. Passing along Park End Street we veered off to the right onto New Road. That was about as far as we got. This is an antique hunter's paradise. We browsed through a few of them.
Many of the items on sales appear to be from former students of the Universities. In one shop I found a huge selection of wonderful men's bathrobes and dressing gowns. Some looked to be from the 1930s and 40's. Some priced as low as £20. As I'm in the market for a new one I searched through and found many unique robes in every style and color imaginable. Unfortunately not one in my size.
After the shops we continued east on New Rd. and on to Queen Street. Turning left we found ourselves within a few blocks on High Street. High is the main street in Oxford and walking along it is easy to imagine what this town may have looked like fifty (or even 100) years ago. Walking eastward we passed all the colleges and universities whose names sound so familiar. All Soul's, Queen's, St. Edmund (Teddy) Hall and, of course, Magdalen (founded in 1458 and pronounced "Maudlin") at Magdelen Bridge over the River Cherwell. Behind is the Madgalen Grove Deer Park which makes for some lovely walks.
Boat rentals are available under the bridge at reasonable rates. There was no persuading Joan to rent a boat here though. She remembers all too well the times I capsized sailboats back in Boston. Not something we relished so far from home and hotel. I considered going it alone but thought better of it. The cheerful boatkeeper assured me that punting was as easy as falling off a log. Which was exactly what I was afraid of. With Joan acting as lifeguard I pictured myself sinking below the murky water of the Cherwell. As Lord Peter would say "Beastly way to peg out." Instead we braved the adventure of crossing High Street in the middle of the block to the Botanical Garden opposite the bridge.
The gardens are the oldest in Britain and a wonderful respite from 20th century Oxford. We entered through the 17th century Italianate gateway. The charming collection of plants, laid out in the early 17th century, is housed in a beautiful park bordering on the Cherwell.
Back on the South side of High Street now we walked back toward the center of town. Window shopping all the way we were looking for the Radcliffe Camera. We found it behind All Souls. A bit of local color in the form of an aged gentleman who alternated between sing Verde arias in a very loud (and somewhat off-key) voice and personally thanking everyone for visiting.
Radcliffe Camera is essentially the reading room of the Bodleian Library (right behind) and beneath it the "stacks" house more than 600,000 volumes. The whole area around the Camera and the library is very accessible. We walked freely through all the building and courtyards including the quads of the universities. Some wonders are to be found inside the quads including many ancient gravestones.
Back out on High Street again we walked down two blocks to the Covered Market, a wonderful, unmall-like collection of shops and eating places. This is shopping at it's most painless. There's something here for everybody. There place has a wonderful, old feel to it. Much like shopping outside in days of yore. We stayed much longer than we planned.
We would have eaten there but we had other plans for lunch. Our next stop was to be the Ashmolean Museum over on Beaumont Street. As we were heading up Cornmarket Street we were distracted by Saint Michael's Tower, a 900 year old Saxon tower. For £1.00 we climbed up the ancient steps to the roof, passing many artifacts (like the door from Archbishop Cramner's cell) on the way. On the roof we had what must be the most splendid view of Oxford one can get. The 360 degree view made me happy I'd put my disposable panorama camera in my coat pocket.
When we got to the Ashmolean, ready for the wonderful treasures, we discovered that in spite of all the planning we'd done on this trip one can't get it all right. This was Monday. Monday is the one day the museum is closed. We turned at once to plan B. Which was to do something else.
Crossing Beaumont again we walked down Gloucester Street and the winding network of streets surrounding St. Peter's College. The area is a charming labyrinth of narrow streets with some interesting little shops and restaurants catering to students and tourists alike.
Soon we found ourselves wanting lunch. Which leads us to one of our chief aims on this day in Oxford. I had heard for years about a restaurant that many said was the best in this town. Le Petite Blanc Brasserie came so well recommended I couldn't wait to go.
It's on Walton Street somewhat outside the city center. A bit of a walk but well worth the effort I had been told.
We started up Walton Street. We walked. We walked and we walked some more. As we walked the neighborhood seemed to get a bit....well less like Oxford. Can this be right, I wondered? On and on we went. Finally I stopped in a shop along the way. The lady behind the counter said yes, not much further and well worth the walk. Encouraged, we pressed on.
At last we stood before Le Petite Blanc Brasserie. A rather unremarkable building I might add. But we hadn't come this far to turn back now.
The host seated us and we perused the menu sampling the delicious olives and homemade breads brought to us while we decided.
I started with a wonderfully delicious split pea soup with fresh mint. Joan had the Mediterranean fish soup with rouille.
For her entree Joan ordered the goat cheese and thyme souffle with apple and watercress salad. I had the slow roast pork belly with homemade egg noodles and spring onion in coriander broth. A glass of the house Chardonnay was the perfect accompaniment. This place is everything I'd heard and more.
I know that sometimes when I like something I have a tendency to get carried away. This goes double for fine food. Apparently I lavished so much praise on my meal that the chef had to come out to meet this pilgrim for himself.
The chef, a charming Scot, named Stuart Lyall sat with us over coffee and talked food and restaurants. We told him how much we enjoyed his menu and he thanked us humbly. A more gracious man I have yet to meet. If you find yourself in Oxford go to Le Petite Blanc. It is wonderful. And say hello to Stuart for us. We will return.