My May London Getaway with Mom
14 May 2006 - 16 May 2006
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Updated on May 28, 2006
Sunday, 14 May
My mother and I awoke bright and early in order to take our two metros to
Gare du Nord, where the Eurostar awaited us. As we went through the
immigration lines, I requested, in my very best French, for the official
to stamp on a new page (as I handed him the passport with a thumb on a
fresh page). The official acknowledged me, smiled, and placed the
"departing Paris" atrocity over my beloved Belize stamp.
Well, at that stage I was certainly ready for some English hospitality!
We were in Car 3 on the Eurostar, and as we approached we noticed a large
group of late-twenty-somethings boarding the train. They were all dressed
to the nines, but looked as though they had been put through the wringer.
Very obviously a case of heading to Paris for an all-night party, and as
we climbed aboard, one jokingly told us "you may want to switch cars, as
we're a rowdy bunch." My mother turned and said, "so are we."
As we headed to our assigned seats, we realized that they had been
commandeered by the group and we simply asked them which were their
original seats so we could take those instead. I have to admit that I was
a bit grumpy at this stage, since our assigned seats were facing in the
direction of the train and the new ones weren't, and I get a bit queasy in
reverse transit, but I sucked it up for the sake of Mother's Day and we
buckled ourselves into our new (inferior) seats. It was at this stage
that my mother commented "Oh, they've had so much fun. Heading into Paris
for a wile night. And I love their accents." To which I replied, "Yes,
but they all looked shagged-out," and she told me I was a party pooper.
The train started, and soon after we realized exactly what our neighbors
had in store for us. They hadn't actually *stopped* drinking, and
combined with the smoking, spilling of drinks and massive amounts of
peanuts on the floor, it felt like more of an Aussie hostel than the
Eurostar. One of the girls (closest to us) spent the entire trip trying
to endear herself to one of the guys, though he was probably too plastered
to know it and she had dirt smeared all over her legs and onto her red
party dress. And one of the guys, poor Jamie, was passed out while the
other fifteen partiers came to harass him with "Jamie, are you okay? Wake
up," until he finally did and spent the last thirty minutes of the trip
groping his matchingly-hammered wife.
However, the effect on me of all of this activity was exactly the opposite
as on my mother. While she was ready to be sick from the stale
smoke/alcohol/possibly vomit smell that had permeated the car and was
absolutely sick of their accents, I was getting a fair bit of a kick out
of the entire situation, and by the time we arrived, I was in good spirits
once again. Luckily we spent only a few minutes at Waterloo, as the
huuuuuge line for tube tickets was merely a decoy. I went around the
corner to possibly find a ticket machine, and instead found two more
ticket windows completely deserted of customers. We bought our three-day
travelpasses and hopped onto the tube, transferring once and alighting at
Aldgate.
It was about 10:30am, so I thought we would swing by our hotel to inquire
about bag storage. We nabbed one of those 26£ saver deals from the
Travelodge Liverpool Street, though I was slightly hesitant about booking
a Travelodge over a boutique hotel for my mom's Mother's Day present.
When we arrived, we were sadly told that there were no on-site storage
facilities. However, upon handing the receptionists my booking
confirmation (printed out, within a bound copy of our weekend itinerary),
they had such a laugh at my anal-retentiveness that they "apologized" by
letting us check in early...into the disabled room on the top floor!
Perhaps they considered OCD a disability.
As we made our way to the elevator, we both noticed the smell of cleaning
supplies, which made us very comfortable in the hotel. There was a
half-flight of stairs before getting to the elevator (but there was a
chair-lift in place to help disabled customers, in case anyone is
wondering). As we entered our room, I thought we were in paradise. I had
been warned that the Travelodge was clean, but very small. However, this
room was about five times the size of the last hotel room I had in London
(the Holiday Villa Hotel, for anyone taking notes), and it was *clean*.
Wonderfully clean. There was a spacious open closet in the entrance
"hallway," and a desk with large mirror and television (which we never
used because my mom couldn't get it to work and thought it would cost us
6£...I think she was right about the cost, but I'm sure we could have
gotten it to work if we'd read the instructions). Then there was enough
room for us to do side-by-side, synchronized
cartwheel-round-off-back-handspring combos before we reached the large,
comfortable bed. To keep the review grounded, I'll say that there could
have been two pillows per person, since one didn't really cut it (there
was a third in the closet, but I'll make you guess which one of us took
it). There was additional lighting and all controls were from the end
tables, which was nice. Now the bathroom: This bathroom was huge, but
that was probably because it was a disabled room. The bathtub was deep
and there were railings everywhere, along with a seat for the tub. The
toilet was also surrounded by retractable railings. We were told how
*not* to trip the alarm, but when we got to the bathroom we noticed that
the pull-cord was so short that the only way someone could trip it would
be if they slipped and fell onto the ceiling. As our goal was to *not*
use the alarm, we were in no danger. There was more than sufficient space
to store our plethora of toiletries, and there were towel warmers on the
door. In addition, the room had a very heavy curtain to keep out morning
light (and the noise of The City, since we didn't hear much of anything).
After brushing our teeth and oohing and aahing about our Travelodge, we
headed to the Liverpool Street Station to catch a bus to Camden Markets.
Though that was on the itinerary for Tuesday, I didn't think all the
stalls would be open then and just wanted to give my mom a quick look
around. We rode on the top of the bus while she took pictures of
not-so-exciting things on the way to Camden Town, and then we spent about
an hour rushing through the crowds and eating curries (I chose Moroccan
this time, but it tasted pretty much exactly like the Indian I had last
time and the Malaysian my mom had). The weather held out for us by not
pouring, but it was more than a bit on the cold and windy side. We had
both packed lightweight sweaters (my fault, as I bullied her into removing
the extra ten sets of clothing from her bag), and that was barely cutting
it.
We then hopped back on the bus and back off near the Notting Hill Gate,
walking to Kensington Gardens via some very lovely residential streets.
After we'd each picked our London home, we took the audio tour of the
Palace (boy, is that Nigel long-winded!), then walked out into the gardens
for a stroll. Three cheers for the 2-for-1 passes. We noted the beauty
of the Diana Memorial and then got into the line for tea at the Orangery.
It was only about a ten-minute wait to get an inside table (as it was way
too cold to sit outside), and everything about the Orangery was perfect
for tea. Well, almost everything. There were two problems in actuality,
with a possibility of a third. The first problem I noticed was when I
wanted to wash my hands. Why does such a lovely place have such horrid
keycards to get into the bathroom? I felt like I was using a bathroom
pass, and had to maneuver quite stealthily to keep from having dirtier
hands after washing them than before. There was a cute young girl
"working" there that could just as easily been the bathroom attendant (as
she wasn't actually accomplishing much as a server), which would have
eliminated the need for the card/wood system. I discovered the second
problem as my mom left to wash her hands. The Orangery has very high
ceilings, which make for some great acoustics. However, in a place such
as this, I cannot fathom why three women would make that the place for
their infants' playdate. I cut them some slack with it being Mother's
Day, but I really considered it quite rude to bring three *screaming*
babies to tea, drowning out all other attempted conversations. That said,
the Orangery Tea was just plain fun, though we both agreed that the sponge
cake was unnecessary. Cucumber sandwiches without crusts and scones with
clotted cream and jam were the perfect accompaniment to our Darjeeling (I
think) tea. I also converted my mother to a clotted cream addict, and it
was nice to have the company! The third issue was that a pigeon had flown
in the building and couldn't seem to find his way out. My mother has
detested birds ever since Mr. Hitchcock gave us such a great idea of them,
but even she thought it was hilarious how this bird just kept flying from
landing to landing. One of the servers had put up all of the windows (and
it was cooold...that was really the third problem, and not the fact that
there was a bird in there), yet the bird was just flying from side to
side. I can only imagine how often this happens, as none of the waitstaff
seemed particularly surprised. I'm just happy I wasn't drinking milk, as
it would have started coming out my nose by then. I wonder if the pigeon
just hadn't left because he didn't have the opposable thumbs required for
the hall pass.
After our tea, we attempted to leave the Palace as we had entered, but
some gates and doors had been closed. So I popped back into the gift
shop, mom in tow, and asked how to exit the Palace. I suppose my question
was ambiguous, though I would have thought that by the powers of
deduction, the staff member would have realized that I meant "onto the
street" and not "out of the door I just entered to ask the question."
Though there it was, the instruction to "just step out that door." I
almost didn't make it out of said door before I started laughing, and my
mom was almost rolling on the grass at that stage. Keep in mind that I
had, just earlier that day, told her of my experience at Versailles when I
asked if I needed a separate ticket for the private tour or if the
combined ticket was sufficient (in my best French, of course). The woman
answered that I only needed the one ticket, so I happily pranced out the
door, only to run into a friend who also wanted to take the tour. Thus, I
accompanied her back to the office to purchase her ticket, and was greeted
by a loud sigh by the same woman, followed by "You haven't understand!"
So it's official and universal: I am apparently destined to be considered
a moron by all palace staff.
We then hopped onto a bus that took us to Regent Street, and poked into a
few shops (buying a traditional newsboy-type cap for my grandfather and
some English soaps, bubble bath and lotions for ourselves) before they
closed. We then booked it to very quickly check out Covent Garden, and
hopped onto the tube there to make it to the Jack the Ripper Haunt walk at
7pm. Oops. I thought I was giving my mother a heart attack with the
train change at Monument (where you actually walk between two stations),
and then realized as we were alighting at Tower Hill that the walk wasn't
until 7:30pm. It all worked out for the best, however, as we were able to
sneak into a very snobby-looking hotel to use the lobby restrooms (against
strict orders not to do so by a very official-looking sign posted IN the
bathroom...like I'm going to change my mind at that stage of the game).
We then hopped back into a station to grab some coffee to take with us on
the tour (as it was getting colder). I should note that neither of us
experienced a single bad cup of coffee while in London. For a country
known for tea, I have to commend England for its respect of other hot
drinks. Even my decaf was good.
Donald Rumbelow wasn't in town, unfortunately, but we decided to go with
the non-blue badge guide (we had our choice of three, as it was a very
large group), since he had a nice Irish accent and we were standing
closest to him. The tour was quite entertaining, though I'm not exactly
sure how historically accurate it was. No matter, though, as neither of
us are writing a book on the subject. There were some tense moments,
however, as we passed other Jack the Ripper tours and the guides gave each
other a once-over. I felt a bit like having a West Side Story-esque
rumble. We also met up with a nice girl from Chicago, and stopped into a
pub with her after the tour for a pint. After all, we needed to replenish
our energy from all the Ripper- and prostitute-related jokes we made (all
in bad form, I admit). And the lovely thing about the tour was that it
was very near our hotel. A quick walk through some narrow, dark, scary
alleyways and we were back in business. We then spent the late evening
soaking our feet in bubble bath and preparing them for the next day's
activities. Even my insomniac mother slept soundly.
Monday, 15 May
We got a later start to the day than I'd imagined, but had bought our
tickets to the Tower of London (another three cheers for the 2-for-1
passes) by about 9:15am. I suggested that we pop into the big gift shop
outside the Tower for a few minutes so we could catch the next tour at
9:30am, but my mother took quite a liking to the shop and we missed the
next tour (not in vain, however, because we do have some nice "Royal
Family Playing Cards" to show for it). When we did make it into the
Tower, we decided to do the Crown Jewels and then come back for the next
tour, instead of waiting 25 minutes while doing nothing. We must have
ridden the moving walkway four or five times, all the time with my mom
saying, "Oh, they can’t all be real," and me arguing "Uh-huh" followed
by her "Nuh-uhs." Pinnacles of class.
By the time we had finished looking through that gift shop, we'd missed
the next tour, so we went to see Hank's armour and other fun things.
After that gift shop, we'd missed another tour, so we just waited inside
the nearest shop for the next tour to start (yes, buying more things along
the way). However, the tour was worth it. This time we had the only
Marine Yeoman Warden. A great, entertaining tour, though some of the
stories contradicted the ones I heard the last time I was at the Tower
(but both versions of each story were well-executed). It was only then
that I realized that the Wardens also do Jack the Ripper tours. I think
those must really be quite entertaining, though I was somewhat
disappointed to hear that these decorated servicemen are moonlighting as
regular old tour guides. It was a bit like finding out that Santa isn't
real (that wasn't Earth-shattering, either, considering I'm Jewish, but
you know what I mean).
We then popped back into the tube after taking a picture of Tower Hill,
alighting at Big Ben and again with good Underground-purchased coffee. We
took a leisurely stroll, taking in the Houses of Parliament and
Westminster Abbey, and then walked through St. James's Park to Buckingham
Palace. After that, we followed theartgirl's wonderful suggestion of
walking through Green Park to the food halls of Fortnum & Mason. We
bought some F&M tea assortments and some Lemon Curd Cookies, along with
some snacks, and then hopped on the bus to Harrods.
At Harrods, we were given samples of perfume and lotion, and slowly made
our way to have tea at Cafe Harrods (I think). We again enjoyed scones
with clotted cream, and followed our tea by buying a guidebook for our
Barcelona trip the next weekend. After Harrods, we meandered up the
street, stopping in a wonderful lighting gallery where I picked out the
chandelier I would buy for my London house. We then hopped onto a bus
bound for Covent Garden, where we hadn't spent much time the previous day.
A quick wander around and a sample of some ginger tea later, we walked
into the theatre district just in time for it to start raining. We were
making our way to Rock and Sole Plaice, but instead took cover in an
inviting pub. We had a couple of pints and noticed that Fish & Chips were
on the menu, so we ordered them and crossed our fingers. It turns out
that we made a good decision, as the food was as good as the beer. We
also made friends with the folks at the table next to us, some Kiwis with
a surf/ski/outdoor sport shop just around the corner. After a nice chat,
we decided to take the tube back to the hotel for a repeat of the foot
treatment from the night before.
Tuesday, 16 May
The next morning, we decided to leave our bags in the room for our first
activity, with the hope that we could make it back by noon to check-out on
time. My mom wasn't too keen on the idea of Sir John Soane's museum, but
changed her mind as soon as we entered the house. We both very much
enjoyed the house(s), especially imagining his sense of humour. A delight
was the way the walls in the painting room slide away to reveal more
paintings! We were told the riveting story of the Egyptian sarcophagus by
one of the Soane staff, and then it was time to head back to the hotel to
pick up our bags (which had multiplied at this stage due to all the
shopping we'd done).
We then took the tube to the Imperial War Museum. My mother asked that we
go, since her friend insisted that it was the best attraction in all of
London. My husband had also said that it was very well done, but added
that it probably wouldn't be my ball of wax. Thus, I had no idea what to
expect. The walk from the Elephants and Monkeys (or is that Elephant &
Castle) station wasn't too impressive, but the area closest to the museum
looked as though it was undergoing gentrification. We were stopped a
couple of times by people asking for money, but the looks on our faces
(carrying all of our bags) deterred many more, methinks.
Luckily there was a bag check, and we were free to wander around the
museum empty-handed. The bag-check guy was a real war buff, and I think
he was particularly excited to tell us about all the cool stuff in the
museum (think about the audio-visual guy at your high school, and imagine
him talking about weapons). I have to admit, though, that the museum is
done very well. Its setup is logical, and the displays are impressive.
However, both my mother and I are war imbeciles. I liked looking at the
letters home that were on display, but didn't really follow much else, and
my mom wasn't much better. It turns out that my mother left out a very
important nugget of information...her friend that highly recommended the
museum is in the military. That kind of information would have been more
useful before the trek over there, but I'm glad we got to see it
nonetheless. However, we both agreed that my grandfather, dad and husband
would love it. On the down side, there was a huge school group (I realize
I sound like a mean spinster troll, but that's not my intention), and
their teachers were nowhere to be found. Lots of screaming and yelling
and poking at the exhibits. If I were concentrating, I would have found
it rather annoying.
After we finished in the museum, we realized that it was pouring rain.
And that we had three hours to kill (since I had moved Camden Markets to
Sunday, we had some free time). We decided to have some soda (pressed
flower soda?) in the museum cafe, which is a bit on the depressing side
(could also have been the weather). We then wandered through the gift
shop, buying some souvenirs and waiting for the rain to stop. Finally, we
returned to the cafe and had some tea before sucking it up and realizing
that the rain was here to stay.
We walked towards the station, but not before being told by the A/V guy at
the bag check that we *had* to go to the Cabinet War Rooms (he was so
excited that spit was coming out of his mouth). We stopped at the first
bus stop we found and decided to hop on anything going towards fun stuff.
We ended up on a very crowded bus and disembarked as soon as we could push
our way through the crowds. Up we looked and, yes, we were right in front
of the Cabinet War Rooms. After a good chuckle, we walked past Downing
Street and hopped on another, less crowded bus. We transferred to the
tube at Oxford Circus and spent a while wandering around the shops at
Waterloo station, loading up on pistachio nuts and pumpkin and sunflower
seeds. Then it was time for another cup of tea while waiting for the
Eurostar to board, and an uneventful trip home.
Last time I stated that I wanted to move to London. Now I have a
guaranteed partner in crime.