Paris & London Trip Report: Skatterfly's Virgin Voyage with Toddler
May 3rd, 2005, 12:05 PM
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Paris & London Trip Report: Skatterfly's Virgin Voyage with Toddler
Long overdue, here’s my trip report from our “virgin voyage” to London and Paris in September with our 18-month-old daughter.
Consider yourself warned… it’s probably too long, but I hope it’s worthy of the excellent advice and generally good humor I received here when planning the trip.
Though it wasn’t our first trip overseas, there were plenty of firsts for us. First time traveling with a toddler. First time (and probably our last) flying in anything other than cattle class. First time renting flats instead of hotels. First time missing the train, and not just any train but our nonrefundable Eurostar to Paris. And the first (and second and third) time we have ever felt like the National Lampoon’s Griswolds.
This was also a different trip with a baby, and anyone considering travel with children should heed the warnings you get. Travel with a toddler is hard stuff. It takes a few days for their schedules to adjust. You have to forego “fine dining” and forget about seeing every museum and exhibit on your itinerary.
But being the travel junkies that we are, we weren’t about to stop traveling altogether for the next decade. So we just scaled back our goals to include lots of people watching at cafes, playing with the locals at parks, cooking with the delightful fresh food we have always seen in the markets, and enjoying the magnificent architecture and fashion and foreign languages and smells and sights of everyday life in these two very beautiful European cities.
Though it sometimes felt more like an expensive photo op than a relaxing vacation, I have some priceless memories. Like our daughter chasing the birds in St. James Park, and seeing her face light up when she heard the first notes of Evensong at St. Paul’s cathedral. Her pointing to the rich colors of the stained glass inside Notre Dame, and hearing her giggle with her daddy as they rode the Carousel in the Tuileries, again and again and again. I don’t regret the trip at all and can’t wait to go again in the next year or two if we can swing it.
Luckily, my parents joined us on the trip. Built-in babysitters and fellow travel junkies. Though there were times they drove me nuts, I was grateful they came along, not having lived under the same roof with them for nearly 17 years. I loved waking up in the morning to see my mom with her cup of coffee, wearing her fuzzy slippers, playing with her granddaughter. Together, we indulged in lots (and lots) of good wine, chocolate, and cheese, giving us cherished moments—not to mention a few extra pounds on my hips.
Nearly six months later, my mouth still waters for a pain au chocolat from Gerard Mulot, and the apple grillé from Patisserie Paul. And my eyes will always ache to see the Seine.
More to follow…
Consider yourself warned… it’s probably too long, but I hope it’s worthy of the excellent advice and generally good humor I received here when planning the trip.
Though it wasn’t our first trip overseas, there were plenty of firsts for us. First time traveling with a toddler. First time (and probably our last) flying in anything other than cattle class. First time renting flats instead of hotels. First time missing the train, and not just any train but our nonrefundable Eurostar to Paris. And the first (and second and third) time we have ever felt like the National Lampoon’s Griswolds.
This was also a different trip with a baby, and anyone considering travel with children should heed the warnings you get. Travel with a toddler is hard stuff. It takes a few days for their schedules to adjust. You have to forego “fine dining” and forget about seeing every museum and exhibit on your itinerary.
But being the travel junkies that we are, we weren’t about to stop traveling altogether for the next decade. So we just scaled back our goals to include lots of people watching at cafes, playing with the locals at parks, cooking with the delightful fresh food we have always seen in the markets, and enjoying the magnificent architecture and fashion and foreign languages and smells and sights of everyday life in these two very beautiful European cities.
Though it sometimes felt more like an expensive photo op than a relaxing vacation, I have some priceless memories. Like our daughter chasing the birds in St. James Park, and seeing her face light up when she heard the first notes of Evensong at St. Paul’s cathedral. Her pointing to the rich colors of the stained glass inside Notre Dame, and hearing her giggle with her daddy as they rode the Carousel in the Tuileries, again and again and again. I don’t regret the trip at all and can’t wait to go again in the next year or two if we can swing it.
Luckily, my parents joined us on the trip. Built-in babysitters and fellow travel junkies. Though there were times they drove me nuts, I was grateful they came along, not having lived under the same roof with them for nearly 17 years. I loved waking up in the morning to see my mom with her cup of coffee, wearing her fuzzy slippers, playing with her granddaughter. Together, we indulged in lots (and lots) of good wine, chocolate, and cheese, giving us cherished moments—not to mention a few extra pounds on my hips.
Nearly six months later, my mouth still waters for a pain au chocolat from Gerard Mulot, and the apple grillé from Patisserie Paul. And my eyes will always ache to see the Seine.
More to follow…
May 3rd, 2005, 12:16 PM
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<b>London or Paris… your favorite?</b>
You’ve seen the question dozens of times here, and the consensus seems to be that if you love one you probably won’t like the other. And then there’s that old adage, “Paris is to Florence as London is to Rome.”
Since I’m one of those people who adores Paris and Florence and could live without Rome, I didn’t have high expectations for “loving” London. I never even gave much thought to London, until my brother-in-law relocated there for work and it became the only way to get our families together. I certainly didn’t expect to enjoy it as much as I did.
It took me days to adjust to the pace, congestion, and sheer size of the city. I couldn’t help but draw comparisons between the massive urban expanse of London and the more intimate, relatively walkable neighborhoods of my beloved Paris or even Florence. I kept underestimating the travel time to various places, and occasionally got frustrated when it seemed like long journeys back to the apartment (usually for the baby’s nap) were eating into valuable tourist time. And London was so much more international than I’ve ever seen before or expected. I was intrigued by the flights arriving at Heathrow from places like Angola and Kuwait and other exotic locales that don't fly direct into my own local SFO.
And in spite of all this—or maybe because of it—I was pleasantly surprised at how much I did enjoy London. I was charmed by its traditional pubs, ancient churches, and historic architecture—all contrasted against the uber-modern, uber-hip urban life pulsing everywhere in London. Then there’s the incredible shopping, theater, art exhibits, and restaurants—I just didn’t get to partake in much of these things this trip.
We had 9 full days in London, and it was simply not enough. Not enough time with a small child in tow, and probably not enough time even on our own. More than once I caught myself saying, "if only we could cancel our reservations in Paris."
<i>That is, until we actually arrived back in Paris and I was reminded how enchanting Paris can be and why it’s still one of my favorite places in the world.</i>
Since this would be our fourth trip to Paris, we initially planned it as a quick 3-day side trip. Then the in-laws invited themselves to stay with us—hey, we’ll just pop over for the weekend and crash with you—so we changed it to 7 nights. We’re glad we did, because we had a chance to “live” in Paris for a week in an exquisite apartment in the Saint Germain des Pres. This time more than on previous trips, we left Paris dreaming up ways we could actually afford to move there.
So the moral of the story is… win the lottery so you can regularly visit both cities!
More to come…
You’ve seen the question dozens of times here, and the consensus seems to be that if you love one you probably won’t like the other. And then there’s that old adage, “Paris is to Florence as London is to Rome.”
Since I’m one of those people who adores Paris and Florence and could live without Rome, I didn’t have high expectations for “loving” London. I never even gave much thought to London, until my brother-in-law relocated there for work and it became the only way to get our families together. I certainly didn’t expect to enjoy it as much as I did.
It took me days to adjust to the pace, congestion, and sheer size of the city. I couldn’t help but draw comparisons between the massive urban expanse of London and the more intimate, relatively walkable neighborhoods of my beloved Paris or even Florence. I kept underestimating the travel time to various places, and occasionally got frustrated when it seemed like long journeys back to the apartment (usually for the baby’s nap) were eating into valuable tourist time. And London was so much more international than I’ve ever seen before or expected. I was intrigued by the flights arriving at Heathrow from places like Angola and Kuwait and other exotic locales that don't fly direct into my own local SFO.
And in spite of all this—or maybe because of it—I was pleasantly surprised at how much I did enjoy London. I was charmed by its traditional pubs, ancient churches, and historic architecture—all contrasted against the uber-modern, uber-hip urban life pulsing everywhere in London. Then there’s the incredible shopping, theater, art exhibits, and restaurants—I just didn’t get to partake in much of these things this trip.
We had 9 full days in London, and it was simply not enough. Not enough time with a small child in tow, and probably not enough time even on our own. More than once I caught myself saying, "if only we could cancel our reservations in Paris."
<i>That is, until we actually arrived back in Paris and I was reminded how enchanting Paris can be and why it’s still one of my favorite places in the world.</i>
Since this would be our fourth trip to Paris, we initially planned it as a quick 3-day side trip. Then the in-laws invited themselves to stay with us—hey, we’ll just pop over for the weekend and crash with you—so we changed it to 7 nights. We’re glad we did, because we had a chance to “live” in Paris for a week in an exquisite apartment in the Saint Germain des Pres. This time more than on previous trips, we left Paris dreaming up ways we could actually afford to move there.
So the moral of the story is… win the lottery so you can regularly visit both cities!
More to come…
May 3rd, 2005, 12:20 PM
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<b> Yes, but are they baby friendly?</b>
<i>I feel compelled to say a little bit about traveling with a baby because, well, my trip actually WAS with a baby and I hope I can help fellow parents considering it. </i>
Some people say that London and Paris aren’t baby-friendly, but nothing could be further from our experience. Whether we were on the Tube, in the grocery store, or playing in the park, Londoners were overtly friendly to us. They grabbed our daughter’s hands, played peek-a-boo with her, offered the occasional parenting tip, and helped us find special items or baby products. And every time we took the Tube with the stroller, I was shocked that complete strangers and exhausted commuters would offer to help carry bags, or lend a hand with the stroller on the stairs, or hold the door for us. (We don’t get that level of kindness here on BART.)
Likewise, in Paris in the Saint Germain des Pres where we stayed, there were babies and strollers everywhere. I often saw the same Parisienne moms at different times, coming or going to school or the park, and we even exchanged a few knowing smiles. And with the stroller, I was always careful and courteous to ask before taking it into a small shop or boutique, and always invited in when they just as easily could have said no. As I’ve always said about Paris, you get back what you give. The Parisiens, in spite of what many people like to insinuate, were excessively polite to us—and even a little uncharacteristically “friendly” this time—with a toddler in tow.
Admittedly, you need to exercise some good sense in where you take your child—like fine restaurants, the theatre, or other quiet, adult-oriented soirees. But the fact is that families with children live and abound in these two cities, and I saw as many children at restaurants and museums as I did at the parks and playgrounds. You might need to master a quick escape strategy if your child—like mine did—starts to fuss in a museum. Or you tag team with one parent while the other goes outside to play with the pigeons.
In London we used the Tube (with and without the stroller) a handful of times before switching to taxis. There was a lot of work happening on our lines while we were there, so the frequent delays were difficult with a grumpy jet-lagged toddler. It was also unseasonably warm while we were there, making the trains like hot tin cans. And since we didn’t buy a pass (thinking we wouldn’t use the Tube too much), the point-to-point fares became expensive. So we took a cue from our in-laws who were cabbing it everywhere, and often hopped on taxis for the shorter trips. It was just easier, quicker, and not generally more expensive. On the other hand, my smart-traveling parents bought their passes the day we landed and used them extensively every day, traipsing off to Kew and Trafalgar Square and Hampstead and various other cool places whenever we let them loose.
I’ll admit, I had a hard time understanding the point-to-point Tube fares. And we were surprised when, about half of the time, they made us buy our toddler a ticket even though she was not yet two and should have (as we understood it) traveled free. Yet another comparison to Paris: I much prefer the simplicity of the little green billets (or are they purple now?) for any ride within central Paris. And once we were in Paris, we ended up taking the Metro only a couple times. Not simply because it’s more manageable on foot but because we didn’t feel very compelled to race around like we did in London.
<i>I promise, the trip report is coming, soon.</i>
<i>I feel compelled to say a little bit about traveling with a baby because, well, my trip actually WAS with a baby and I hope I can help fellow parents considering it. </i>
Some people say that London and Paris aren’t baby-friendly, but nothing could be further from our experience. Whether we were on the Tube, in the grocery store, or playing in the park, Londoners were overtly friendly to us. They grabbed our daughter’s hands, played peek-a-boo with her, offered the occasional parenting tip, and helped us find special items or baby products. And every time we took the Tube with the stroller, I was shocked that complete strangers and exhausted commuters would offer to help carry bags, or lend a hand with the stroller on the stairs, or hold the door for us. (We don’t get that level of kindness here on BART.)
Likewise, in Paris in the Saint Germain des Pres where we stayed, there were babies and strollers everywhere. I often saw the same Parisienne moms at different times, coming or going to school or the park, and we even exchanged a few knowing smiles. And with the stroller, I was always careful and courteous to ask before taking it into a small shop or boutique, and always invited in when they just as easily could have said no. As I’ve always said about Paris, you get back what you give. The Parisiens, in spite of what many people like to insinuate, were excessively polite to us—and even a little uncharacteristically “friendly” this time—with a toddler in tow.
Admittedly, you need to exercise some good sense in where you take your child—like fine restaurants, the theatre, or other quiet, adult-oriented soirees. But the fact is that families with children live and abound in these two cities, and I saw as many children at restaurants and museums as I did at the parks and playgrounds. You might need to master a quick escape strategy if your child—like mine did—starts to fuss in a museum. Or you tag team with one parent while the other goes outside to play with the pigeons.
In London we used the Tube (with and without the stroller) a handful of times before switching to taxis. There was a lot of work happening on our lines while we were there, so the frequent delays were difficult with a grumpy jet-lagged toddler. It was also unseasonably warm while we were there, making the trains like hot tin cans. And since we didn’t buy a pass (thinking we wouldn’t use the Tube too much), the point-to-point fares became expensive. So we took a cue from our in-laws who were cabbing it everywhere, and often hopped on taxis for the shorter trips. It was just easier, quicker, and not generally more expensive. On the other hand, my smart-traveling parents bought their passes the day we landed and used them extensively every day, traipsing off to Kew and Trafalgar Square and Hampstead and various other cool places whenever we let them loose.
I’ll admit, I had a hard time understanding the point-to-point Tube fares. And we were surprised when, about half of the time, they made us buy our toddler a ticket even though she was not yet two and should have (as we understood it) traveled free. Yet another comparison to Paris: I much prefer the simplicity of the little green billets (or are they purple now?) for any ride within central Paris. And once we were in Paris, we ended up taking the Metro only a couple times. Not simply because it’s more manageable on foot but because we didn’t feel very compelled to race around like we did in London.
<i>I promise, the trip report is coming, soon.</i>
May 3rd, 2005, 12:51 PM
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Hi skatterfly-
I remember that you were getting ready to leave for your trip just as I began planning my own trip to London. I'm glad you made it back to Fodors to post your experiences. Looking forward to your report!
kvadragon
I remember that you were getting ready to leave for your trip just as I began planning my own trip to London. I'm glad you made it back to Fodors to post your experiences. Looking forward to your report!
kvadragon
May 3rd, 2005, 01:17 PM
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<b>Just a bit more about travel with babies…</b>
Traveling with a toddler was harder than I ever imagined and at times we questioned our sanity for trying the trip at this age. I should have taken better notes the day this topic was covered in class. ;-)
When you factor in breakfast, then a morning nap, then changing diapers, and some playtime, we averaged a few scant hours a day for touring. Less if our destination was more than a quick walking distance from our apartment. Even with a set of parents to babysit and help with the luggage (we jokingly called them our porters), I still needed to be there for feedings and naptimes and bath times and bedtimes. This obviously cut into what would have otherwise been prime traveling time.
As a result, our trip had a rushed quality to it. We had to be satisfied with only an hour or two at the D’Orsay, and a couple hours total in two trips to the British Museum. More often than not, we quickly rolled by stunning pieces of art or history. <i>“Yep. Uh huh. That’s nice. I like that piece. Okay, let’s go.” </i>
We also had plenty of long walks, but to keep the baby moving they were superficial sweeps through whole neighborhoods just to get the overall feel of the place. We weren’t often able to stop and meander and explore the way we would have in previous trips.
<b>So this would be my one serious warning to other parents of little ones planning a European trip with your child.</b> If you can be happy doing many of the things you’ll normally do at home—parks, zoos, naptimes, long walks, the occasional museum—you’ll do fine. If you push yourselves and the baby to see it all, you’ll be disappointed because it simply can’t be done.
And let me state it another way: if this had been our first trip overseas, we most surely would have been disappointed by these limitations. Or exhausted ourselves trying to “do it all.”
Don't get me wrong. We enjoyed ourselves, but I’m a serious travel addict, and I actually <i>want</i> to share travel with my children rather than leave them at home. But I now understand why most of our friends, even those that traveled before they had kids, all thought we were a) crazy; b) brave; c) stupid; d) all of the above to undertake the trip.
<i>I'll keep breaking this up to keep it easier to post, so more to come...</i>
Traveling with a toddler was harder than I ever imagined and at times we questioned our sanity for trying the trip at this age. I should have taken better notes the day this topic was covered in class. ;-)
When you factor in breakfast, then a morning nap, then changing diapers, and some playtime, we averaged a few scant hours a day for touring. Less if our destination was more than a quick walking distance from our apartment. Even with a set of parents to babysit and help with the luggage (we jokingly called them our porters), I still needed to be there for feedings and naptimes and bath times and bedtimes. This obviously cut into what would have otherwise been prime traveling time.
As a result, our trip had a rushed quality to it. We had to be satisfied with only an hour or two at the D’Orsay, and a couple hours total in two trips to the British Museum. More often than not, we quickly rolled by stunning pieces of art or history. <i>“Yep. Uh huh. That’s nice. I like that piece. Okay, let’s go.” </i>
We also had plenty of long walks, but to keep the baby moving they were superficial sweeps through whole neighborhoods just to get the overall feel of the place. We weren’t often able to stop and meander and explore the way we would have in previous trips.
<b>So this would be my one serious warning to other parents of little ones planning a European trip with your child.</b> If you can be happy doing many of the things you’ll normally do at home—parks, zoos, naptimes, long walks, the occasional museum—you’ll do fine. If you push yourselves and the baby to see it all, you’ll be disappointed because it simply can’t be done.
And let me state it another way: if this had been our first trip overseas, we most surely would have been disappointed by these limitations. Or exhausted ourselves trying to “do it all.”
Don't get me wrong. We enjoyed ourselves, but I’m a serious travel addict, and I actually <i>want</i> to share travel with my children rather than leave them at home. But I now understand why most of our friends, even those that traveled before they had kids, all thought we were a) crazy; b) brave; c) stupid; d) all of the above to undertake the trip.
<i>I'll keep breaking this up to keep it easier to post, so more to come...</i>
May 3rd, 2005, 01:43 PM
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<b>And then there’s Forget Murphy's Law of Teething</b>
<i>If you have planned a relatively expensive European trip, count on the fact that your child—who has only gotten 3 teeth in her first 16 months—will suddenly, on the eve of your departure, begin teething again and cut 5 teeth in 14 days. </i>
Yes, this really happened to us.
And the teething pain, combined with her jet lag and being in a strange new place, unsettled her so badly that she refused to eat solid foods for the first 5 days of the trip.
One of my initial questions here at Fodor’s was whether it was easy to breastfeed in London and Paris, and the quick answer is “Yes, especially if you have to.”
I have a long list of all the places I nursed in public, out of sheer necessity with a tired, teething baby who wanted to nurse several times a day. It’s very easy to be discrete, and most people don’t even realize or care what’s going on. One man asked me directions and another (seriously) tried to hand me a camera to take his photo, all with my daughter latched on.
I also brought and used about 8 bottles of Infant Advil on the trip because it’s the only drug that would knock out her teething pain. Yes, you <i>can</i> easily find the UK equivalent, Nurofen, but in looking at the package in London I saw it warns of possible stomach upset and a diuretic effect. So I’m satisfied that I schlepped those Advil bottles in my carry on. I really wouldn’t have wanted to give her something that might cause the runs, making her feel even worse.
<i>need to keep breaking it up to post...</i>
<i>If you have planned a relatively expensive European trip, count on the fact that your child—who has only gotten 3 teeth in her first 16 months—will suddenly, on the eve of your departure, begin teething again and cut 5 teeth in 14 days. </i>
Yes, this really happened to us.
And the teething pain, combined with her jet lag and being in a strange new place, unsettled her so badly that she refused to eat solid foods for the first 5 days of the trip.
One of my initial questions here at Fodor’s was whether it was easy to breastfeed in London and Paris, and the quick answer is “Yes, especially if you have to.”
I have a long list of all the places I nursed in public, out of sheer necessity with a tired, teething baby who wanted to nurse several times a day. It’s very easy to be discrete, and most people don’t even realize or care what’s going on. One man asked me directions and another (seriously) tried to hand me a camera to take his photo, all with my daughter latched on.
I also brought and used about 8 bottles of Infant Advil on the trip because it’s the only drug that would knock out her teething pain. Yes, you <i>can</i> easily find the UK equivalent, Nurofen, but in looking at the package in London I saw it warns of possible stomach upset and a diuretic effect. So I’m satisfied that I schlepped those Advil bottles in my carry on. I really wouldn’t have wanted to give her something that might cause the runs, making her feel even worse.
<i>need to keep breaking it up to post...</i>
May 3rd, 2005, 01:45 PM
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In spite of it all, our toddler was a real trooper. She loves being on trains and buses, and she would squeal in delight every time a bus, truck, or fire engine drove by. She also discovered pigeons and geese, and we spent a lot of time in the parks feeding and chasing them.
She eventually started eating and sleeping well again on the trip, and I am so happy we had this time together as a family. And it’s pretty cool to have pictures of her with places like Notre Dame and the Eiffel Tower as the backdrop.
I will say that the list of what we didn’t see far outnumbers the list of what we saw. I’m not complaining, and I don’t think we could have actually <i>done</i> any more than we did on the trip.
Our 9 days in London flew by in a blur, and we missed a lot of what first-timers usually see. I really regret missing the Tower, and I would have enjoyed going on at least one of the London Walks. We didn’t go to Kensington Palace, or Hampton Court, or Buckingham Palace (and the Palace rooms were actuallly <i>open</i> when we were there). We never made it to Bath, or Hampstead, or Kew, or any of the other charming places I had so diligently researched before our trip. And surprisingly, we didn’t even do “baby” things like the London zoo or the aquarium, or Hamleys.
In Paris, we felt there were fewer “must sees” because it was our fourth trip and we deliberately kept our wish list to a few favorites. Even so, we missed going back to the Rodin Gardens, didn’t see as many street markets as we intended, and didn’t branch out to new places. But hey, all the more reason to go back to both cities.
<i>So what DID we see, you ask? Seems like an excellent segue to the “report” in my report. Thanks for reading this far.</i>
She eventually started eating and sleeping well again on the trip, and I am so happy we had this time together as a family. And it’s pretty cool to have pictures of her with places like Notre Dame and the Eiffel Tower as the backdrop.
I will say that the list of what we didn’t see far outnumbers the list of what we saw. I’m not complaining, and I don’t think we could have actually <i>done</i> any more than we did on the trip.
Our 9 days in London flew by in a blur, and we missed a lot of what first-timers usually see. I really regret missing the Tower, and I would have enjoyed going on at least one of the London Walks. We didn’t go to Kensington Palace, or Hampton Court, or Buckingham Palace (and the Palace rooms were actuallly <i>open</i> when we were there). We never made it to Bath, or Hampstead, or Kew, or any of the other charming places I had so diligently researched before our trip. And surprisingly, we didn’t even do “baby” things like the London zoo or the aquarium, or Hamleys.
In Paris, we felt there were fewer “must sees” because it was our fourth trip and we deliberately kept our wish list to a few favorites. Even so, we missed going back to the Rodin Gardens, didn’t see as many street markets as we intended, and didn’t branch out to new places. But hey, all the more reason to go back to both cities.
<i>So what DID we see, you ask? Seems like an excellent segue to the “report” in my report. Thanks for reading this far.</i>
May 3rd, 2005, 01:55 PM
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<i>Well, without further ado, here's the Trip Report. </i>
<b>SFO to London on Virgin Atlantic</b>
We knew the baby would be in my arms for much of the flight any way we sliced it, so we splurged for the larger seats in Virgin’s Premium Economy. Even though it’s the same flight crew and food as in Economy, the extra physical space on such a long flight was worth every penny.
It’ll be hard to go back to coach.
I was impressed with Virgin after four previous trips with Air France and Alitalia. The flight crew was exceptional and our food was probably the best airline food we’ve ever had. The baby did remarkably well and didn’t cry once on the flight over.
I nursed her during takeoff and landing, and she stayed latched on for much of the flight… so we all got some sleep, too. When she did get a little bored mid-flight, the 85,000 or so stickers I brought worked wonders.
She also played quietly with a friendly woman in front of us who had left her own toddler at home in London for two weeks while she had been in the US on business. She was so excited to see another baby that I thought she might actually grab my daughter and snuggle her the whole flight.
She was very sweet, and told me all about the very potent infant teething remedies—ahem... narcotics... <i>“oh we just knock them out, dear”</i>—available in the UK. She quickly eased my lingering fears of being a possible nuisance to fellow passengers.
Speaking of fellow passengers, I finally met someone who was worthy of the “most annoying” list. The other woman in front of us (not traveling with the previously mentioned woman) seemed to have a set routine for getting upgrades from the airline and she was hell bent on irritating everyone around her.
First, as soon as she saw us, she only half-jokingly said, “Oh, you have a baby? Maybe they’ll upgrade me to Upper Class today.” She then feigned a series of “technical malfunctions,” first with her seat’s leg rest, then with her individual video—both of which were fully functional, but she still asked to move up to Upper Class for the inconvenience of having to call a flight attendant for help. When this wasn’t given, she then demanded a feedback card so she could complain to the higher ups.
Then she had the gall to ask if she could use her free coupon for a massage in Upper Class even though (as 2 flight attendants told her) it stated clearly in big bold lettering that it was valid only when actually <i>flying</i> in upper class. She escalated it to the flight services manager, and when the FSM told her the massages were fully booked anyway, she asked for yet another feedback card and complained about that, too.
We were all relieved when she announced to us all she was taking a valium (hooray) and then (again half jokingly) instructed us all not to wake her.
<i>As if any of us wanted her awake on the flight.</i>
<b>SFO to London on Virgin Atlantic</b>
We knew the baby would be in my arms for much of the flight any way we sliced it, so we splurged for the larger seats in Virgin’s Premium Economy. Even though it’s the same flight crew and food as in Economy, the extra physical space on such a long flight was worth every penny.
It’ll be hard to go back to coach.
I was impressed with Virgin after four previous trips with Air France and Alitalia. The flight crew was exceptional and our food was probably the best airline food we’ve ever had. The baby did remarkably well and didn’t cry once on the flight over.
I nursed her during takeoff and landing, and she stayed latched on for much of the flight… so we all got some sleep, too. When she did get a little bored mid-flight, the 85,000 or so stickers I brought worked wonders.
She also played quietly with a friendly woman in front of us who had left her own toddler at home in London for two weeks while she had been in the US on business. She was so excited to see another baby that I thought she might actually grab my daughter and snuggle her the whole flight.
She was very sweet, and told me all about the very potent infant teething remedies—ahem... narcotics... <i>“oh we just knock them out, dear”</i>—available in the UK. She quickly eased my lingering fears of being a possible nuisance to fellow passengers.
Speaking of fellow passengers, I finally met someone who was worthy of the “most annoying” list. The other woman in front of us (not traveling with the previously mentioned woman) seemed to have a set routine for getting upgrades from the airline and she was hell bent on irritating everyone around her.
First, as soon as she saw us, she only half-jokingly said, “Oh, you have a baby? Maybe they’ll upgrade me to Upper Class today.” She then feigned a series of “technical malfunctions,” first with her seat’s leg rest, then with her individual video—both of which were fully functional, but she still asked to move up to Upper Class for the inconvenience of having to call a flight attendant for help. When this wasn’t given, she then demanded a feedback card so she could complain to the higher ups.
Then she had the gall to ask if she could use her free coupon for a massage in Upper Class even though (as 2 flight attendants told her) it stated clearly in big bold lettering that it was valid only when actually <i>flying</i> in upper class. She escalated it to the flight services manager, and when the FSM told her the massages were fully booked anyway, she asked for yet another feedback card and complained about that, too.
We were all relieved when she announced to us all she was taking a valium (hooray) and then (again half jokingly) instructed us all not to wake her.
<i>As if any of us wanted her awake on the flight.</i>
May 3rd, 2005, 02:02 PM
#15
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<b>Arrival in London and Ray’s Transfer</b>
The day we arrived in London was sunny and warm, almost balmy. (The first of almost 8 straight days of pretty high temperatures.) We had booked a ride with Ray’s London Transfers, but apparently he had the flu (or perhaps was out enjoying the sunshine) and he sent a colleague with apologies that he couldn’t be there personally.
You might recall that I was a little obsessed about the issue of car seats, but ultimately opted out of dragging ours with us. We’re pretty glad we didn’t bother, since Virgin Airlines wouldn’t have allowed us to use ours on the flight anyway.
But you can imagine my anxiety when Ray’s driver arrived without our requested car seat, and I about had a conniption. He offered to drive to a nearby friend’s house to borrow theirs. He promised he’d be back in 15 minutes, which seemed suspicious given the traffic situation.
For a minute we wondered if he would actually come back for us at all. We had visions of us stranded in the diesel-fumes in the basement of the Heathrow parking lot with too much luggage and no cell reception. But the guy either had magic powers or good car karma, because he was back in exactly 15 minutes.
Never mind that it was a flimsy plastic bucket seat for a small infant and he didn’t even know how to install it. We just wedged our pudgy toddler into the seat and held on tight for the easy drive to our apartment in South Kensington. No harm, no foul, but it was a bumpy end to the first part of our trip, and not the first time we had trouble requesting taxis with car seats.
<b>The Apartment in South Kensington</b>
Our apartment was located on Collingham Place between South Kensington and Earl’s Court, a spacious 2-bedroom 2-bath flat decorated with some lovely artwork and comfortable furniture. The cozy bedrooms faced the very quiet back of the apartment. The tiny courtyard between the cramped brick buildings was shady and cold, inspite of the sunshine everywhere else. I immediately opened up the windows and breathed in the quiet, cool air and my first smell of London. There was a peculiar blend of musty damp bricks, cooking aromas, and a hint of—I think—propane gas, a mix of smells I will forever associate with London and that cozy apartment.
<i>After just a few short minutes I felt so at home there and could have stayed for months.</i>
The day we arrived in London was sunny and warm, almost balmy. (The first of almost 8 straight days of pretty high temperatures.) We had booked a ride with Ray’s London Transfers, but apparently he had the flu (or perhaps was out enjoying the sunshine) and he sent a colleague with apologies that he couldn’t be there personally.
You might recall that I was a little obsessed about the issue of car seats, but ultimately opted out of dragging ours with us. We’re pretty glad we didn’t bother, since Virgin Airlines wouldn’t have allowed us to use ours on the flight anyway.
But you can imagine my anxiety when Ray’s driver arrived without our requested car seat, and I about had a conniption. He offered to drive to a nearby friend’s house to borrow theirs. He promised he’d be back in 15 minutes, which seemed suspicious given the traffic situation.
For a minute we wondered if he would actually come back for us at all. We had visions of us stranded in the diesel-fumes in the basement of the Heathrow parking lot with too much luggage and no cell reception. But the guy either had magic powers or good car karma, because he was back in exactly 15 minutes.
Never mind that it was a flimsy plastic bucket seat for a small infant and he didn’t even know how to install it. We just wedged our pudgy toddler into the seat and held on tight for the easy drive to our apartment in South Kensington. No harm, no foul, but it was a bumpy end to the first part of our trip, and not the first time we had trouble requesting taxis with car seats.
<b>The Apartment in South Kensington</b>
Our apartment was located on Collingham Place between South Kensington and Earl’s Court, a spacious 2-bedroom 2-bath flat decorated with some lovely artwork and comfortable furniture. The cozy bedrooms faced the very quiet back of the apartment. The tiny courtyard between the cramped brick buildings was shady and cold, inspite of the sunshine everywhere else. I immediately opened up the windows and breathed in the quiet, cool air and my first smell of London. There was a peculiar blend of musty damp bricks, cooking aromas, and a hint of—I think—propane gas, a mix of smells I will forever associate with London and that cozy apartment.
<i>After just a few short minutes I felt so at home there and could have stayed for months.</i>
May 3rd, 2005, 02:08 PM
#16
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<b>Day 1—Getting Settled In</b>
The day we landed, we unpacked and settled in. In the evening my in-laws (who are living in London, hence the trip) came over with their little one (our niece). They brought delicious steak pies (I think from “The Pie Man”) and ale.
<b>Day 2—Bus Tour</b>
In the morning I got my first chance to walk around our neighborhood, quickly, while the baby took her nap. In the afternoon, the in-laws joined us for the Original Bus Tour. It was another gorgeous, sunny day, and sitting in the open top with the sun and fresh air helped us fight the jet lag.
As London’s stunning landmarks whizzed by, I filled my digital camera with shots of the London Eye, Parliament and Big Ben, St. Paul’s Cathedral, Westminster Abbey, the Tower of London, the distinctive pubs, and the colorful bridges. I was struck by how massive and spread out London is, and tried to accept the fact that we would barely be able to scratch the surface of this vibrant city during this visit.
We ended the day with a quick dinner at Chiquita’s in Leicester Square. It’s a pretty mediocre TexMex-themed restaurant (a la “Chevy’s”), but my in-laws were thrilled because they’d been craving Mexican food since leaving Southern California.
<b>Day 3—Lots of Walking</b>
We couldn’t shake the jetlag so we wanted to spend our second day using the remaining time on our 24-hour bus tour tickets. We walked over to a nearby bus stop shown on the tour bus map, but when no bus came we just continued walking up Cromwell Road past the Natural History Museum. We explored swanky side streets like Beachamp Place in Knightsbridge, drooled our way through Harrod’s food halls, cut through Hyde Park, and ultimately made it all the way to Speakers Corner and the bus tour company’s booth—just in time for them to tell us our tickets had expired.
I can laugh about it now, but I think the color drained from my cheeks a little when they showed us the expiration time. I had so hoped to rest a little after all that walking, event though we had enjoyed seeing everything along the way. Apparently, we had only narrowly missed the last tour bus leaving our South Kensington stop, so they reinstated our tickets for a few more hours and offered their apologies for any inconvenience.
That evening for dinner, I was craving a spit roasted chicken I had seen at Harrod’s, though we couldn’t quite fathom spending the equivalent of almost $30 US for a cooked chicken, so we went to Marks & Spencer for one instead and gobbled up a whole box of After Eight mints.
<b>Day 4—Natural History Museum</b>
Finally, the whole family woke up alert and ready for some activity. My parents were probably sick of being chained to us all day, so they took off before we could say “Good morning.” I think they went to the Guildhall while we went up to the Natural History Museum with our daughter. She loved playing outside by the rhino and elephant sculptures, and we spent more time outside than we did inside the museum.
We also walked around South Kensington, but came home early to help get our daughter on a good bedtime routine. For my husband and I, dinner was another yummy roast chicken and potatoes from Marks & Sparks—I must have been craving comfort food. My parents returned well after dark, a little tipsy from the wine bar they discovered.
<i>More to come...</i>
The day we landed, we unpacked and settled in. In the evening my in-laws (who are living in London, hence the trip) came over with their little one (our niece). They brought delicious steak pies (I think from “The Pie Man”) and ale.
<b>Day 2—Bus Tour</b>
In the morning I got my first chance to walk around our neighborhood, quickly, while the baby took her nap. In the afternoon, the in-laws joined us for the Original Bus Tour. It was another gorgeous, sunny day, and sitting in the open top with the sun and fresh air helped us fight the jet lag.
As London’s stunning landmarks whizzed by, I filled my digital camera with shots of the London Eye, Parliament and Big Ben, St. Paul’s Cathedral, Westminster Abbey, the Tower of London, the distinctive pubs, and the colorful bridges. I was struck by how massive and spread out London is, and tried to accept the fact that we would barely be able to scratch the surface of this vibrant city during this visit.
We ended the day with a quick dinner at Chiquita’s in Leicester Square. It’s a pretty mediocre TexMex-themed restaurant (a la “Chevy’s”), but my in-laws were thrilled because they’d been craving Mexican food since leaving Southern California.
<b>Day 3—Lots of Walking</b>
We couldn’t shake the jetlag so we wanted to spend our second day using the remaining time on our 24-hour bus tour tickets. We walked over to a nearby bus stop shown on the tour bus map, but when no bus came we just continued walking up Cromwell Road past the Natural History Museum. We explored swanky side streets like Beachamp Place in Knightsbridge, drooled our way through Harrod’s food halls, cut through Hyde Park, and ultimately made it all the way to Speakers Corner and the bus tour company’s booth—just in time for them to tell us our tickets had expired.
I can laugh about it now, but I think the color drained from my cheeks a little when they showed us the expiration time. I had so hoped to rest a little after all that walking, event though we had enjoyed seeing everything along the way. Apparently, we had only narrowly missed the last tour bus leaving our South Kensington stop, so they reinstated our tickets for a few more hours and offered their apologies for any inconvenience.
That evening for dinner, I was craving a spit roasted chicken I had seen at Harrod’s, though we couldn’t quite fathom spending the equivalent of almost $30 US for a cooked chicken, so we went to Marks & Spencer for one instead and gobbled up a whole box of After Eight mints.
<b>Day 4—Natural History Museum</b>
Finally, the whole family woke up alert and ready for some activity. My parents were probably sick of being chained to us all day, so they took off before we could say “Good morning.” I think they went to the Guildhall while we went up to the Natural History Museum with our daughter. She loved playing outside by the rhino and elephant sculptures, and we spent more time outside than we did inside the museum.
We also walked around South Kensington, but came home early to help get our daughter on a good bedtime routine. For my husband and I, dinner was another yummy roast chicken and potatoes from Marks & Sparks—I must have been craving comfort food. My parents returned well after dark, a little tipsy from the wine bar they discovered.
<i>More to come...</i>
May 3rd, 2005, 02:16 PM
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<b>Day 5—A Very Big Day</b>
Our daughter woke up very early, so we <i>thought</i> we could work in a quick visit to the Princess Diana Memorial playground for some playtime before her morning nap. Nice idea. Poorly executed. We mistook the route for a quick walk, then had a tube delay, then turned the wrong direction away from the park, and then after all the effort of getting there it was closed. Until 10 a.m. It was only 9 am at this point and almost time for her nap, so we gave her a few minutes to walk by the geese at the pond, and then hoofed it home through Kensington.
During her nap, my mom had baby duty while we went back up to Kensington High Street in search of our sanity and some adult time. We did some people watching and shopped for a clothes and music, and returned just as the babe was waking from her nap.
Later that day, we went to the British Museum with our whole entourage of the parents and the in-laws. But it was sheer comedy trying to coordinate with two other couples, two babies, diaper changes and naptimes, and the travel time on the Tube.
We finally made it to the museum at 3:30, just in time for afternoon tea—which we all agreed would soothe our nerves and empty tummies. I was initially reluctant to bring the babies into the restaurant upstairs, but it turned out to be a really pleasant experience. The café staff was gracious, if a little slow on the service, and it was a quiet place to sit and take in the stunning glass ceiling. And the scones and tea were delicious.
With our limited remaining time at the British Museum, we strolled slowly through the mummy exhibit, and then down to the first floor on our way to the Elgin Marbles just as the lights started turning off a few minutes before closing time. We vowed we’d definitely come back to the British Museum even if we saw nothing else in London.
That night, my parents insisted they babysit while we try at least one restaurant alone. So we ventured out to an Italian restaurant in Kensington—Meridiana, about a 15-minute walk from our flat. Our mobile phones were on buzz in case the baby woke up screaming. The restaurant was in a residential neighborhood on Marloes Road, and the food was delicious and reasonably priced for London. We sat at one of their outdoor tables and enjoyed the fresh warm air. We had a chance to chat with the owner, Augusto, about the restaurants he had previously managed in San Francisco before moving to London and opening his own.
<i>We were able to stay through dessert, and walked into the apartment just as our girl was starting to stir, ahem, shriek. </i>
Our daughter woke up very early, so we <i>thought</i> we could work in a quick visit to the Princess Diana Memorial playground for some playtime before her morning nap. Nice idea. Poorly executed. We mistook the route for a quick walk, then had a tube delay, then turned the wrong direction away from the park, and then after all the effort of getting there it was closed. Until 10 a.m. It was only 9 am at this point and almost time for her nap, so we gave her a few minutes to walk by the geese at the pond, and then hoofed it home through Kensington.
During her nap, my mom had baby duty while we went back up to Kensington High Street in search of our sanity and some adult time. We did some people watching and shopped for a clothes and music, and returned just as the babe was waking from her nap.
Later that day, we went to the British Museum with our whole entourage of the parents and the in-laws. But it was sheer comedy trying to coordinate with two other couples, two babies, diaper changes and naptimes, and the travel time on the Tube.
We finally made it to the museum at 3:30, just in time for afternoon tea—which we all agreed would soothe our nerves and empty tummies. I was initially reluctant to bring the babies into the restaurant upstairs, but it turned out to be a really pleasant experience. The café staff was gracious, if a little slow on the service, and it was a quiet place to sit and take in the stunning glass ceiling. And the scones and tea were delicious.
With our limited remaining time at the British Museum, we strolled slowly through the mummy exhibit, and then down to the first floor on our way to the Elgin Marbles just as the lights started turning off a few minutes before closing time. We vowed we’d definitely come back to the British Museum even if we saw nothing else in London.
That night, my parents insisted they babysit while we try at least one restaurant alone. So we ventured out to an Italian restaurant in Kensington—Meridiana, about a 15-minute walk from our flat. Our mobile phones were on buzz in case the baby woke up screaming. The restaurant was in a residential neighborhood on Marloes Road, and the food was delicious and reasonably priced for London. We sat at one of their outdoor tables and enjoyed the fresh warm air. We had a chance to chat with the owner, Augusto, about the restaurants he had previously managed in San Francisco before moving to London and opening his own.
<i>We were able to stay through dessert, and walked into the apartment just as our girl was starting to stir, ahem, shriek. </i>
May 3rd, 2005, 02:22 PM
#18
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<b>Day 6—Strolling Through</b>
While my parents disappeared to Trafalgar Square, we took the tube to St. James Park, which turned out to be my favorite park in London. I liked the close proximity to the Horse Guards and the War Rooms (though we didn’t go into either) and we found a shady spot on the lawn amid the many young London government professionals eating their bag lunches.
While we watched our daughter feed the geese, we felt like a small part of this living, breathing city—sheltered from the hustle and bustle of the “tourist” sites of London.
Later, we walked over to Westminster Abbey, but didn’t go in because it was near closing, so we went instead into the St. Margaret’s Church next door and admired the windows and the artwork before heading home.
From there, we walked all the way home to Collingham Place, giving us a chance to stroll through more neighborhoods—through St. James Park, by Buckingham Palace, along Green Park, through Belgravia, to Knightsbridge.
On a whim, we made a pit stop at the Basil Street Hotel, sort of behind and a few blocks away from Harrods, for afternoon tea. They were very welcoming with the baby, and the room was almost empty, probably because it was at the end of “tea-time” on a weekday. I loved the quiet, the chintz pillows and comfy (though a bit worn) chairs and sofas. Since I wasn’t a great tea aficionado before this trip, this more traditional setting was an interesting contrast to the chic, modern architecture and haute cuisine of the British Museum. Not better or worse, just different.
I have to admit that finger sandwiches don’t do it for me. I’m much more of a scone and dessert kind of gal.
Leaving the Basil Street Hotel, we walked home through Brompton, Old Brompton Road, and into South Kensington in time to get our girl down for bed.
<i>I was so exhausted from the walking and afternoon tea that I scrambled some eggs for dinner and stumbled into bed.</i>
While my parents disappeared to Trafalgar Square, we took the tube to St. James Park, which turned out to be my favorite park in London. I liked the close proximity to the Horse Guards and the War Rooms (though we didn’t go into either) and we found a shady spot on the lawn amid the many young London government professionals eating their bag lunches.
While we watched our daughter feed the geese, we felt like a small part of this living, breathing city—sheltered from the hustle and bustle of the “tourist” sites of London.
Later, we walked over to Westminster Abbey, but didn’t go in because it was near closing, so we went instead into the St. Margaret’s Church next door and admired the windows and the artwork before heading home.
From there, we walked all the way home to Collingham Place, giving us a chance to stroll through more neighborhoods—through St. James Park, by Buckingham Palace, along Green Park, through Belgravia, to Knightsbridge.
On a whim, we made a pit stop at the Basil Street Hotel, sort of behind and a few blocks away from Harrods, for afternoon tea. They were very welcoming with the baby, and the room was almost empty, probably because it was at the end of “tea-time” on a weekday. I loved the quiet, the chintz pillows and comfy (though a bit worn) chairs and sofas. Since I wasn’t a great tea aficionado before this trip, this more traditional setting was an interesting contrast to the chic, modern architecture and haute cuisine of the British Museum. Not better or worse, just different.
I have to admit that finger sandwiches don’t do it for me. I’m much more of a scone and dessert kind of gal.
Leaving the Basil Street Hotel, we walked home through Brompton, Old Brompton Road, and into South Kensington in time to get our girl down for bed.
<i>I was so exhausted from the walking and afternoon tea that I scrambled some eggs for dinner and stumbled into bed.</i>
May 3rd, 2005, 02:31 PM
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<b>Day 7—British Museum and Fish & Chips</b>
When my daughter woke up at the ungodly hour of 5 am, I was barely functional and demanded that my husband entertain her while I slept more. At some point he put her into bed with me for her nap, and we both woke up hours later—refreshed, but with the morning lost.
And my husband had relieved my parents of their naptime responsibilities, so they promptly left for the day.
So I woke up grumbling that our time in London was flying by, and cranky that I had slept through one of our only remaining chances to leave the baby with mom and go back up to Harrods to dream up ways we could spend half our mortgage on food.
At some point that afternoon, we were supposed to meet up with my parents at the British Museum. So we decided to head over to Bloomsbury on the Tube, with a pit stop to Bloomsbury Square to let my daughter chase pigeons.
Hungry for lunch, we detoured over to North Sea Fish (recommended a lot here on Fodors) for fish and chips. But it was starting to rain, and there wasn’t a good dry place to eat outside, so we sprinted to the British Museum with our takeaway bags.
It was there, at the downstairs cafeteria tables, that we enjoyed our delicious, greasy, malty, crispy fish and chips.
After our quick lunch, we went in to see the clock room, which my husband had seen 20 years ago as a teenager. It’s a remarkable exhibit, with amazing specimens of early clock designs.
We arrived right on the hour, when many of the clocks started chiming—an added delight for our daughter who did a cute, wobbly-legged “dance” whenever she heard the music.
From there, we went down to the ground floor for the Elgin Marbles. Controversy over ownership aside, it’s incredible to be able to see these well-preserved artifacts from the ancient world. We spent a long time just enjoying the sculptures, which is where my parents found us a little while later.
Not wanting to miss an opportunity for our daily dose of mid-afternoon carbohydrates and fragrant hot beverages, we went back up to the restaurant for afternoon tea.
Afterwards, my husband and his brother left to go out to a pub for some brotherly bonding, leaving my parents and the baby and I to get ourselves home on the Tube.
But before we left the area, we detoured back to North Sea Fish for more fish and chips—tightly sealed our takeout orders into plastic shopping bags so we could transport them on the Tube to enjoy later, after the baby went to sleep. Even reheated, it was delicious.
<i>More to come...</i>
When my daughter woke up at the ungodly hour of 5 am, I was barely functional and demanded that my husband entertain her while I slept more. At some point he put her into bed with me for her nap, and we both woke up hours later—refreshed, but with the morning lost.
And my husband had relieved my parents of their naptime responsibilities, so they promptly left for the day.
So I woke up grumbling that our time in London was flying by, and cranky that I had slept through one of our only remaining chances to leave the baby with mom and go back up to Harrods to dream up ways we could spend half our mortgage on food.
At some point that afternoon, we were supposed to meet up with my parents at the British Museum. So we decided to head over to Bloomsbury on the Tube, with a pit stop to Bloomsbury Square to let my daughter chase pigeons.
Hungry for lunch, we detoured over to North Sea Fish (recommended a lot here on Fodors) for fish and chips. But it was starting to rain, and there wasn’t a good dry place to eat outside, so we sprinted to the British Museum with our takeaway bags.
It was there, at the downstairs cafeteria tables, that we enjoyed our delicious, greasy, malty, crispy fish and chips.
After our quick lunch, we went in to see the clock room, which my husband had seen 20 years ago as a teenager. It’s a remarkable exhibit, with amazing specimens of early clock designs.
We arrived right on the hour, when many of the clocks started chiming—an added delight for our daughter who did a cute, wobbly-legged “dance” whenever she heard the music.
From there, we went down to the ground floor for the Elgin Marbles. Controversy over ownership aside, it’s incredible to be able to see these well-preserved artifacts from the ancient world. We spent a long time just enjoying the sculptures, which is where my parents found us a little while later.
Not wanting to miss an opportunity for our daily dose of mid-afternoon carbohydrates and fragrant hot beverages, we went back up to the restaurant for afternoon tea.
Afterwards, my husband and his brother left to go out to a pub for some brotherly bonding, leaving my parents and the baby and I to get ourselves home on the Tube.
But before we left the area, we detoured back to North Sea Fish for more fish and chips—tightly sealed our takeout orders into plastic shopping bags so we could transport them on the Tube to enjoy later, after the baby went to sleep. Even reheated, it was delicious.
<i>More to come...</i>
