Visiting My Runaway Bunny in London and Paris
Jun 21st, 2007, 08:09 PM
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Visiting My Runaway Bunny in London and Paris
Now that the school year has ended I finally have time to post this overdue trip report. Apologies in advance for the lengthiness. I don’t travel often, so I suppose I try make the most of each trip.
Since New Years I had been thinking about going to London to visit my son, who was doing a semester of study there. ("If you do Study Abroad in London, I will turn into a world traveller and appear on your doorstep," said Mother Rabbit.) I had found reasonably priced airline tickets through STA, the student travel agency that had arranged his travel. An international teacher ID card qualified me for a discount on the airfare and on Eurostar tickets to Paris. Still, I hesitated: expensive; could use a rest over spring break; so much airfare for only a week’s travel; etc. Then one day an 11-year-old at the school where I teach died of unexplained causes. Amid the shock and grief, I thought “carpe diem” and bought the tickets.
Departure Saturday March 31 from Newark on Virgin Atlantic. Many things had conspired to keep me from doing any shopping or packing until the morning of the trip (freak snowstorm, report cards, ill cat, everyone’s tax returns, concerto performance). Very frantic day racing around shopping and packing.
Packing: New UK airport rules meant only one carry-on. Managed to fit most of my clothes, squished in Ziploc bags, plus daypack containing my camera, into a backpack that just met the dimensions for carry-on luggage. Miraculously, it weighed 13 pounds exactly, the carry-on limit. I wore, instead of packed, my heaviest, bulkiest clothes, including a lined rain jacket and warm sweater. I used a fanny pack for travel documents and money, knowing I could stuff that into the backpack if airport personnel gave me a hard time about it.
I shoved a big, empty duffle into a large wheeled suitcase so I could bring home my son’s winter clothing, books, and souvenirs, plus those of his girlfriend who was studying in Paris. The only things I put in the suitcase were my spare shoes, toiletries that exceeded the 3 ounce size, swiss army knife, a staple gun and very heavy staples for my uncle in Paris, and several boxes of Entenmann’s chocolate donuts for the U.S. junk food-deprived boys in my son’s flat.
Most useful item: I had left my silk long johns lying on the bed after the recent snowstorm and decided on a whim to throw them into the backpack. The long johns turned out to be indispensable items I wore almost every day. They weigh almost nothing, easy to wash and quick to dry, not bulky under clothing, warm in the cool outdoors yet breathable in stuffy museums and theaters. Highly recommended for cool weather travel! Most useless item: the under-the-clothes hidden money belt. Didn’t need or use it because I used the fanny pack the whole time and didn’t care if it was unfashionable. I used caution and also was not traveling in an area with many pickpockets. Item I wished I had packed: a warm scarf. I ended up stealing one from my son.
Last minute packing led to a wild 80 MPH drive up the NJ turnpike to the airport. Security lines not too long, although they did inspect everyone’s quart-size Ziplocs of liquids. Soon found myself in the smallest airplane seat I’ve ever seen. I am very short and could not even cross my legs. Imagine the difficulties for full-size people! The saving grace: individual audio/video systems built into each seatback. I soon had selected several movies for viewing on the flight. Good thing, too, because tired as I was, sleep was completely impossible in the uncomfortable seat and overheated cabin. Oh well. The Virgin Atlantic food was good, free wine, plane on time, no more lesson plans or papers to grade, who cares!
Sunday, April 1 – Arrived at Heathrow around 9 a.m. No problems with baggage retrieval or customs. My son had elected not to meet me at the airport. Too early, he said. He had warned me that the GBPs I brought from home---left-overs from my marriage to an Englishman---are not current currency and would need to be traded for modern money at a bank. No banks in sight, I asked at the American Express Change Bureau and they were happy to swap old money for new, no fee.
Next, the tube station. A long walk on no sleep, wearing the backpack and rolling the suitcase. Long queues at the ticket windows, but a shorter queue for the Travel Centre across the hallway. I still wasn’t sure whether the weekly travel card or the PAYG plan was better, so I opted for advice from the travel centre. Very friendly and polite young woman with a lightning fast calculator compared costs for my various travel plans and concluded that PAYG was better. I was able to get my Oyster Card right there, and loaded it with 25 GBPs and the 3 pound refundable deposit.
Catching the tube was easy. Only 1 train going 1 way. Slow train, but when it emerged into the sunshine I was excited to see the distinctive chimney pots and the deep narrow back yards that, for me, signify that I’m in London. I changed lines at Piccadilly for Bakerloo Line. At each stairway, out of nowhere would appear a helpful person who would give me a hand carrying up the heavy suitcase. At Warwick Ave. station, a steep stairway stood between me and the street. But a friendly Underground employee insisted on leaving his post and carrying the suitcase all the way up, then going over my walking directions and inquiring as to my son’s enjoyment of his experience in London. I cannot imagine this kind of helpfulness back home in the U.S. Even if a station employee wanted to help, there would probably be some rule prohibiting it.
The flat provided by my son’s college is in a lovely section of Maida Vale. I rang the bell and there was my dear son, much thinner (and he was thin to begin with) and his hair ridiculously long. (No barbers in UK?) He let me hug him! I think he even hugged me back.
The flat was amazing, probably worth 2 million dollars in today’s London real estate market. But 7 college guys had, shall we say, redecorated it considerably. Words cannot describe the décor, but let me just say that no horizontal surface was visible, no kitchen implement, no paper, no sock or beer bottle had been picked up (ever, I would guess). Draped over the furniture were assorted roommates and their girlfriends. They were all quite happy to see the Entenmanns.
The plan was to go to Hampton Court, but by the time my son had showed me the treasures he had bought on his spring break trip to Istanbul it was already quite late. We went to lunch at Rouge Café up the street instead. Most expensive cream of cauliflower soup in history. I ate every drop, every crumb of bread.
Only 2 stops on the underground to my hotel, Hilton London Metropole, which I had gotten through Priceline for $80 a night after studying bidding strategy on the www.biddingfortravel.com website. I asked for a room in the tower section, to be close to the hotel’s gym. Never actually had time to use the gym, but I visited it. This hotel was a fantastic deal! Big modern room, king-size bed, large clean bathroom with tub/shower. Hotel is directly across the street from 2 tube stations serving 4 or 5 lines. Amazing. Even my son was impressed.
After depositing luggage in the room, we jumped on the tube to the St. Paul’s stop. It was so easy and convenient to just swipe the oyster card when entering and leaving the tube. Scenic walk from St. Paul’s cathedral across Millennium Bridge to the Tate Modern. Too late for the Slides, a temporary exhibit, but enjoyed the Giacometti and Oldenburg sculptures and other works in the permanent collection. Well, enjoyed them until I began to literally fall asleep on my feet, a new and different museum-going experience. I began to long for benches from which to contemplate the art works, and there were far too few of those. Son was also tired, having celebrated late into the previous night with his rugby team.
Back across Millennium Bridge to find quick dinner. Pizza Express, a chain on a par with Olive Garden in U.S. Smallest portions I had ever seen of eggplant parmigiano for me and mushroom ravioli for my son. No bread, no veggies, no spaghetti. 17 GBPs and we were still hungry. I could see why my son was thinner.
Off to Wigmore Hall, where my son had gotten us tickets to see Christian Tetzlaff perform the first 4 Beethoven violin sonatas. Such a long day. Soon the concert became Christian Tetzzzzzzzlaff with my son periodically elbowing me in the ribs, I should pay attention to the first-class playing and the fine acoustics. Then, back to my son’s flat for a delicious dessert of chocolate donuts and duty-free single malt. Felt quite safe taking the tube and walking back to the hotel even though it was very late. The luxurious room, the clean white duvet. Sleep at last.
Day 2, stay tuned.
Since New Years I had been thinking about going to London to visit my son, who was doing a semester of study there. ("If you do Study Abroad in London, I will turn into a world traveller and appear on your doorstep," said Mother Rabbit.) I had found reasonably priced airline tickets through STA, the student travel agency that had arranged his travel. An international teacher ID card qualified me for a discount on the airfare and on Eurostar tickets to Paris. Still, I hesitated: expensive; could use a rest over spring break; so much airfare for only a week’s travel; etc. Then one day an 11-year-old at the school where I teach died of unexplained causes. Amid the shock and grief, I thought “carpe diem” and bought the tickets.
Departure Saturday March 31 from Newark on Virgin Atlantic. Many things had conspired to keep me from doing any shopping or packing until the morning of the trip (freak snowstorm, report cards, ill cat, everyone’s tax returns, concerto performance). Very frantic day racing around shopping and packing.
Packing: New UK airport rules meant only one carry-on. Managed to fit most of my clothes, squished in Ziploc bags, plus daypack containing my camera, into a backpack that just met the dimensions for carry-on luggage. Miraculously, it weighed 13 pounds exactly, the carry-on limit. I wore, instead of packed, my heaviest, bulkiest clothes, including a lined rain jacket and warm sweater. I used a fanny pack for travel documents and money, knowing I could stuff that into the backpack if airport personnel gave me a hard time about it.
I shoved a big, empty duffle into a large wheeled suitcase so I could bring home my son’s winter clothing, books, and souvenirs, plus those of his girlfriend who was studying in Paris. The only things I put in the suitcase were my spare shoes, toiletries that exceeded the 3 ounce size, swiss army knife, a staple gun and very heavy staples for my uncle in Paris, and several boxes of Entenmann’s chocolate donuts for the U.S. junk food-deprived boys in my son’s flat.
Most useful item: I had left my silk long johns lying on the bed after the recent snowstorm and decided on a whim to throw them into the backpack. The long johns turned out to be indispensable items I wore almost every day. They weigh almost nothing, easy to wash and quick to dry, not bulky under clothing, warm in the cool outdoors yet breathable in stuffy museums and theaters. Highly recommended for cool weather travel! Most useless item: the under-the-clothes hidden money belt. Didn’t need or use it because I used the fanny pack the whole time and didn’t care if it was unfashionable. I used caution and also was not traveling in an area with many pickpockets. Item I wished I had packed: a warm scarf. I ended up stealing one from my son.
Last minute packing led to a wild 80 MPH drive up the NJ turnpike to the airport. Security lines not too long, although they did inspect everyone’s quart-size Ziplocs of liquids. Soon found myself in the smallest airplane seat I’ve ever seen. I am very short and could not even cross my legs. Imagine the difficulties for full-size people! The saving grace: individual audio/video systems built into each seatback. I soon had selected several movies for viewing on the flight. Good thing, too, because tired as I was, sleep was completely impossible in the uncomfortable seat and overheated cabin. Oh well. The Virgin Atlantic food was good, free wine, plane on time, no more lesson plans or papers to grade, who cares!
Sunday, April 1 – Arrived at Heathrow around 9 a.m. No problems with baggage retrieval or customs. My son had elected not to meet me at the airport. Too early, he said. He had warned me that the GBPs I brought from home---left-overs from my marriage to an Englishman---are not current currency and would need to be traded for modern money at a bank. No banks in sight, I asked at the American Express Change Bureau and they were happy to swap old money for new, no fee.
Next, the tube station. A long walk on no sleep, wearing the backpack and rolling the suitcase. Long queues at the ticket windows, but a shorter queue for the Travel Centre across the hallway. I still wasn’t sure whether the weekly travel card or the PAYG plan was better, so I opted for advice from the travel centre. Very friendly and polite young woman with a lightning fast calculator compared costs for my various travel plans and concluded that PAYG was better. I was able to get my Oyster Card right there, and loaded it with 25 GBPs and the 3 pound refundable deposit.
Catching the tube was easy. Only 1 train going 1 way. Slow train, but when it emerged into the sunshine I was excited to see the distinctive chimney pots and the deep narrow back yards that, for me, signify that I’m in London. I changed lines at Piccadilly for Bakerloo Line. At each stairway, out of nowhere would appear a helpful person who would give me a hand carrying up the heavy suitcase. At Warwick Ave. station, a steep stairway stood between me and the street. But a friendly Underground employee insisted on leaving his post and carrying the suitcase all the way up, then going over my walking directions and inquiring as to my son’s enjoyment of his experience in London. I cannot imagine this kind of helpfulness back home in the U.S. Even if a station employee wanted to help, there would probably be some rule prohibiting it.
The flat provided by my son’s college is in a lovely section of Maida Vale. I rang the bell and there was my dear son, much thinner (and he was thin to begin with) and his hair ridiculously long. (No barbers in UK?) He let me hug him! I think he even hugged me back.
The flat was amazing, probably worth 2 million dollars in today’s London real estate market. But 7 college guys had, shall we say, redecorated it considerably. Words cannot describe the décor, but let me just say that no horizontal surface was visible, no kitchen implement, no paper, no sock or beer bottle had been picked up (ever, I would guess). Draped over the furniture were assorted roommates and their girlfriends. They were all quite happy to see the Entenmanns.
The plan was to go to Hampton Court, but by the time my son had showed me the treasures he had bought on his spring break trip to Istanbul it was already quite late. We went to lunch at Rouge Café up the street instead. Most expensive cream of cauliflower soup in history. I ate every drop, every crumb of bread.
Only 2 stops on the underground to my hotel, Hilton London Metropole, which I had gotten through Priceline for $80 a night after studying bidding strategy on the www.biddingfortravel.com website. I asked for a room in the tower section, to be close to the hotel’s gym. Never actually had time to use the gym, but I visited it. This hotel was a fantastic deal! Big modern room, king-size bed, large clean bathroom with tub/shower. Hotel is directly across the street from 2 tube stations serving 4 or 5 lines. Amazing. Even my son was impressed.
After depositing luggage in the room, we jumped on the tube to the St. Paul’s stop. It was so easy and convenient to just swipe the oyster card when entering and leaving the tube. Scenic walk from St. Paul’s cathedral across Millennium Bridge to the Tate Modern. Too late for the Slides, a temporary exhibit, but enjoyed the Giacometti and Oldenburg sculptures and other works in the permanent collection. Well, enjoyed them until I began to literally fall asleep on my feet, a new and different museum-going experience. I began to long for benches from which to contemplate the art works, and there were far too few of those. Son was also tired, having celebrated late into the previous night with his rugby team.
Back across Millennium Bridge to find quick dinner. Pizza Express, a chain on a par with Olive Garden in U.S. Smallest portions I had ever seen of eggplant parmigiano for me and mushroom ravioli for my son. No bread, no veggies, no spaghetti. 17 GBPs and we were still hungry. I could see why my son was thinner.
Off to Wigmore Hall, where my son had gotten us tickets to see Christian Tetzlaff perform the first 4 Beethoven violin sonatas. Such a long day. Soon the concert became Christian Tetzzzzzzzlaff with my son periodically elbowing me in the ribs, I should pay attention to the first-class playing and the fine acoustics. Then, back to my son’s flat for a delicious dessert of chocolate donuts and duty-free single malt. Felt quite safe taking the tube and walking back to the hotel even though it was very late. The luxurious room, the clean white duvet. Sleep at last.
Day 2, stay tuned.
Jun 22nd, 2007, 06:02 AM
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"I cannot imagine this kind of helpfulness back home in the U.S. Even if a station employee wanted to help, there would probably be some rule prohibiting it."
How interesting. There waa an article by Jan Morris in the FT the other day saying practically the opposite, describing how she finds far greater casual courtesy in Manhattan than she ever finds in London. And most of us automatically expect the "love to help you with that case, but Health and Safety won't let me" response everywhere in Britain.
Maybe we all stereotype our fellow-citizens more than we realise.
How interesting. There waa an article by Jan Morris in the FT the other day saying practically the opposite, describing how she finds far greater casual courtesy in Manhattan than she ever finds in London. And most of us automatically expect the "love to help you with that case, but Health and Safety won't let me" response everywhere in Britain.
Maybe we all stereotype our fellow-citizens more than we realise.
Jun 22nd, 2007, 06:21 AM
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lesliec1, I love your trip report. I remember your trip report of your trip to Europe with your two teenagers. After reading this report, I clicked on your name and searched until I found it. I can't believe it's been almost 3 years ago when you wrote that report!
You have a great and honest style of writing. I am looking forward to hearing about the rest of your trip.
You have a great and honest style of writing. I am looking forward to hearing about the rest of your trip.
Jun 22nd, 2007, 05:07 PM
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Wow, it's nice to hear from Fodors friends from the past. 3 years ago I could leisurely write my trip report from my office job. Now, I can't get the internet to work in my classroom and am so worn out that I have to wait until summer vacation to write anything!
I got the teacher ID card from STA travel. You can access STA's website and I think there is a link to view the student ID card and the teacher ID card. The teacher ID cost $22 and required my name, date of birth, name of my school and a passport photo. It was absolutely useless for anything on my trip except for qualifying me for the good airfare deal on virgin atlantic and for the student rate on Eurostar tickets bought through STA. That was well worth the $22. I got one reduced museum entrance fee by saying I was a teacher, but they did not even ask to see the card.
And now, Day 2:
Day 2 started by my sleeping right through the alarm clock. Hotel shower had the most daunting-looking collection of hardware ever, but once figured out, was great. Just steps from the hotel was Starbucks, where I was relieved to see that a venti coffee has the same price as in the U.S., except…it’s in POUNDS, double the cost! And half as strong. Had fun sitting outside with my coffee and the leftover blueberry muffin from the airplane, watching American after American have sticker shock at the counter. A few blocks further up Edgware Rd. I found a Somerfields grocery store. I love to visit food stores in other countries. Here I stocked up on yogurts and granola for breakfasts; rolls, cheese, a tiny mustard jar, apples and biscuits for lunch with my son; small bottles of fizzy water; a large Fanta on sale; a big bag of Malteasers; and about 25 GBPs (and probably weight pounds, too) worth of biscuits (cookies). The UK has the world’s best biscuits, and they cost about the same as U.S. cookies!
I had decided to remove my students completely from my mind during the trip, but here I was already planning to treat them to an assortment of British cookies. I lugged the heavy bags back to my hotel room, carefully placed the yogurts into the mini-bar fridge’s vacant slots, and threw the picnic foods into my daypack. I had read on the internet that Hilton Metropole is famous for outrageously high phone charges and for adding mini-bar costs to the bill, even if you didn’t use mini-bar items. So, ever on a budget, I went to the desk clerk and told him I wanted to use the refrigerator but that I was absolutely not going to eat or drink a single thing from the mini-bar and that I didn’t want to find any mini-bar charges on my bill. I also made sure that the tea bags and packets of shortbread cookies in the room were free.
Met my son on the steps of the Victoria and Albert at lunchtime, he with an hour to spare between class and his internship job. Picnicked in a small park across the street. Off went son, and I toured the V and A, which I love. Two favorite exhibits were closed, historic dresses and musical instruments, but there was plenty else to see. A temporary project had life-size painted plywood figures of people of color scattered throughout the museum. These symbolized the people whose contributions to Britain’s wealth, power, and culture have been historically overlooked. Each figure had a name, a country of origin, an owner-given nickname, and a memory. At first it was odd to see these brightly painted figures in the middle of Tudor, Georgian and rococo-furnished rooms, and next to display cases of ornate silver and porcelain. But it was extremely effective and moving, and added greatly to the experience, and I was sorry to learn that it was just a temporary exhibit. Interesting to see Britain beginning to respond to the movement to fully acknowledge the role in history and culture of enslaved/indigenous/and otherwise marginalized peoples, which is already becoming widespread in museums and historical sites in the U.S.
The other big change in the V and A since I had last visited was the addition of hands-on activities for children. These were wonderful, and I had a great time designing coats of arms and emailing them to myself at home, trying on lace ruffs, writing my own saga, and trying to assemble a chair. My students at home who were not supposed to be anywhere in my mind instead were there constantly, as I fantasized about how cool it would be if there were a special program where they and their families (all of them struggling with extreme poverty and associated problems, and unlikely ever to travel abroad) could somehow visit England, or France, or Canada, or anywhere besides home, and enjoy the thrill of discovery, the shift in perspective, and the self-indulgent fun that comes with traveling.
V and A’s gift shop was excellent and, since admission to the museum was free, I was happy to support the museum by buying gifts for my daughter back home. (Those of you who may have read my last trip report 3 years ago may remember her as Navigator Girl, and my dear son as Complainer Boy, as we backpacked in three countries to celebrate son’s high school graduation. Navigator Girl has just finished her freshman year at college and declined to come to London so she could spend her spring break working with Habitat for Humanity in New Orleans.)
With a few spare minutes, I made a quick run to the dinosaur exhibit at the Natural History museum a block away. I could just picture my students shrieking with excitement at the animatronic t-rex.
Raced back to the hotel and discovered my electronic room key didn’t work. Failing electronic keys is the other thing Hilton Metropole is renowned for on the internet. I had given my son the other room key. He had gotten there first, and his key hadn’t worked either, so he had already traded it in at the front desk for a new one. We decided to dine on take-out from Marks and Spencer food court across the street. Hotel room didn’t have a microwave so we contented ourselves with sharing a sandwich, a salad, red wine, and a pack of half-price caramel puddings. Son had gotten us great seats to Avenue Q. Amazing how generous he had become using my credit card for 5 months… Surprised to find that one has to purchase concert and show programs in London, whereas they are free in the U.S.
The show was excellent, and afterwards my son wanted to take me to a fantastic gelato place he had discovered. “Ciao” features gelato desserts presented in outrageous and fantastic formats with prices to match. We shared a wonderful gelato tiramisu that cost as much as 3 peanut buster parfaits from Dairy Queen, but who’s counting???
Son went back to his flat to write a paper (at midnight), and I went back to the hotel and enjoyed the Zen experience of doing hand laundry in the hotel sink. (Got to use that Rick Steves overpriced travel clothesline again!)
I sat contentedly sipping wine at the table by the enormous window and looked out at the twinkling lights of Edgware Rd., the tube station, and the ugly roofs of factory buildings, knowing that about a mile away, just beyond my view, my little boy now grown into world traveler and budding medieval scholar was helping himself to an Entenmanns donut and buckling down to his schoolwork.
I got the teacher ID card from STA travel. You can access STA's website and I think there is a link to view the student ID card and the teacher ID card. The teacher ID cost $22 and required my name, date of birth, name of my school and a passport photo. It was absolutely useless for anything on my trip except for qualifying me for the good airfare deal on virgin atlantic and for the student rate on Eurostar tickets bought through STA. That was well worth the $22. I got one reduced museum entrance fee by saying I was a teacher, but they did not even ask to see the card.
And now, Day 2:
Day 2 started by my sleeping right through the alarm clock. Hotel shower had the most daunting-looking collection of hardware ever, but once figured out, was great. Just steps from the hotel was Starbucks, where I was relieved to see that a venti coffee has the same price as in the U.S., except…it’s in POUNDS, double the cost! And half as strong. Had fun sitting outside with my coffee and the leftover blueberry muffin from the airplane, watching American after American have sticker shock at the counter. A few blocks further up Edgware Rd. I found a Somerfields grocery store. I love to visit food stores in other countries. Here I stocked up on yogurts and granola for breakfasts; rolls, cheese, a tiny mustard jar, apples and biscuits for lunch with my son; small bottles of fizzy water; a large Fanta on sale; a big bag of Malteasers; and about 25 GBPs (and probably weight pounds, too) worth of biscuits (cookies). The UK has the world’s best biscuits, and they cost about the same as U.S. cookies!
I had decided to remove my students completely from my mind during the trip, but here I was already planning to treat them to an assortment of British cookies. I lugged the heavy bags back to my hotel room, carefully placed the yogurts into the mini-bar fridge’s vacant slots, and threw the picnic foods into my daypack. I had read on the internet that Hilton Metropole is famous for outrageously high phone charges and for adding mini-bar costs to the bill, even if you didn’t use mini-bar items. So, ever on a budget, I went to the desk clerk and told him I wanted to use the refrigerator but that I was absolutely not going to eat or drink a single thing from the mini-bar and that I didn’t want to find any mini-bar charges on my bill. I also made sure that the tea bags and packets of shortbread cookies in the room were free.
Met my son on the steps of the Victoria and Albert at lunchtime, he with an hour to spare between class and his internship job. Picnicked in a small park across the street. Off went son, and I toured the V and A, which I love. Two favorite exhibits were closed, historic dresses and musical instruments, but there was plenty else to see. A temporary project had life-size painted plywood figures of people of color scattered throughout the museum. These symbolized the people whose contributions to Britain’s wealth, power, and culture have been historically overlooked. Each figure had a name, a country of origin, an owner-given nickname, and a memory. At first it was odd to see these brightly painted figures in the middle of Tudor, Georgian and rococo-furnished rooms, and next to display cases of ornate silver and porcelain. But it was extremely effective and moving, and added greatly to the experience, and I was sorry to learn that it was just a temporary exhibit. Interesting to see Britain beginning to respond to the movement to fully acknowledge the role in history and culture of enslaved/indigenous/and otherwise marginalized peoples, which is already becoming widespread in museums and historical sites in the U.S.
The other big change in the V and A since I had last visited was the addition of hands-on activities for children. These were wonderful, and I had a great time designing coats of arms and emailing them to myself at home, trying on lace ruffs, writing my own saga, and trying to assemble a chair. My students at home who were not supposed to be anywhere in my mind instead were there constantly, as I fantasized about how cool it would be if there were a special program where they and their families (all of them struggling with extreme poverty and associated problems, and unlikely ever to travel abroad) could somehow visit England, or France, or Canada, or anywhere besides home, and enjoy the thrill of discovery, the shift in perspective, and the self-indulgent fun that comes with traveling.
V and A’s gift shop was excellent and, since admission to the museum was free, I was happy to support the museum by buying gifts for my daughter back home. (Those of you who may have read my last trip report 3 years ago may remember her as Navigator Girl, and my dear son as Complainer Boy, as we backpacked in three countries to celebrate son’s high school graduation. Navigator Girl has just finished her freshman year at college and declined to come to London so she could spend her spring break working with Habitat for Humanity in New Orleans.)
With a few spare minutes, I made a quick run to the dinosaur exhibit at the Natural History museum a block away. I could just picture my students shrieking with excitement at the animatronic t-rex.
Raced back to the hotel and discovered my electronic room key didn’t work. Failing electronic keys is the other thing Hilton Metropole is renowned for on the internet. I had given my son the other room key. He had gotten there first, and his key hadn’t worked either, so he had already traded it in at the front desk for a new one. We decided to dine on take-out from Marks and Spencer food court across the street. Hotel room didn’t have a microwave so we contented ourselves with sharing a sandwich, a salad, red wine, and a pack of half-price caramel puddings. Son had gotten us great seats to Avenue Q. Amazing how generous he had become using my credit card for 5 months… Surprised to find that one has to purchase concert and show programs in London, whereas they are free in the U.S.
The show was excellent, and afterwards my son wanted to take me to a fantastic gelato place he had discovered. “Ciao” features gelato desserts presented in outrageous and fantastic formats with prices to match. We shared a wonderful gelato tiramisu that cost as much as 3 peanut buster parfaits from Dairy Queen, but who’s counting???
Son went back to his flat to write a paper (at midnight), and I went back to the hotel and enjoyed the Zen experience of doing hand laundry in the hotel sink. (Got to use that Rick Steves overpriced travel clothesline again!)
I sat contentedly sipping wine at the table by the enormous window and looked out at the twinkling lights of Edgware Rd., the tube station, and the ugly roofs of factory buildings, knowing that about a mile away, just beyond my view, my little boy now grown into world traveler and budding medieval scholar was helping himself to an Entenmanns donut and buckling down to his schoolwork.
Jun 22nd, 2007, 05:31 PM
#10
I love your trip report!
My daughter is spending the summer semester on an internship in London and I will not be able to visit her because we are traveling to Europe in August and she will be finished by then. Your report does make me wish that I could do what you did, though. Sounds like a wonderful time.
My daughter is spending the summer semester on an internship in London and I will not be able to visit her because we are traveling to Europe in August and she will be finished by then. Your report does make me wish that I could do what you did, though. Sounds like a wonderful time.
Jun 23rd, 2007, 03:19 PM
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Day 3, April 3rd. Ahhh, relaxing breakfast of lukewarm yogurt stored in the mini-bar and granola, plus free hotel tea. Threw the rest of yesterday’s cheese, the mustard, apples, biscuits and water into the daypack for another lunch on the go. Picked up 2 rolls at Marks and Spencer and a small, expensive coffee at the Italian coffee shop across the street, diversifying from Starbucks in the hopes of getting STRONG coffee. No such luck. Probably a British law requiring that all coffee in the realm be weaker than tea.
Weather so far had been sunny and mild with temperatures in the 60s, but this day dawned gray, chilly, with rain threatening. Thank goodness for the longjohns. Plans were for me to do whatever I wanted in the morning and then meet my son around 12:30 at Waterloo Station to go to Hampton Court, which neither of us had ever visited.
Took the tube to British Museum. (Absolutely in love with the convenience of the Oyster Card—so easy, no fumbling around with money in crowded tube stations. Philadelphia public transit planners take note!!!) With only a few hours to spend in the vast museum, I invested in a tour book and an audio guide. When really pressed for time, I can speed things up by listening to the audio description of an exhibit as I am walking to that exhibit. By the time I get there, I already know what I’m looking at. This is definitely not ideal, but with less than 2 hours to spend in the British Museum, some kind of strategy was called for. I was able to see the Parthenon marbles, Rosetta stone, Mexican mosaic masks, ship burial, and Egyptian antiquities but, as I headed to the mummies (thinking again of my students…), I realized that the museum had grown absolutely jam packed with people. It had gotten to the point where it was almost impossible to put one foot in front of the other and advance in any direction. Every exhibit case was blocked by rows of onlookers. I decided this was a good time to leave. Even returning the audio guide took 20 minutes of wading through a sea of humanity. Such a relief to get out into the fresh air, but even the surrounding streets were crowded with throngs of tourists hastening to the museum.
Met my son at Waterloo Station and we got our tickets to Hampton Court. He was able to use the travel pass that had been provided to him by his study abroad program plus pay a small surcharge, whereas I paid regular price for my rail ticket. My ticket qualified us for the 2 for 1 admission to Hampton Court. The train ride was only half an hour, during which we ate our picnic lunch. From the station, it was just a short walk across a bridge to Hampton Court. The 2-for-1 special deal got both of us in for 13 GBPs. The palace is amazing and the history fascinating, ranging from the reign of Henry VIII to Charles II.
We followed several of the audio tours before heading out to the lovely gardens, which were about a month too early to look really spectacular. Some spring flowers were in bloom, but statuary was still encased in plastic tarps, and many fountains were not yet operational. Very happy to have on the longjohns and my son’s scarf. Luckily the rain held off. We decided to try our luck in the hedgerow maze. My son remarked that his father, the aforementioned Englishman, had told him that garden mazes often had a moral message embedded in their solutions. He had recommended (SKIP THIS NEXT PART IF YOU LIKE FIGURING OUT MAZES ON YOUR OWN) always choosing the “right path”. Since we were short on time, we tried this strategy which worked perfectly, delivering us to the center of the maze (where only the final turn is a left turn) in about 3 minutes. Other maze wanderers, amazed (sorry) at our swift, confident progress and anxious to finish and get out of the cold, followed our lead. Very fun. Thank you King Henry and Mr. Ex-.
From the palace gift shop, we rushed back to the station for our train to London. As usual, we were on a tight time schedule, hurrying to a theater production. Somewhere on Fodors, I had read a recommendation for a fish and chip shop a few blocks down the street from Waterloo Station. Making a right turn coming out of the station, we found the shop, looking rather dumpy as good fish and chip shops often do, about 3 blocks down and across the busy street. Masters Super Fish was exactly as promised. You can eat in or take out, and since we were rushing, we opted for take out. We watched them cook our order, an enormous cod that they cut into 2 for us. They put the cod and a mountain of chips into 2 Styrofoam boxes (they would have wrapped the order in paper except they knew we planned to eat on the run) and we doused everything with vinegar before heading out into the cold. (Cost: 5.40 pounds) The batter was light and the fish cooked to moist perfection inside. Delicious! We ate while dodging cars and pedestrians, up escalators and down stairways, into the underground (we didn’t eat there, which is frowned upon) and back up to the darkening streets. We arrived at the theater just in time, with pains in our sides and greasy fingers and a nice bit of leftovers for a future snack for my son.
The show was Boeing, Boeing, a remake of a French comedy from the 60s, highly recommended in the British press. All around us, the audience was laughing at the show while my son and I exchanged quizzical looks that said, “Are WE crazy or is this show definitely NOT FUNNY?” Definitely not funny, unless one’s idea of humor is dated, insipid, sexist, situation comedy about a poor lothario who is juggling multiple stewardesses from different airlines (lothairio?), relying on his weird friend (the former head of the Globe theater, who did have a comical Welsh accent) to fend them off. Just as the second act began, a person in regular dress came onto the stage and told everyone to evacuate the theater. “Ahh, finally!” we thought. “Now it’s going to get funny.” But actually, they really did want everyone to evacuate, due to a small fire backstage. We got to mill around outside and peruse a variety of London’s finest police, ambulance and fire equipment until receiving the all-clear to return to our seats. Returning to the action, the actors ad-libbed extra lines referencing the fire emergency, possibly the most brilliant part of the entire production. We left afterwards, thinking that the critic responsible for the warm review must have had a special soft spot for the highly respected actor who had left his stellar career at the Globe for a new theatrical life. Either that, or it doesn’t take very much to amuse folks in London.
Oh WELL, I said to my son, borrowing the disgusted push-off and aggrieved tone of voice of one of my always-disappointed students. Such a useful line, I found myself using it more and more. We jumped on the tube, back to the hotel, and sat in front of the big window together, drinking red wine and eating spicy cashews from Marks and Spencer. My son is fun to go out with, I thought. How come we don’t do this at home?
Weather so far had been sunny and mild with temperatures in the 60s, but this day dawned gray, chilly, with rain threatening. Thank goodness for the longjohns. Plans were for me to do whatever I wanted in the morning and then meet my son around 12:30 at Waterloo Station to go to Hampton Court, which neither of us had ever visited.
Took the tube to British Museum. (Absolutely in love with the convenience of the Oyster Card—so easy, no fumbling around with money in crowded tube stations. Philadelphia public transit planners take note!!!) With only a few hours to spend in the vast museum, I invested in a tour book and an audio guide. When really pressed for time, I can speed things up by listening to the audio description of an exhibit as I am walking to that exhibit. By the time I get there, I already know what I’m looking at. This is definitely not ideal, but with less than 2 hours to spend in the British Museum, some kind of strategy was called for. I was able to see the Parthenon marbles, Rosetta stone, Mexican mosaic masks, ship burial, and Egyptian antiquities but, as I headed to the mummies (thinking again of my students…), I realized that the museum had grown absolutely jam packed with people. It had gotten to the point where it was almost impossible to put one foot in front of the other and advance in any direction. Every exhibit case was blocked by rows of onlookers. I decided this was a good time to leave. Even returning the audio guide took 20 minutes of wading through a sea of humanity. Such a relief to get out into the fresh air, but even the surrounding streets were crowded with throngs of tourists hastening to the museum.
Met my son at Waterloo Station and we got our tickets to Hampton Court. He was able to use the travel pass that had been provided to him by his study abroad program plus pay a small surcharge, whereas I paid regular price for my rail ticket. My ticket qualified us for the 2 for 1 admission to Hampton Court. The train ride was only half an hour, during which we ate our picnic lunch. From the station, it was just a short walk across a bridge to Hampton Court. The 2-for-1 special deal got both of us in for 13 GBPs. The palace is amazing and the history fascinating, ranging from the reign of Henry VIII to Charles II.
We followed several of the audio tours before heading out to the lovely gardens, which were about a month too early to look really spectacular. Some spring flowers were in bloom, but statuary was still encased in plastic tarps, and many fountains were not yet operational. Very happy to have on the longjohns and my son’s scarf. Luckily the rain held off. We decided to try our luck in the hedgerow maze. My son remarked that his father, the aforementioned Englishman, had told him that garden mazes often had a moral message embedded in their solutions. He had recommended (SKIP THIS NEXT PART IF YOU LIKE FIGURING OUT MAZES ON YOUR OWN) always choosing the “right path”. Since we were short on time, we tried this strategy which worked perfectly, delivering us to the center of the maze (where only the final turn is a left turn) in about 3 minutes. Other maze wanderers, amazed (sorry) at our swift, confident progress and anxious to finish and get out of the cold, followed our lead. Very fun. Thank you King Henry and Mr. Ex-.
From the palace gift shop, we rushed back to the station for our train to London. As usual, we were on a tight time schedule, hurrying to a theater production. Somewhere on Fodors, I had read a recommendation for a fish and chip shop a few blocks down the street from Waterloo Station. Making a right turn coming out of the station, we found the shop, looking rather dumpy as good fish and chip shops often do, about 3 blocks down and across the busy street. Masters Super Fish was exactly as promised. You can eat in or take out, and since we were rushing, we opted for take out. We watched them cook our order, an enormous cod that they cut into 2 for us. They put the cod and a mountain of chips into 2 Styrofoam boxes (they would have wrapped the order in paper except they knew we planned to eat on the run) and we doused everything with vinegar before heading out into the cold. (Cost: 5.40 pounds) The batter was light and the fish cooked to moist perfection inside. Delicious! We ate while dodging cars and pedestrians, up escalators and down stairways, into the underground (we didn’t eat there, which is frowned upon) and back up to the darkening streets. We arrived at the theater just in time, with pains in our sides and greasy fingers and a nice bit of leftovers for a future snack for my son.
The show was Boeing, Boeing, a remake of a French comedy from the 60s, highly recommended in the British press. All around us, the audience was laughing at the show while my son and I exchanged quizzical looks that said, “Are WE crazy or is this show definitely NOT FUNNY?” Definitely not funny, unless one’s idea of humor is dated, insipid, sexist, situation comedy about a poor lothario who is juggling multiple stewardesses from different airlines (lothairio?), relying on his weird friend (the former head of the Globe theater, who did have a comical Welsh accent) to fend them off. Just as the second act began, a person in regular dress came onto the stage and told everyone to evacuate the theater. “Ahh, finally!” we thought. “Now it’s going to get funny.” But actually, they really did want everyone to evacuate, due to a small fire backstage. We got to mill around outside and peruse a variety of London’s finest police, ambulance and fire equipment until receiving the all-clear to return to our seats. Returning to the action, the actors ad-libbed extra lines referencing the fire emergency, possibly the most brilliant part of the entire production. We left afterwards, thinking that the critic responsible for the warm review must have had a special soft spot for the highly respected actor who had left his stellar career at the Globe for a new theatrical life. Either that, or it doesn’t take very much to amuse folks in London.
Oh WELL, I said to my son, borrowing the disgusted push-off and aggrieved tone of voice of one of my always-disappointed students. Such a useful line, I found myself using it more and more. We jumped on the tube, back to the hotel, and sat in front of the big window together, drinking red wine and eating spicy cashews from Marks and Spencer. My son is fun to go out with, I thought. How come we don’t do this at home?
Jun 23rd, 2007, 10:21 PM
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Leslie,
Really enjoying your report,and I even found your previous one from 3 years ago based on what others had said.
I laughed at your comments of Boeing, Boeing. We were just in the Lake District and we were seated next to an man from the area and his wife...they really recommended Boeing Boeing to us and they LOVED it!
Really enjoying your report,and I even found your previous one from 3 years ago based on what others had said.
I laughed at your comments of Boeing, Boeing. We were just in the Lake District and we were seated next to an man from the area and his wife...they really recommended Boeing Boeing to us and they LOVED it!
Jun 24th, 2007, 02:21 AM
#14
How about this horrifying news?
1. Boeing Boeing is the play that has been performed the most times in the world. (Guinness Book)
2. The movie starring Tony Curtis and Jerry Lewis was released in 1965.
1. Boeing Boeing is the play that has been performed the most times in the world. (Guinness Book)
2. The movie starring Tony Curtis and Jerry Lewis was released in 1965.
Jun 24th, 2007, 07:49 AM
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Thanks for your replies! "Boeing Boeing" in the Guinness Book of World Records? Funny! I bet the world's largest communal burp is in there, too, but that doesn't make it worth experiencing. I can just picture Jerry Lewis in the movie version. Now I can picture myself quickly changing the channel... I must admit that British taste and American taste in entertainment are very different. I have heard Britons lovingly rhapsodize over 20 year old re-runs of "Dallas"! and for years whole families sat glued to their TVs watching Lawrence Welk and ballroom dancing (back when ordinary folks were the dancers). On the other hand, here in the U.S. we actually have people who watch "Pimp My Ride". Sometimes, those people even include my children.
Jun 24th, 2007, 02:19 PM
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I too am loving your report. I like the "mom on the street" feel.
My adult daughter and I are going to try a day trip to London this winter, from Paris. I know I want to see the Tower. But, I wonder if you would give me your thoughts on which would you choose, the V&A OR the British museum for our second museum?
Otherwise we will just be shopping and eating before catching the last train to Paris.
Thanks again for a great report, can't wait to read more. Aren't adult children wonderful!
My adult daughter and I are going to try a day trip to London this winter, from Paris. I know I want to see the Tower. But, I wonder if you would give me your thoughts on which would you choose, the V&A OR the British museum for our second museum?
Otherwise we will just be shopping and eating before catching the last train to Paris.
Thanks again for a great report, can't wait to read more. Aren't adult children wonderful!
Jun 24th, 2007, 08:11 PM
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Danna, I'm still waiting for my children to be adult, but at least they are heading in that direction! Only one day in London? That's not very much time. Could you stretch it to two days? There's so much to see and do. The Tower takes at least a half day to see it all. I would recommend the V and A over the British Museum only because it's more about Britain's history and less about the history of other countries. However, if I had only one day in London, I probably would not visit either the British Museum or the V and A. After the Tower, I might do one of those hop on/hop off bus tours to see the exteriors of the important buildings and get the feel of the city. Drop by Harrods (for tea and scones in the food court, perhaps), have a meal at a pub, and perhaps take a London Walks tour (there are many to choose from. With 2 days, I'd add in a bit of the V and A and a bit of the Tate, a show, ballet or concert, and a walk through Hyde Park or Kensington Gardens. I wouldn't bother with the changing of the guard. But these are just my opinions.
Jun 24th, 2007, 08:28 PM
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>>("If you do Study Abroad in London, I will turn into a world traveller and appear on your doorstep," said Mother Rabbit.)<<
Beautiful! My kids and I all love The Runaway Bunny.
I guess I need to talk my daughter into studying abroad so I can some visit her.
Great trip report!
Lee Ann
Beautiful! My kids and I all love The Runaway Bunny.
I guess I need to talk my daughter into studying abroad so I can some visit her.
Great trip report!Lee Ann
Jun 25th, 2007, 06:09 AM
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I'm not sure what makes you think Boeing Boeing got good reviews in the press. Most I read were only just short of criminally libellous.
Time Out, for example (which overall thinks it's sort of post modernly ironic) uses terms like "creaky old comedy", "credibility gaps yawn as worryingly as a hole in the wing" and "like the whole show it's absolutely ridiculous"
There's a whole debate going on about distorted quotes being used outside theatres, and whether they should be made illegal. Like "you wouldn't imagine it'd get any laughs in a million years" turning into "laughs a million"
Perhaps this was such a case.
Time Out, for example (which overall thinks it's sort of post modernly ironic) uses terms like "creaky old comedy", "credibility gaps yawn as worryingly as a hole in the wing" and "like the whole show it's absolutely ridiculous"
There's a whole debate going on about distorted quotes being used outside theatres, and whether they should be made illegal. Like "you wouldn't imagine it'd get any laughs in a million years" turning into "laughs a million"
Perhaps this was such a case.
