Where we went in London

Wednesday 19 March - Thursday 20 March a.m.: Plane took off an hour late, seemingly to coincide with the beginning of the "'War' on Iraq." Virgin Atlantic planes are cramped, at least in row 63 in the middle where various mechanical devices are attached to some of the seat undersides. Losers from Long Island who get up to stretch their legs invariably congregate in the emptier areas of the aircraft, one of which is right next to our seats, while people (like us) are trying to steal a few hours' sleep so as not to be too jetlagged the next day. Even when they leave, there are always those dumbasses who can't stand up without grabbing the seat in front of them and of course letting it snap back into place. It's a wonder we got any sleep at all. But Dave had a bad cold and Jenny made him take some (lots of) NyQuil shortly after takeoff -- worked like a charm.

Thursday in London: Searched for a working HSBC ATM. At the time, we did not understand that it's England, they don't generally charge you when you use another bank's ATM. What a country! Take a reasonably quick tube ride into town, switching only once, and find our hotel mere yards from Embankment. The Thistle Royal Horseguards is our hotel. Very lovely place, overlooking the Thames directly across from the London Eye. Only there are no rooms with a view of that available this day. Maybe Friday, but the desk clerk doesn't sound particularly hopeful. She's very apologetic though. So courtyard it is. Courtyard, apparently, means "facing the interior fire escape and air shaft." Oh well, we're not in London to stare out the hotel window anyway. We should mention that we got the hotel for seventy DOLLARS a night on Priceline.com, which made us disinclined to give a damn about the view. We're talking a £200 a night place under normal circumstances here.

After dropping off our stuff, we walk over to Trafalgar Square. Most of it is draped in construction scaffolding -- soon to be a theme of the week. We take a turn down the mall only to run into a group of the Queen's horses heading toward Buckingham Palace. So we walk along the mall as the horses proceed down the middle of the street. As we take a few snapshots and prepare to leave, a couple of horse-drawn carriages pull in carrying apparently important people (the lady in the closed carriage had a lovely, big hat on). Jenny fumbles for the camera and snaps a couple of fuzzy photos.

We then head to Belgravia. Thanks to the CAMRA Good Beer Guide (thanks again, Alex and Felice) and friends' recommendations, Dave suggests a couple of pubs. First stop is the Nags Head, on little-used Kinnerton Street, but apparently a favorite at lunchtime for local workers. To begin a general trend, mobile phone use is strongly discouraged. Actually, it's banned in here. This literally mom-and-pop-owned pub used to be the smallest in London until they added a downstairs mainly to serve lunch. Tons of food. The two Adnams beers (with a draft cider for Jenny) are of course exceptional and well-kept, and the regulars are all friendly despite, or maybe because of, us being American.

Next we wander to the Star Tavern (former butler's haunt and reputed site of the planning of the Great Train Robbery), a Fuller's tied house, and enjoy a pint of ESB. By now we are starting to tire a bit, but we soldier back to Big Ben-Parliament to check that part out. We make a side detour for Westminster Cathedral -- had to pop in and say hello to the Catholics. Continuing on the way to Parliament Square we're kind of getting the idea that there are protests to mark the first day of war. Protestors everywhere, lots of kids just out of school. So we figured we'd take pictures of the little unhappy people, standing well off to the side with some other tourists mind you. And then the little devils begin to surge toward us. No matter which way we turn, there they are. Finally, a police officer helpfully offers us a "safe" way out of the mess. He points us in the direction of Horse Guards, adding, "it's very nice" before he joins the fray. Cheers to the London police for taking the time to show tourists a nice street before quelling a riot!

We decide to try and relax with a ride on the London Eye. So we stroll across the river. Yeah, it's a big fat touristy site, and it's like £10.50/person, but we are tourists. Actually it was pretty nifty, for a slow Ferris wheel - excuse me, "observation wheel."

Tonight we eat in style at Lord Moon of the Mall, our third pub of the day. Jenny has some sort of, oh, we'll just call it meat lasagna, and Dave has a shepherd's pie-like thing. The food is ridiculously cheap (£6.95 for both), though, and the beers are unusual enough to make it a good evening. It's a free house, so Dave drank pints of Shepherd's Neame Spitfire, Harviestoun Ptarmigan Pale Ale, and Caledonian S. Pale Ale.

Friday, 21 March: We sleep in, if 10:00 can be considered as such. The blackout curtains make the room as dark as a tomb -- very conducive to sleep. Did we mention the fluffy down pillows? Good sleepin'. We grab a quick breakfast a the coffee place across from the Embankment tube stop -- not the Starbucks! The other place. Jenny for some insane reason asks Dave repeatedly if he really wants to go to this beer festival thingy he mentioned. "Are you sure you want to go? Will you be upset if we don't go?" Stupid girl. So instead of the National Gallery or some other monument to culture we find ourselves heading up to the London Drinker Beer and Cider Festival. (We had souvenir half-pint glasses, but somehow either housekeeping threw them out or we forgot to pack them. Bummer.) It was the final day, but still a hundred casks were pouring, so after several tastes of perhaps festival specials (anniversary ales and the like), it was off to the required post-beer cultural event.

The British Library is located across the street so in an ever so slightly tipsy fashion we amble over. Very, very cool. How else can you put it? The Magna Carta, Shakespeare's signature -- the First Folio, a Gutenberg Bible, Beatles lyrics! It's fascinating.

Down into King's Cross to take the tube back to the hotel. We change for the evening's festivities and then take a leisurely stroll from the hotel to Picadilly Circus. We have tickets for the Royal Shakespeare Company's production of "The Malcontent" with Sir Antony Sher, bought via whatsonstage.com, on special at £15 a ticket for 'best in house' -- i.e., whatever's left. The seats were nonetheless superb. Dead center, 11 rows back from the stage. The play is fabulous. I don't understand why more companies don't do Jacobian plays. What's not to love? Death. Mayhem. Sex. It was rare even for the RSC, as the season was billed as a chance to see rarely performed plays. Grand, simply grand.

Afterwards we have a late dinner at The Criterion. Reservations were made through toptable.co.uk which had a special going where the pre-theatre prix-fixe menu was offered for late night dining as well: £17.95 for three courses. The setting is gorgeous and the food is excellent. There is just something about dining under gilded ceilings. Dave wins the appetizer battle with an amazing cheese soup. Jenny's salad with raw salmon is good, just not as good. Jenny's entrée, a white fish whose name is lost to time in a lovely creamy sauce is outstanding as well. Dessert -- heavenly. The service is excellent and very attentive, and the décor gorgeous. Just perfect. Well, except that since smoking is quite permissible, and filters apparently don't exist, the tables on either side of us are exhaling plumes of smoke into us. Sexy as all hell to see middle-aged woman blowing smoke out their noses. They pause to eat, so it isn't intolerable. We lazily stroll back to the hotel.

Saturday, 22 March: We wake up bright and early and head to Notting Hill to meet up with Ben and Claudia, Dave's high school pal and his wife who now make their home in London. Lucky bastards. Ben meets us at the Bayswater tube station and takes us to a great Spanish place for breakfast on Queensway. I wish we remembered the name. We break our fast al fresco in the morning sun. I love vacation. After breakfast we walk to their flat, above a hair salon, to meet up with Claudia, then we all set off for the Portobello Road Market. Jenny luckily does not find any china pieces that need to come home with her. While the girls wander off deeper into the market, the men settle into a sadly mediocre pub. We reconnect after the ladies finish picking through the glorified street fair (that's Dave talking) and decide to hit the British Museum for the afternoon. Claudia needs to buy a new interview suit, so Ben escorts us in a London cab. (Trip in a London cab: check. Thank you, Ben.)

Great fun is had in the BM -- Dave attempts to read every single freaking placard in the Egyptian wing while Jenny and Ben just enjoy being grossed out by the mummies. We have a nice little snack down in the Court Café of the museum. After being revived by tea and scones we go outside for a little stroll through Russell Square. Ben calls Claudia on his mobile (Jenny's got this Britspeak down) and she suggests we meet up for dinner.

We three head to Oxford Street to meet her. Claudia rings us to tell us there are masses of protestors causing a ruckus down her way -- do we have a camera? Here we must hand it to the London police. They just push those people right out of the way, all the while leaving a space off to the side for non-protestors to walk through.

After passing through hordes of protestors we find Claudia and walk to St. Christopher's Place for dinner. They choose Carlucci's, a nice Italian place, modern décor. Good dinner, fun place to eat. After dinner, it's off to a nearby pub, the Lamb and Flag on St. Chris. Hey look, cask-conditioned beer. We stay for only a pint or five -- Dave counts at least two Adnams Bitter, two Greene King IPA (Bitter), and a Charles Wells Bombardier -- then tube it back to the hotel to sleep. Must rise early in the morning for it's off to Windsor Castle!

Sunday, 23 March: Ben is driving us out to Windsor and Hampton Court Palace. You can do both in one day, but looking back we really wouldn't recommend it -- the day is kind of a blur. Windsor Castle was great. There was a really cute old worker/guard who told us all about the fire, and the repair work done to the ceiling in St. George's Hall in particular. The wooden beams have lots of what looks like cracks in them. He told us that the workmen told him that over time the wood will join together. Come back in a hundred years and it will be perfect. We'll have to take his word on that one. After the castle we walked over the bridge to Eton. Jenny bought a little miniature copy of "Twelfth Night" in the school gift shop. Eton's very pretty and well worth the little walk over. We ate a quick lunch sandwiches and chips by the river, and then back into the Jaguar to head to Hampton Court.

We were on schedule, making good time, but didn't count on getting lost on lots of back roads nor getting stuck in the huge traffic jam close to Hampton Court. No parking for literally miles -- apparently half of England wanted to visit Hampton Court that day. Once the car was parked in a not-so-nearby neighborhood and we hiked back to the Palace, we had one hour to tour. The Tudor kitchens stick out in my mind, but really, it's a blur. Must have been the fastest tour of HC ever! Back to London town we go. We bid Ben adieu, and walk to the Churchill Arms. They're a Fuller's tied house, and they apparently serve excellent Thai food. Ah -- they don't serve dinner. So we have a couple of pints and split. Okay, Dave has a Chiswick Bitter and an ESB, then we split. We wander around getting hungrier and hungrier until we find a small Indian place. Salvation! A most excellent several-course Indian preparation, mostly chosen by the waiter. Our dinner entertainment is a professor of some sort confiding in a friend that he's trying to have an affair with a student, only he hasn't yet done the deed. From the sound of it, our man is being played by the naughty nymphet. We resist the urge to hum Police tunes. Off to bed we go after a nice quick tube ride.

Monday, 24 March: Monday morning we head out for the Tower of London. We grab a quick breakfast at the coffee shop across from the Embankment tube stop (not the Starbucks!) and off we go. We take the advice of our guide book and head straight to the Jewel House, which we basically have all to ourselves. Instead of having the videos of various coronations and Jubilees and fires and whatnot to entertain us while waiting on a massive line, we have to slow down to watch them even partway. Once in the jewel house, Jenny keeps riding the moving sidewalks past the prettier jewels, walking in place to drool over the massive rocks. Almost as impressive is that giant punchbowl over in the corner. Yikes. We take a yeoman warder tour and climb through every building they let you in. The garderobe with plexiglass cover (so you can look down and see where the "waste" would have gone without falling in yourself) was a bit much. So Jenny merely sits on it for a high-quality Christmas-card photo. We also take photos of the gun displays. What is this British penchant for arranging guns in pretty patterns on the walls (this was also in evidence at Windsor and Hampton Court)?

After this we head out to meet Ben for lunch. He works on Mincing Lane. Dave, little boy that he is, giggles every time he says this. We peek in the little All Hallows by the Tower church first, though. Ben takes us to Leadenhall Market and we choose to eat at a tapas place, the Leadenhall Wine Bar if the receipt is to be believed. Great food -- we really enjoyed it. It's upstairs, second floor, maybe third, so if you sit by a window you get a great view down into the market and up at the pretty roof. After lunch we send Ben back to work and walk on to St. Paul's, checking out St. Mary-le-Bow on the way. Very little Cockney in evidence at St. Mary's, we must say. Maybe we aren't predisposed to hearing it.

St. Paul's was really a disappointment. Jenny has already pissed one person off on Fodors.com for saying this, but really. There is a massive cleaning project under way, but they who are in charge don't go out of their way to tell you this. They let you shell out your six pounds and THEN you find out you can't see fully half of the church. The church needs it badly, and we're glad they're doing it, but it would have been a better use of time to just go on ahead to Westminster Abbey to tour that.

As tourists with a time limit we really should have just skipped this one. You can still climb to the top -- which we did, feeling that we rather had to. The whispering gallery level is cool, no doubt, but Jenny is rather seriously afraid of heights. It is not pretty. When small children make fun of you, it's rather pathetic.

After St. Paul's we do indeed tube it over to Westminster Abbey where Jenny, rather sneakily, has neglected to inform Dave that they will be attending a *religious* service commemorating the 400th anniversary of the death of Queen Elizabeth I. After the service we are allowed to join the queue to file past her grave and pay our respects. Rather moving I (Jenny) thought.

For dinner, Dave has arranged to meet friend-of-a-friend Jeremy and his wife at the legendary White Horse on Parson's Green. Our first tube destination in Zone 2! Jeremy and Dave's friends Bill and Warren from New York have a sort of beer exchange program, and Dave is a beer mule today. Armed with several American treats, Dave fetches a few 1978 Thomas Hardy Ales for Warren.

As any beer person knows, the White Horse carries a large complement of kegged and casked beers from many different breweries, with even the odd Belgian treat on tap. Needless to say, Dave did his best to try his share. We also enjoyed a very lovely dinner, Dave's fish and chips complemented by, as Jeremy called them, "posh" mushy peas. Hm. Much drinking ensued. Dave fully enjoys his Harvey's Sussex Bitter, Yankee Rooster, Oakham JHB, Adnams, Broadside, and Abbaye des Rocs Montagnard, if only because it's not a Belgian imported to the States. Or at least New York State. Much laughter was had, maps were drawn to the Market Porter, and a tipsy Dave and a slightly-less-drunk Jenny somehow find their way back to the Royal Horseguards.

We fall asleep only to be awakened by the fire alarm. It was about 1:15 a.m., and after hearing people in the hall shout, "It's a real fire, get out!" we flee. Well, Dave first attempts to make the fire alarm, twelve feet above the bed, stop sounding, even calling the front desk. Fog of war and all that. And we take the time to dress up a bit from our bedclothes, so we aren't in too big a rush.

Once outside we are all hurried to the opposite side of the street by the authorities and are now able to see the flames shooting from the roof. No camera. Pity. Looks like some people decided to get re-dressed, while others are simply barefoot in their room robes. We're soon loaded onto double-decker buses by the police and taken to the Thistle Charing Cross Hotel a few hundred yards/meters away to wait it out. Everyone is instructed to stake out a spot in the restaurant, lobby or conference rooms on the second floor and just hang out and wait. Tea, coffee and water are brought out, and Dave assists a few other guests in trying to get everyone properly irrigated. Jenny gets her most successful nap at the bottom of the main stairwell. Around six in the morning we're told we can go back into the hotel -- we opt to walk back rather than wait for the bus. I imagine we made an odd sight -- this little band of refugees in various nightclothes walking though London in the early dawn of Tuesday morning.

Tuesday, 25 March: We got a little sleep, and then woke around 10:00, fifteen minutes before the alarm went off again. This time we quickly got dressed and grabbed passports, money, and camera. It wasn't anything serious this time and we were back inside shortly. Dave got some nice shots of the huge, burnt-out hole in the roof while waiting. What a treat. We quickly showered (heaven only knew if the alarm was going to go off again) and got the hell out of there for the day. We again hit the coffee shop (not the Starbucks!) for a quick breakfast and then strolled through the Embankment Gardens to Somerset House. Didn't want to spend the gorgeous day inside, so no art viewing -- just admiring the really cool courtyard with fountains while expecting to pass out from exhaustion.

Leaving here we walk the Strand to Temple Church. We've timed our visit miserably and are not here on a day when it is open. Still it's an interesting area to wander through, full of history to soak up. After this we stop in at R Twining & Co (216 Strand) to stock up on tea and here Jenny finds the coolest teacup: a china mug with a big fitted strainer and lid so you can brew a single cup of loose tea without the mess of those tea ball thingys. It's fabulous. It's also available in several other shops we see the next couple of days, only more expensive and not a Twinings.

We continue on, nose in guidebook looking at historical stuff. We stop in at Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese (145 Fleet St.) for a couple pints of Samuel Smith's bitter, eye the mouth-watering lunchtime spread, and then wander through those little back streets, past Dr. Johnson's House, up and over to Lincoln's Inn Field's. We pay our pound and wander through Sir John Soane's Museum and enjoy it immensely. What a freak, but in a good way. Cramped little museum, but you feel as if you could know the man. From a safe distance.

Continuing the walking theme, we head on to Neal's Yard Dairy over by (crazily enough) Neal's Yard. First, Dave buys a USA Today for a pound. Yeesh. But his mind is put at ease, knowing Duke has advanced to the Sweet Sixteen in his absence. Cheese is bought, pictures are taken. We poke through some other shops. Jenny sees the cutest Birkenstocks but resists the urge to buy; she knows she can order them cheaper directly from Germany -- and she did so (they are on their way). We make it to Covent Garden -- more shops for Jenny to wander through. A gigantic bath bomb is purchased at Lush!. And if that wasn't enough shopping we now via tube to save our feet head over to Regent Street. Visits are made to Fortum & Mason, Liberty, and Hamleys, where Jenny buys the teddy bear outfits for her two charges back home. What a nanny!

We dump the shopping at the ranch, grab our tickets for the evening's entertainment, and head out for dinner. We take the tube to Monument station, eyeball the Monument, and then head across London Bridge to Market Porter (9 Stoney St), on the south side of the Thames. Dave orders pints, and realizes, once again, no dinner at the pub. Bugger. Finishing our pints of cider and Bushy's Celebration Ale, we walk over to the George (77 Borough High St), another Dickens-drank-here pub (see Cheese, Ye Olde Cheshire), which does have a standard dinner menu. It also has beer, the aptly-named (or at least aptly contracted) George Ale. Then, it's back to Market Porter, as they carry a wonderful assortment of fine cask beers. It's sometimes quite nice not to be a tied house. Black Sheep Special Ale and Cotleigh Tawny Bitter are consumed as a football match plays on the telly.

Then it's back across the bridge and over to the Tower for the Ceremony of the Keys. If you're a good little tourist and send in your request weeks ahead of time the good folk at the tower will let you come in and see how they lock it up. How often do you get to see a 700 year old ceremony without going to church? Definitely a highlight of the trip. You can read a description of the ceremony but a basic description just doesn't do it. The crowds have left, it's dark and cold, you can hear every footstep on the stones and the keys being rattled. It's very atmospheric and ceremonial, but it's not play-acting. The guards carry guns. Big guns. And during the Second World War, a couple of guards were killed during the ceremony by a German shell. Quite the odd, splendid blend of tourism and necessity. As usual, the tube ride home gets us safely and snugly to bed.

Wednesday, 26 March: Our last full day in London. We head off to Harrod's first thing to check out the food halls. Dave buys our only purchase, a jar of strong mustard. We studiously avoid the Dodi and Di memorial and scoot across the street for breakfast at Richoux. Again with someone smoking at the next table. Do cigarettes really go with waffles? Bizarre. After breakfast we take a long, leisurely stroll through Hyde Park to enjoy the really splendid weather and the Queen's swans. March in London and it was gorgeous, every single day! Too lucky. We eventually find our way to Kensington Palace. The dress collection is really fantastic. One of the best rooms really has no costumes, but is set up like a dressmaker's shop back in the day. Lovely displays of antique bobbin lace and many antique tools and notions. There was also a special exhibit of royal wedding dresses when we visited. Queen Victoria was so tiny! It was a very special thing to see. After our (Jenny's) fill of Victoriana we had afternoon tea at the Orangery. Very lovely and a perfect thing to do after wallowing in royalness.

We walk down to the Victoria and Albert Museum after this -- it's a late night there, and perfect for us. Sadly the textile collection is closed for late nights, but sacrifices must be made. The British Galleries take a couple hours anyway and have such a mix of items that Jenny's textile longings are covered anyway. We almost have the place to ourselves -- late openings are great! We also spend a fair amount of time with the Raphael Cartoons.

After our fill we make our way back to the hotel to meet up with Claudia and Ben for a farewell dinner. For some reason we decide to try the Sherlock Holmes Pub. We passed it nearly every day on the vacation, and in Dave's defense it looked like it had decent beer. Decent apparently meant just one interesting cask, Flowers IPA. Session beer indeed. The food isn't exceptional, and the menu consists of bad Sherlock Holmes-themed names, but the décor wins the awwards. Good lord -- we are talking a complete little Sherlock vignette behind glass. Very weird.

After seeing B&C into a cab we take a nighttime walk through Whitehall to try a couple of pubs. First up is the Westminster Arms (Storey's Gate) forDave's only Young's pint, the Bitter, and a super-fresh Gales HSB. We drink our beer and cider next to a lesbian couple playfully fighting over a cell phone. Why we left I to this day do not understand. This pub is followed by a quick pint of Admans Bitter at the Red Lion (48 Parliament St.). We wave farewell to Big Ben and walk back to the hotel.

Thursday, 27 March: We pack up, check out and take the tube out to Heathrow. We spend some time wandering around duty free not buying anything, as we are now under two pounds cash. Jenny stocks up at Boots on girly stuff and then it's time to board. In a stroke of good fortune Dave's audio doesn't work and the flight attendant moves us to an exit row! So we stretch out, get comfy and fly home.

Just an odd little comparison to note
It's odd that we went to a more expensive town for the same amount of time and spent less money. It was the shoulder season, yes. But perhaps it was the sticker shock. When you do the math to convert pounds to dollars you suddenly realize that you just don't need to buy that whatever the hell that is. So Jenny just couldn't talk herself into buying things like she did in Paris. And that can't be a bad thing.

Given that Paris in June 2002 gave us a USD1.00 = €1.06-1.07 conversion rate whereas by March that same dollar bought €0.92, things were similarly inflated by the London trip. The war did manage to drop the pound from $1.65 to $1.55 fairly rapidly for us, which was nice. Still, with few exceptions (such as beer) the dollar units we would spend on something in the US equaled the Pound units we spent in London. Spendy.

Second odd little comparison
Londoners take their terrorism threats seriously, but nonchalantly, if that's a word. The London Eye, for example, is swept very efficiently for bombs and such after each pile of riders exits. People exit, sweepers and mirror-holders file in, check everything, and are off in time to let the next set of paying customers enjoy their half-hour in the sky.

Last observation
Midriff-baring tops are/were (depending on who you ask) all the rage, as are cleavage-baring tops (and bottoms, to be truthful). But what happens when your clientele isn't all model-skinny? Go to London sometime. Not that we're modelesque, but the larger women and girls of London enjoyed letting it all hang out, and quite confidently too. Dave of course says Bravo to these brave, happy souls. If you like your women to have nice "shoulders," and enjoy getting to view potbellies and chests spilling out of flimsy tops, London is the place for you. Keep in mind this was in 65F (18C) weather, so this is probably more widespread now. Woohoo!