The Towers -- Bridge and of London

London Bridge did indeed fall down in about 1014. And another one was built, but it got too small. So another one was built and so on and so on ...

There is an old London Bridge (but it is in Arizona) ...


And a Tower of London ...


and a Tower Bridge ....


No wonder I got confused.

Not that I am excusing myself, mind you. It is just an explanation. Oh! And I still had jet lag. That is why we ended up walking much more than I expected on our first morning in London. It was not a hardship, because our tummies were full of delicious breakfast, we had handwarmers in our pockets, and we were walking in ...
London!

So, things were good, all things considered.

So, to explain, the London Bridge that we all think of when we think of London is actually the Tower Bridge, near the Tower of London, which is really a castle. The old London Bridge was auctioned off and sold to a guy in Arizona for about two and a half million dollars. The current London Bridge looks like this.



So, when we got off of the Underground, I was completely confused, but we followed the signs. And then you could see the Tower Bridge ... whew! As you can see from the map, we should have been getting off right in front of the Tower of London, but we came up Tooley Street and crossed the Tower Bridge Road. Unexpected but great.



So, we finally make it to the Tower Bridge, and it is just great. I am excited, because this is a view that I have not seen before. And I like rivers and bridges.


It is a lovely old Victorian bridge and it is a working drawbridge, with a couple of famous unexpected raisings over the years. You can go into the London Bridge Experience and walk across the lovely sky-blue walkway, but I thought losing my husband to heart failure might put a bit of a damper on the holiday mood.

However, if we were to have walked across the walkway, I could have taken a picture like this.


But I didn't. So I took this picture as we started across the River Thames, on the way to the Tower of London, across the Tower Bridge.


Across the Thames, you can see the Gerkin ( 20 St. Mary Axe) and the Financial District. I know that you can take barges along the Thames, and I think it would be very fun to do on a summer's day.


Looking back over my shoulder the way that we came.


And about half-way across ...


I stop to take a movie. It is a little blustery.


Coming up is the Tower, and I am already getting excited. Coming from the river aspect, it is different -- for some reason, I can imagine the Tower as a fortress, perched on this outcropping that supplies water and fills the moat.


One of the towers.


The motto of the City of London: Domine Dirige Nos (Lord Direct Us)


And what would it be without gargoyles?




I like gargoyles.


We finished walking across the Thames and took a left. There is a nice walk along the river, with the Tower on your right side.


With the bridge behind us.


A very proper castle, in my opinion.


The day is so clear and crisp, and the light was just great. The colors are stark and wintery, a nice complement to the stone. I am enjoying the different textures.


Wry notices these nifty black and white birds in the trees. Any bird watchers know what they would be?


A Beefeater! We are on the right track. Unfortunately I don't see the entrance, so we just keep walking around. The Tower is not very small.


A cunning gargo-spout


Alas, this entrance was chained off. I was tempted to duck under the chain, but feared for me 'ead.


I wondered what this would look like in the summer.


The Traitor's Gate! From the outside, this time.


You can see me in this picture if you look closely.


I wondered what the hook was for.


We continue walking, the river on our left. A group of tourists is making a lot of happy noise, and taking lots of group pictures. I am feeling happy, with the crisp light and shadows and my new birthday camera.


A view of Wry that I become accustomed to -- him hunched over his notebook, sketching and making notes.

The first glimpse of the buildings that I recognize -- the stripey Elizabethan ones in the inner courtyard. I like the contrast.


And a view of the city as we round the corner.


So, now I know that the approach from the river is called the Western Entrance. I liked this picture because you could see how the moat worked.


Even though it is cold -- a bit more than brisk, there are signs of spring. I was surprised to see these flowers peeking their heads up. Look for more daffodils in the coming shots.




This is our Beefeater -- for those of you looking for more historical facts, refer to Rowan's post in the archives. It was funny, but I actually saw our Beefeater from last year wandering aboot.


You can see some of the remains of the Roman wall on this site. As Wry said, "what else would you put behind the ruins of a Roman wall, but the bird cages?"


As you walk up the hill into the quad, you can see the buildings and the different styles. Wry was blown away by the striped ones.


We walked around the White Tower, because there was construction on the front part of the building. Just to let you know, February seems to be the upkeep time of year. I did not mind, because I saw some things I did not see last time, such as this ...


A wonderful, old, ornate cannon -- it looked like a Chinese dragon.


And the ancient city ruins.




It can't mean the same thing as in Narnia.


Wry going up the stairs. The stairs were removable and on the second floor to make it harder to invade.


When I saw this, I thought it had something to do with ... sanitation. Sure enough, it is what a Norman would have in a castle for convenience sake.


And some armory pictures.






All the King's horses.


Just for the students -- Wry next to the giant and mini armor. He promised.


The Beauchamp Tower held many prisoners. There are plaques with their carvings on them. It was hard to read them in the dim light.


The stairs leading up are in the corner.


And up to the Chapel of St. John the Evangelist.


It is one of the earliest church interiors preserved in England. Supposedly the interior was painted brightly at one time, but I like the tone on tone, texture on texture of the current chapel.


The chapel is small.




The only color comes from the sun shining through the stained glass. It is austere and not welcoming.



Although it is small, it is not intimate or inviting. It is beautiful, but there is no music. If there were monks chanting, it would be perfect.


As we were leaving, I saw this door. I wonder where it goes, because it had an odd, otherworldly feel to it -- as if it would open into a garden or another, hidden world. That is why there is no knob.

Up the stairs through the armory -- lots of big guns. Some of them had whimsical inscriptions and fanciful work. One was shaped like a lion, with the mouth of the cannon the mouth of the lion.


And down the stairs again.


I liked this view -- you can see the wall and the walkway. The Thames is just beyond.


An outer wall.


I like the way that the people looked like projected shadows -- almost two dimensional. The tree branches looked like toile against the stones.

Wry and I walked back up by the Roman wall near the entrance for a last look around. We were both struck by the same shot. I can't remember who took which one, but I think that the better one is Wry's.





If I knew how to work my camera better, I would be able to get artistic pictures.


But I was pleased with this one of the trees through a hole in the ancient Roman wall.

The handwarmers were still working. I had been experimenting and found that one of the best ways to keep warm was to put them in my front pockets. It paid to keep them moving, because if they stayed in any place too long, it became uncomfortable. I was surprised at how much warmth they provided, which was good -- because stone walls in February are cooooolllldddd.


After I wrestled the camera away from my husband, I got to take pictures of lovely daffodils.


More signs of spring.


We were just going to leave when we realized that we had not walked along the Tower wall. So we did. I think that people thought that I knew what I was doing because I took so many pictures and asked me to take pictures of them. I think I got some nice ones.


A view of the Tower Bridge from the Tower wall -- an angle I had not been able to get before.

Finally, we went into the either the Wakefield or the Lanthorn Tower. The Hall tower has a pasage that led through the Great hall into the King's bedroom.


The reason that I don't know where we exactly were was because of a bit of a problem I was having. As I mentioned before, I had on a nice pair of tights to help me stay warm, and somewhere as I entered this structure, the top began to roll down, in a slow, inevitable, curl.

This is the kind of thing that, if you can find a quiet corner and nip the top edge before it drops down too far, can be stopped. However, when one is in a historic building with hordes (well, not hordes, exactly, because it was February) of tourists lurking around every corner, things can get mighty out of hand. On at least three occasions, I thought I had a quiet moment, but noooo. So, I kept walking, feeling the dratted things roll down, a millimeter at a time, until some critical mass was reached and they rolled, like, down to my knees. I felt like I was mincing along.


Here is the king's bedroom -- I think. At this point, I was sending telepathic distress signals to my husband, entreating him to be a human shield so I could attend to my personal needs.


It was used by Henry the III as his bedroom and private chapel.


It was used for private devotions until Henry VI was stabbed to death before the cross. Yeesh. It was somewhere after here that my tights also gave up the ghost.


Something historic being re-enacted. The entry of Anne Boleyn, I think. I pause to admire for a moment and then hustle Wry off.


The last shot of the Tower of London ... it was beautiful.

We went over to Wagamama's and had a nice bowl of noodles. I immediately left the table to go and pull up my tights.


Wry notices that the pound coins have different edges. He is pleased.


I like the exit signs -- everyone is so peppy!



No one just leaves at an amble, no sirree.

We head back to the hotel, as Wry has something set for us to do tonight. I am willing to be surprised.

Our first day in London (for reals) -- A brisk walk to the Tower of London

Rise and Shine! The Tower and Bridge await!




We watched a little BBC and went to sleep. We slept kind of poorly, which is surprising, given how tired we were. I woke up at one point, thinking it was really early in the morning, but it was probably about nine or ten at night and people were coming into the hotel. I think that Wry also woke up a number of times during the night.

We got out of bed at about four in the morning, showered, watched the news, checked email, and talked to the kids via webcam and Skype. They were all fine, but it was nice to see them. Just to look around, I went to the door, intending to open it and look around outside (or something). I left the room and walked down the stairs and looked around and went back to the room. I forget what I was going to show my husband, but when we tried to leave the room, the door was stuck. Firmly. We both tugged, and I worried that I had managed to lock us in. We finally called the front desk manager and she came and opened the door, despite the ghastly hour. I think it stuck because of the paint still being a little tacky.

Breakfast was at seven thirty, but I thought it was at seven, so that is when we left the room. We went downstairs a couple of floors and found a nice Russian-sounding young woman there, getting breakfast ready, looking sleepy. She told us that breakfast was not for another half an hour, but that she would make us toast if we wanted. We politely declined and beat feet upstairs ... I was a little embarrassed, because it was just that we were up and about, not that we were starving or rude or something.

So, we came back about a half an hour later. We were the first ones in the dining room and sat next to the window. A mistake that I would not make again. It was freezing. I finally use the sense that God gave me and changed chairs.



Breakfast was a full English breakfast, complete with egg, baked beans, sausage, bacon, toast and tea. The bacon was actually really good -- like a cross between ham and bacon. I am not a big sausage fan, but this was good. I had about a gallon of hot tea ... mmmm. Wry was happy to get orange juice along with his tea. He is a man of few needs.



WM pondered the merits of fine shred versus regular marmalade. There was lemon marmalade, too.



I had blackcurrant jam. I still like the fact that toast was served on little toast racks.


We finished breakfast, but it was still too early to leave the room, so we puttered around a little, getting ready for the day. I took some pictures outside of the bedroom window. It was very pretty. I tried not to take pictures of people in their houses. That is probably really rude.











One of the things that I did that I was pleased about was that I brought some of those handwarmers -- you know the kind that you get at Wal-Mart for a dollar or so? I was a little worried that they would set off some kind of bomb-sniffing device in the airport, but they didn't.

I made sure that we had a couple, in case we got really cold. We also dressed in layers. My husband had on a silk undershirt and an undershirt and probably another layer or two and a jacket. I had on tights under my jeans, along with socks. I hoped that Wry would not freeze, but I wasn't going to bet money on it. I double checked the fact that he had gloves, made sure that we had an extra camera battery, and we finally set off.

This is a picture of the view from the front door of the hotel, walking down the street to the train station. As you can see, it is only about two or three very short blocks -- right into the thick of things. However, I did not actually take this picture. I scrounged it from the Internet, because I forgot to take a picture myself. It sure was a bright sunny day ... probably in the summer.



We got on the Tube and got off at the London Bridge station. Apparently, we got caught in the morning rush, because it was packed -- and I mean packed. I didn't know that you could cram that many people into a train. It is a somber, Darwinian moment, trying to get on the train. First, you calculate where you think the fewest people will be trying to get on and queue up. A nice Aussie and a woman who had lived in London for years bemoaned the influx of people into the City, now that they had open borders. They said that the crowding was much worse than they could ever remember. We said that we were going to the Tower of London, and the local woman told us to get off at the Tower Bridge station.

Never listen to a local in London.

I say that somewhat in jest, because there is an Underground station that lets off right across from the Tower. We got off on the back side of the Tower, and it was a bit of a schlep to the Tower. On the plus side, we got to walk across the Tower Bridge, which was pretty great.



Here, we are considering how to get out of the station.



Did I mention that it was cold? It was, and no, I have not taken up smoking. At this point, we were wandering through the early morning streets, and I am completely lost. Great! We have been out on the streets of London exactly twice and I have gotten us lost both times.

Thankfully, I can see the Tower Bridge, so I just keep heading that way.



WM has some weird love of odd or incongruous mascots. This is his first London one.



The Tower Bridge!!

From Heathrow to the Hotel

Well, here we are in London. It is about two in the afternoon. We have successfully navigated through the airport and we are on the Underground from Heathrow to our hotel. I have the address, and I looked briefly at the map and I am pretty sure of where we are going.

Pretty sure.

I have an idea that the Jesmond Dene is somewhat near the British Museum, a few streets back. I know how to get to the museum, so I figure that we will get out at Holburn Station and walk up the street.

So we take the hour or so journey from Heathrow and expect to get on the Piccadilly Line, which would take us right where we want to go. Unfortunately, the line is being serviced and this adds about an hour to our travels, what with getting off the train and having to figure out how to get back into the city.



We traveled on the blue line up to Broadway, changed trains and got on the red line. There were a couple of changes along the way, complete with having to read maps in a daze and change platforms a number of times. If you can't see the image details, just click!

This is Acton Station -- I can't remember if it was East or West. It is pretty, but it is a bit far from where we want to be. It is cold, but clear. We waited for a bit, shifting from foot to foot, rearranging our bags, waiting for the train. At this point, it is about seven in the morning after an essentially sleepless night.



Note the slumped posture. I think the strap on my bag is actually anchoring Wry to the pole, or he would tip right over.



Actually, we are doing pretty well, mobility-wise. We each have a suitcase, a carry-on, and a jacket. I left my scarf in the suitcase, but I am dong fine. We have not seen much of London, just the airport and a couple of stations. The one inconvenience is that when we have to change trains we have to schlep our suitcases and look for seats. Ordinarily, Heathrow is at the beginning of the line (or the end, depending on your direction) so that when you get on, exhausted from your flight, you get a seat.

As we get closer to London and are getting on later, there are fewer and fewer seats. WM manages to doze, standing up, leaning on a pole. It is a new personal best in the Sleeping in Public domain. I cannot sleep, so I read my Vanity Fair and people watch.

Finally, we get off at Holborn. I am happily remembering being here with Rowan. I remember how much fun we had, meandering around, getting completely lost more than once. Now, I remember enough to get out of the Tube station. I recognize the buildings immediately.



Wry gets this picture for our eldest daughter, because she will snicker.

We are going to head up Southampton Row and keep walking until we get to Russell Square -- where the Museum is.

We start walking, pulling our cases behind us. The traffic is zipping along, and I remember taking pictures of the buildings a year ago. My husband has lost a bit of bounce in his step, but I cheerfully point out places of interest -- The Ivy House, where Rowan and I had lovely Thai food, Sainsbury's -- where we can get a sandwich, if necessary, the hotel that we stayed at last time, the Caffe Nero -- where the coffee was pretty bad, and the pizza place that Rowan refused to consider.

It all seems surprisingly familiar. I am surprised by the amount of detail that I remember.

Gee, we seem to have been walking for a while. I stop, pull out my map and triangulate our position. My map is not up to the task, and no one that we ask knows where our hotel is, so I nip into a hotel lobby and get some help. A nice young woman with a heavy Russian accent helps me figure out where we are going. She says that it will be about another 20 minute walk, and very kindly hands me a map from her stack and we circle the destination in ink, so that I will be less likely to forget where I am going.

My husband is standing on the sidewalk outside the hotel, looking a bit dazed.

To make this all a bit clearer, it seems that I got us off about three or four stops sooner than we should have.




Ugh.

Walking more and more slowly, we trudge up the street. My hand has stiffened on my suitcase handle and I have to swap sides, which makes me awkward. I keep making encouraging statements like, "It should be another five streets and then we turn" and "Look at this wonderful building. We should see Euston Street in about another block or so" and "St. Pancras! It should only be another few streets!" I am feeling like a bad navigator.

Finally, we get to the hotel. It is just a step from the King's Cross/St. Pancras station, which was where we should have gotten off. The British Library is just a street or two down. Taking a right down a smaller, quiet street, we pass a number of small, rather ... unpretentious-looking establishments. One is a Salvation Army. Some have hand-lettered signs. I have trepidation.

We get to the Jesmond Dene and it looks clean and well-maintained. We navigate the narrow entrance and squeeze into the lobby. It is charming and warm. I did not know how cold I was until we get into the lobby. Darren, the manager, is very welcoming and kind. We are getting Room Four, which is so recently remodeled that there is no number on the door. Darren helps us haul our cases up the narrow stairway.

The hotel is an old Georgian house. It is small, but has lots of character. I like it. We are shown where breakfast will be and our cases are deposited in the room.



The room is pretty tiny, but well-organized. This is the view from me standing in the bathroom doorway. This is the picture I take when I turn around.



Wry amuses himself by stretching out his arms to see if he can actually touch the far wall. Almost. Now, I am not complaining, because we are not expecting a Marriott, nor are we wanting a Marriott. What we are looking for is a nice place that has a good location. The room is clean, comfortable, and cheerily decorated. And there is free wi-fi. Score!


We freshen up and realize that we are starving. So we pull out our "Cheap Eats in London" book and decide to forage for provender. As my husband would say.

We walk over to the train/Tube station to see where we would have gotten off had I been better-prepared. We go in and wander around and then, after looking around a bit, we walk up the stairs and look around.




I liked this picture a lot.



This is the view above King's Cross.



And behind us, at St. Pancras' Station.



The buildings are just so beautiful -- I am all of a sudden just very happy to be in London. Now it feels like we are really here. We see that one of the picks in our eating guide is right across the way, and we decided to go on over.



The restaurant is small, and the seating is communal. As we step in, we are hit by nice smells and warm air. Someone tries to nab some chili sauce from behind the cashier's desk, and is promptly berated -- he decides that he does not need the extra sauce for forty pence.

After we get seated, we are given our menus, a little ticket, and a golf-type pencil. You mark what you want. The server bustles up, looks the order over, and rushes to the window. The guide recommends a coconut/seafood soup and I order that. We order tap water and Wry orders a Coke. He sips it appraisingly.

He has some sort of a yellow curry soup. The prices are low -- about three or four pounds per item. The egg rolls are acceptable, the satay is really chewy, but flavorful, and my soup is fine. However, it also has an ominous slurry of chili oil on the surface of the soup. I tread carefully, as I have visions of my stomach lining melting right off. However, it is warm, tasty, and filling, and we soon feel much better. I eat some of the yellow curry soupy stuff to spare my stomach lining.

Our food budget is twenty pounds a day, per person, max. I think we can bring it in for twenty pounds per day total. That is my goal. So far, with a dinner that cost under eight pounds, we are doing well. We have twelve pounds leeway for tomorrow! I might need a snack!



We walk up the street a little ways, and see that there is a Boot's (like a CVS or Rite-Aid) on the corner, for all of our pharmcological needs. We are tired and decide to get some sleep and get an early start in the morning.



Wrymouth takes a few pictures along the way.



This is the staircase outside our room.



I get into my jammies and see about doing the technology housework -- setting the phones to charge, uploading the pictures, charging the camera batteries -- all of that. I hear a triumphant cry from the bathroom -- "I got your picture!"



Not a bad aerial shot. The shower is small, but there are scads of hot water and good water pressure.



This is why I love my husband.

Flying to London

We had a surprisingly nice flight. It took a while, but once we were through the lines and the baggage was checked, we were on our way.

Even though we were ...

In actuality, the delay was not so bad, except for the time that we would lose on the London end, because it took foreeeevvver to get through security. Not kidding. The lines were unbelievable. We got in line for the Fast Bag Drop, and that took more than a half an hour and then we scampered over to bag x-ray, and that took about a half an hour or more. Had we not been delayed, we would have been sprinting through the terminal, despite the fact that we had given ourselves almost two hours leeway. Ugh.

We debated what to do, wandered around a little and decided to go have a snack.

Wry had some sushi that was not bad at all, considering that it was at LAX. He had not had In-N-Out, because he was driving.

I had some miso soup ...

I got excited when I first saw our plane.

Somehow, flying on British Airways felt much more exotic than flying on Delta. We got in line again to go through the security check. No one even questioned us about our liquids, neatly packed away in our quart baggies. Wry begins to make jokes about security. Nothing about bombs or anything like that, just amusing comments about the whole process. I edge away from him.

My dear husband is detained in Security and we had to wait a while. A pattern begins that plagues us through all of our travels. At various airports, he is wanded and patted down and pulled out of line. I consider ditching him on more than one occasion, but I am loyal like that.

Another half an hour or so later, we finally made it to the gate. Clearly people had been waiting a long time. They were sprawled around on the floor. Three teen-aged boys were throwing around an American-style football, but they were throwing it wrong – tossing it back and forth, not passing it. We began to hear more British accents. I was happy to hear a Scottish couple behind us in line.

I nipped into the women’s room and it was like going into an old stadium restroom – in terms of cleanliness and upkeep, not size. The doors were rusted away, which worried me a little. How did they end up looking like the underside of a Chevy that was driven through years of Pittsburgh winters? I shook it off, deciding that this was no comment on the state of our plane.

We got on the plane and stowed our baggage. Wry whispered to me that the two flight attendants at the front of the plane had British accents. He looked pleased, but said that he was worried that he was either going to end up having a faux British accent, or was going to end up speaking in exaggeratedly American one. Or that he was going to begin exclaiming at how cute everyone sounded. And get pummeled.

We were happy to get our seats in the famous row 51. The seats are two across, rather than three or four, so you have more privacy. Not having to sit with a stranger was really nice. I have to say that I much prefer British Airways to Delta. We got nice little bags with socks and a toothbrush in them, a blankey and a little pillow. The seat headrests had little wings that came down, like a travel pillow, so you didn’t end up slumped over on your neighbor. The seats all had individual video screens, which was very nice. I really liked the part that allowed you to see where you were. This is over Arizona.

We waved at the family as we went over Colorado and New Mexico. Wryi and I watched "3:10 from Yuma", and amused ourselves by synching our videos so that we were watching the movie together. I watched an interesting series on medieval history by Terry Jones, of Monty Python fame, and an episode of Black Adder.

We had a surprisingly good dinner – again, the Brits had it all over Delta, who had food that was almost inedible. WM had the lasagna and I had the chicken. We shared a glass of wine, because we were living the high life indeed. We had some kind of beany-salad, and I thought of Rowan. She would have approved. We had little Crunchie bars as part of dessert.

When I was having coffee, we hit a major patch of turbulence, and coffee spilled everywhere. Luckily, we were not besmirched. There was a lot of turbulence, especially over the Rockies.

We slept a few hours and had breakfast of sandwiches, yogurt, granola and juice. I like egg-salad, so mine was good. Wry had a more difficult time, as he hates mayonnaise and food had to be found for him that was mayonnaise-free. The tea was good. I had packed little travel clean up kits for each of us with a travel toothbrush, comb, deodorant, and those baby washcloths that have soap in them. You can scrub a surprising amount of body surface balancing in the lavatory. We were able to tidy up enough to feel pretty human, considering that we had no sleep.

It was exciting when we went over land. Ireland was lovely and green from the air.

Wry had his first moment of realizing that we weren't in the US when he could see that the cars were all going the wrong way on the roads. It made him happy.

And closer ...

And closer ...

The landing is uneventful, although I white-knuckle it a bit. Ever since the event over Edinburgh, I have had a bit of landing anxiety, but we survived.

We were in the back of the plane, and had quite a wait to get off. Wrymouth nudged me and raised his eyebrows at one of our fellow passengers. She was wearing a jacket with some writing all over it. I did not get it at first, but I then noted that when she moved her arm, the writing on her back and arm lined up to create an extremely vulgar word. I bit my lip, and my husband started grinning, and then we had a full-fledged case of the snorting, leaning-on-each-other case of the giggles. I will blame this on lack of sleep, not a lack of maturity and sophistication.

Ahem.

I took this picture out the window to compose myself and to make it look like I was not a complete idiot, but that I am a serious photojournalist.

Where is the rain? The fog? Why is it as sunny and crisp as at home? Sigh.

Maybe it will be cold.

We have to get through customs and follow, like a herd of sheep, the maze of the terminal. There are signs apologizing for the state of construction. We are assured that the improvements are for our benefit.



We landed around noon, which is about four in the morning, our time. We have to get through customs, which is done easily and with some dispatch. We were lucky to get there just before a huge group of tourists from China made it to customs or it would have been a longer wait. We fiddle with our passports and check our phones for messages from the kids. We text our eldest that we are fine and have her let everyone else know.

Heathrow is a very bustling place and the baggage claim was a bit of a zoo. We got out enough money to pay for a night at our hotel, as we will pay more if we use a credit card than if we use pounds sterling. We grabbed our bags and went off to find the Underground.

It is kind of neat that there is a Tube station right in Heathrow -- you just follow the signs and there you are. We got a seven-day travel pass on an Oyster card. We asked the girl at the counter about the best way to get around, and she answered our questions in a monotone, clearly having said this a million times. We made her laugh and she thawed a bit and wished us well. So, at this point, we have spent about twenty pounds each for a week's worth of travel, and that seems like a good enough deal. The card allowed us to go on the Tube and buses. The trip from Heathrow to the middle of London takes a bit more than an hour. Well, it should have taken about an hour.

I had not taken into account the fact that there were line closures ...



Things took a little longer than anticipated. I sigh and resign myself to the fact our first day in London will be a bit of a wash -- time-wise.

I think I know where the hotel is ... Sort of.

Headin' on back to London ...

Yeah, Brother.


So, you may ask, why am I going to the UK?

Well, my husband and I have been married for almost nineteen years, and so this can be called an anniversary trip. We try to do something during his week off of school in February, so you could say that is the reason. Or you could call it our second honeymoon, as my husband has been saying. Or you could say that I wanted to do something special with my best friend.

All of those reasons would be true.

And I got a really great airfare to the UK.

Anyway, my husband (Wrymouth of wrymouth.com) and I are gong to be spending about five days in London and two or so days in Scotland. It is the first time my husband has been out of the country, except for our honeymoon in Mexico, which was memorable for many things, including the fact that I ended up in the airport infirmary in Guadalajara – but that is a story for another day. My brand new husband learned to say “Mi esposa es enferma”. Let’s hope that this trip does not include me going into febrile convulsions.

Huh … with that as a baseline, this trip should be spectacular.

From the moment that I really started thinking about it to getting the trip together, things went fast. I first made sure that the grandparents and eldest child would be available to watch the younger ones, and then started looking for airfares. Just about the time I was going to lock in the airfare, British Airways came up with a non-stop fare from LA to Heathrow for three hundred less per person than the lowest airfare that I had been able to find. I jumped on it and we were good to go. Once again, I have to recommend TripAdvisor for finding a good hotel.

I was a little worried about going to London and Edinburgh in February -- I was afraid that we would freeze. Especially my husband. He is Southern Californian born and bred and has very thin blood. He becomes pinched and wan when we visit Colorado. He shivers when the temperature dips below 70 degrees.

I was so busy at work before we left that I only had a very little time to prepare. The week before we left, I had lots of lists going, but not a lot done. Packing at this point consisted of tossing things that we might need into a box at the end of my desk.

We were leaving on Saturday afternoon, out of LAX, and the kids were all going to see us off. We started gathering stuff together at the beginning of the week in a more systematic fashion and got most of our stuff packed the night before the night before we left.

The actual night before we left, my husband took me out for a nice dinner – we had received a gift certificate for dinner for two and decided to use it up. It was probably not the most practical thing we could do, but we had a lovely time. Also, as our food budget would only allow for sandwiches and chips, we were having a last hurrah.

I got up really early on Saturday morning so I could finish up some reports, thinking that we might have a couple of hours of packing and would be out of the house by ten. We got out of the house about two hours later than I would have liked, but there you go.

I did not have my sister's assistance in packing, but I managed to restrain myself. I only packed six or seven books to read. I always over pack books when I travel. I made sure that we had maps to the hotels and our boarding passes and our passports.

We did not have time to get lunch at Farmer’s Market, but we did have In-N-Out Burgers, which were pretty good. We got to the airport about three thirty for a five twenty flight. We were all checked in online, and supposedly just had to drop off our bags at the Fast Bag Drop and get through security.

We all stood on the sidewalk, saying good-bye over and over. My youngest said that he missed us already. It was hard to say goodbye to the kids. I missed them before we even got into the terminal. Next time, they come with us. I was not worried, because between the oldest and the grandparents, they would all be fine.

Really.

Wrymouth (husband mine) and I got into the Tom Bradley terminal and got in line to drop off our bags. As we looked up, we saw that our flight had been



Yes ...



So we had time for



So all was not lost.