Don't make us go back!

For the last four days of our epic journey I booked us a fantastic AirBnB room in Holland Park (Notting Hill neighborhood). Our host was the fascinating Jaana and her home was pristine in a gorgeous wedding cake of a townhome. While we had an open invitation to stay with Lizzie and family again, we knew we were much less fresh-faced than when we'd first been there. Basically we were animals, used to eating torn scraps of baguette and somewhat warm beers, speaking almost exclusively to one another in grunts and gestures, bathing infrequently, and hanging our underpants just everywhere to dry after an old fashioned sink wash. (Future employers: We are totally responsible adults in real life, we swear)

Four days sounded like so much time, and we tentatively planned a day trip to Brighton for Victorian beach amusement, and birthday celebrations that would empty the UK of its alcohol inventory. As you can imagine, we woke up on July 8, our first morning back in London and realized there was so much to do we could only cling to this time with our filthy fingernails. We walked through Kensington park to the Victoria and Albert Museum where we focused on the truly important exhibits: Fashion and Jewelry. We probably could have accomplished much more that day if I hadn't known about the Jewelry exhibit. The gallery didn't allow photos, but that didn't stop me from spending a full two hours there, much to Sally's horror, taking notes on jewelry styles and designers of different eras. I'm not even exaggerating (I kind of wish I were). We also visited the Wallace Collection, a townhome/cubic-city-block-mansion of art collected by five generations of Wallace men. I was inexplicably enchanted by the home's varied marble fireplace mantles, again, I am not kidding here when I tell you that I walked through this house taking photographs of the fireplaces and loudly praising them as Sally sat with head in hands waiting for the sweet release of death. Here's the proof:

 

I should also mention at this point we were at about 463 miles walked according to my absolutely imperfect pedometer. So now we were on a mission to reach 500 miles, we just had to. So we walked. One morning we got up and walked from our AirBnB to Camden Market, a six-and-a-half mile walk that we were about halfway into when the strap on one of Sally's hearty travel sandals tore free. She valiantly trudged on, not only to Camden but back into the center of London.

 

 

Another good reason for all the walking was that London's underground staff had decided to strike on July 9. After visiting Camden we had planned to make our way to the East End for a Sandeman tour, but could only get as far Euston Station, where we encounter a queue for the bus that was approximately 200 people deep at 2pm. Not good prospect for getting to Liverpool Station by 2:30pm. Sally wisely pointed out that it was not worth trying to run there, so could we just stop walking for a minute? That's how we ended up at the British Museum, ostensibly to use the toilets but since we were there, we took a gander at the Rosetta Stone.

The good thing about London is that where there's a will, there's a pub. So that's how we killed time before meeting Lizzie for drinks and Indian food. And after a perfect summer evening telling Lizzie about Francis and other adventures, Sally and I spent three hours trying to get home. It was a damn nightmare. 

Our last day in London was also my birthday. We ate breakfast with Jaana on her rooftop patio, walked to Westminster Pier where we caught the Thames River Service boat to Greenwich. The day was beautiful, the town was really cute in a touristy way, and it was an adventure of train rides back to London.

 

We finally made it to the East End for the Sandeman Real East End Tour. The itinerary looked so fun, a great afternoon adventure, but what the website didn't say at the time was that the tour started on July 31. So we trekked over to Liverpool Street Station, walked from clock tower to clock tower looking for a red umbrella, but 2pm came and went and we were just standing there, totally disappointed. It turned out okay though! We walked through the East End on our own and I pointed out to Sally streets that looked familiar from Call the Midwife. Thank goodness I watch so much British TV. 




We went back to the AirBnB for a bit before heading over to Lizzie's, so I took the opportunity to walk down Portobello Road, admiring the colorful homes and varied market stalls. 

 

 

The rest of the night wasn't captured in photographs, so I'll romanticize it a fair bit. Lizzie & Co had prepared for the big night by setting up a saber-ing station of 20oz beers. Three and a half years ago  when we traveled through India, I taught the Brits how to quickly and effectively remove the cap and lip of a beer using only a dinner knife. Sure it's sexier when a sommelier pops the top off a champagne bottle, but let's be serious: when you have to get to the alcohol, you have to get to the alcohol. This is the endgame of my wine career. Get the good stuff into your mouth. 

I lied, here is the sole photo from the night. Credit: Elizabeth W.

I don't know if British butter knives are weaker than Indian cutlery, or British bottles are thicker than their Indian counterparts, but we had a fairly difficult go of it. I think the men were finally successful, but I was woefully unable to make myself an amber glass ring. The good news was that we did have a bottle opener, so we were able to enjoy a few drinks before heading out to a wonderful South Chinese restaurant specializing in roasted meats and hand-pulled noodles. The entire experience was unique (a delightful departure from Americanized Chinese take-out) and provided deeply entertaining conversation. I am so lucky to have such accomplished and witty friends! On our way back to Southwark we stopped in for more drinks and a pile of chips/crisps to enjoy into the wee hours of the morning. We did precisely that, and on July 11 Sally made our way home. 

A few hours later we were up and out, wishing Jaana well, and met Lizzie again for brunch at Kensington Square Kitchen. It was as hard to believe that we were leaving as it was to anticipate actually taking the trip seven weeks ago. Sally and I didn't have much to say on the tube ride to the airport, or making our way through security. When we got into the terminal, I saw a sign and joked to Sally that it read "Breakfast Pizza" to which she responded, "I could eat." 

And so, the perfect end to our trip together was this: Sally eating a plain cheese pizza while I ate a plate of fish and chips with mushy peas. I couldn't have asked for a more amiable travel partner, nor a better counterpoint to my rather heavily sarcastic outlook.  As Sally finished her last European pizza, I turned to her and said, "Our plane is boarding in ten minutes. Now we have to run."

UK express

More than a week has already passed, how can that be? It at once feels like we've been here forever, and really that the trip hasn't even begun. We set down in London on Monday night, and were through immigration and out to the tube quickly. I am eternally grateful for starting our trip in an English speaking country, as future me will find out soon enough.

Sally's not big into art museum hopping and I have meandered through enough of them in my lifetime that they begin to blur together. Instead, our focus in London has been map coverage. We are walking north of nine miles a day and seeing as much as we can. On day one we made our way to the Tower bridge and the Tower itself. The Tower is jam packed with tourists, obviously, and I think that can undermine one's experience/conceptualization of this centuries old fortification. Still, we spent a few hours at the site on our own and in a Yeoman's tour, the weather was spectacular and it initiated us into the practice of seeing "really old things."

On day two we hopped on an early train to Windsor & Eton to visit really old thing #2: Windsor castle. I think I must have been to a castle in my travels, but perhaps more as ruins or converted to museums, because I was awed by Windsor. The tower and original buildings were constructed in the 11th century, and though it fell into disrepair during Cromwell's era, it has always been the focus of continued improvements. And though it is famous for being one of the royal family's official lodgings, within its walls lives hundreds of families who are employed to maintain it. In historical films a village is always living within the castle, but I didn't realize that was still going on. The guide told us that once the castle closed for the evening, families usually came out to grill (in good weather), walk their dogs and chat with neighbors. What a fun life! Especially now that they aren't slaves, or living in squalor. We we able to tour the State Apartments which were gorgeously ornate, and included a throne room which housed Queen Elizabeth I's (I'm picturing Cate Blanchett obvs) white ivory and dark green velvet throne. Off in a dark corner was the current queen's simple satin dining room-appropriate throne. Where can I get one? We also saw Queen Mary's impressive doll house, which contains miniature replicas of famous paintings by the original artists, a pure silver dinner set for the chandeliered dining hall, and of course a room for the crown jewels which contains a tiny gem-encrusted crown. I have a sneaking suspicion the toddler prince and baby princess will not be allowed to play with this.

We also did a ten-miler through the major tourist district of London to see really old things #3-6, peeping at Buckingham Palace, strolling and boating in Hyde Park, annoying Italian waiters in Mayfair, having tea at Fortnum & Mason, telling Sally I had no idea why Piccadilly Circus or Trafalgar Square were important, but she definitely had to see them. And before we left for Brussels, we spent the day in Oxford, which was delightful.
 

 

But I don't want to get ahead of myself, so: Scotland.

We were only in Scotland for two and a half days, which churns up the topic of how does one decide how long to stay (and where to go!) in each chosen country? Sally summed it up quite well our second day in Scotland, "seeing all these sites doesn't quench my desire to travel, but fuels it!" We decided in this instance to spend our first day on a self-driven walking tour of the city, per usual, and that on the second day we would take a travel company's excursion to the highlands. In addition to the sightseeing, I was also able to introduce Sally to her very first international hostel...the very worst one in the world.

Euro Hostel Glasgow had fair to middling reviews on Hostelworld, but there weren't many other options for us in the first place due to some football championship. When we checked in the "lively bar" was shutting down at 9pm, one of two elevators were out of order, the kitchen and common room were abysmal, and our dorm room didn't have the lockers as promised. We had a roommate, but she apparently had no luggage. Later that night we met Francis, a mid-50s Scottish woman who walked in the room after shouting at people in the hall and laughed to us, "they don't know I'm deaf! I told them to shut up!" Long story short, she seemed fine when we talked for a while before going to sleep, but once the lights went off she began a bodily symphony which kept Sally and I from any consistent sleep. Which turned out to be better since I was at one point awoken by her standing over me, touching my torso. The next morning when I processed what had happened, I went to reception who excused her behavior away by saying she was "deaf and dumb." Yikes. We ended up getting our money back and staying at a Marriott down the road, which was a great treat but also doesn't make one feel too good at being a backpacker. The moral of my story is this: nighttime touching is never okay, and don't give your money to bigots. You probably already knew that.

So, now installed at Marriott, we had a wonderful stay. We saw really old thing # 7 & 8: the Gothic Glasgow Cathedral of St. Mungo reportedly built in the 1100s, as well as the Provand's Lordship which is the city's oldest manse built in 1467. It is oddly filled with random non-period appropriate furniture and art. Still, 900 and 500 year old buildings are just staggering to see in person. From there we walked to Glasgow Green and the People's Palace which is a civic center really, a cultural museum, and food court. In the evening we went on a pub crawl through the really lovely West End on Argyle Street. We started at The Park Bar and decided to have a different half-pint at each stop so we could taste as many different beer brands as possible. Each stop was different from the last, starting with a very traditional and very local mahogany paneled pub, to a trendy subway-tiled bistro, a grungy music venue/bar, a family pizza place, etc. We finished up at Brass Monkey, enjoying our last half pint and realizing that we'd consumed 3 pints each, or 48 floz. We are champs.

After a great night's sleep at the Marriott, we had a big complimentary breakfast and our tour guide picked us up in the lobby. Once all 14 of us outlanders were on board, we made our way into the Scottish Highlands to see really old things #9-100. Our tea break just happened to be at a haunted 300 year old inn called Drover's. It was a foggy, drizzly grey day, which felt totally appropriate for Scotland, though it did ruin our view for the first few hours. We heard about the MacDonald massacre in Glencoe, saw the Scottish commando memorial, drove along Loch Lomond among many others, and toured Urquhart Castle before taking a sunny cruise on Loch Ness. Our guide Cliff, kilted out, was a great, easygoing driver and conversationalist. He was also very accommodating when I scampered off on a riverside hike and everyone on the bus thought I'd fallen into a waterfall. We reached Inverness before looping back down through Cairngorms National Park and taking a final snack break in the Victorian town of Pitlochry.  And on our last half day we took the metro out to Bearsden, Glasgow's first garden suburb, and home to a distant cousin of Sally's, 102 year old Florence. They talked for a while and then we said our goodbyes, heading back to Glasgow for lunch at the Willow Tea Room, a restaurant designed by famous Glaswegan Art Nouveau artist and architect Charles Rennie Mackintosh. We managed to pack in quite a bit of activity for so few days!

Aww, the Duke and his horse have jaunty caps!

Soon enough we were back on a train to London, which felt like home already.

Our last day in England was spent in Oxford (are we up to really old thing #728? I give up). Oxford was established as a university town in the 12th century, with individual colleges set up by wealthy patrons between 1100 and 1590, a project encouraged by King Henry II when a disagreement with the French induced him to pull all English students out of university in France, the traditional destination for higher education of the upper class. Our tour guide walked us through Exeter College including the chapel and dining hall, took us to the Bodelian Library Radcliffe Camera as well as the Divinity School and city Cathedral, giving us insight into students' lives historically and presently. A light drizzle fell through the duration of the walking tour, but that added to the charm really. Oxford is filled to the brim with bicycles, we were delighted to watch students and professionals zipping neatly around us, absolutely exuding Britishness. We grabbed lunch (chicken pie with potatoes and mushy peas for me, a buttered bagel for Sally) and then walked over to the Eagle and Child pub, where the Inklings including J.R.R. Tolkein, C.S. Lewis, and Charles Williams met to discuss their novel ideas and share rough drafts. The rain passed overhead and as the sun blazed through the clouds we happened upon Worcester College which was open to the public. The residence halls formed two sides of rectangular quad, the front side being the entry and chapel, the back a beautiful brick wall covered in carefully cultivated flowering plants. We were agog that we could just walk around where we liked, and quickly made our way through a low tunnel of a door which deposited us in a pastoral garden, complete with pond, ducks, and shade trees. It really brought to life the more magical world writers like Lewis Carroll lived in that enabled him to envision Alice in Wonderland. After lingering a while and taking photos, we exited the college and got back to the station in time to catch a train back to London.

 

That evening we celebrated our last night in London with Lizzie's roommate who suggested we visit Gordon's Wine Bar, a cave under the street on the north bank of the Thames that has been serving wine for 125 years. It was crowded with post-work imbibers, and we joined the fray, poaching a table as soon as its previous inhabitants crept away, and proceeded to enjoy a Spanish rosé, a Hungarian Pinot Noir, and an Uruguayan Tannat. We walked home against a light breeze along the river and crossed Westminster Bridge in the glow of Big Ben and a full moon. Being in England has felt less like traveling and more like a new home, thanks to the hospitality of our Southwark friends.