Our London flat is up five flights in what I can envision an
Irish family living in the early 1900s. It’s a cool, working-class neighborhood
now very Middle eastern. The smells down the alley are heavenly. Nigel met us
to hand over keys and give us a few tips. I’d rented the place on airbandb.com
after fluke-ishly finding it almost last-minute. When I discovered it sat
midpoint from Selfridge’s and Baker Street, well it was a no brainer. We are a
die-hard BBC family.
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| Portobello Road Market |
It’s $172 a night, central, just around the corner from the
Bakerloo line, great amenities a bit tight, but workable for four of us.
Thaere’s a separate bedroom, full bath, well-stocked kitchen with washer and
compact living/dining room with sofa bed, advertised for two. No way they’d both fit, I could tell from the photos,
however, the owner also has a single air mattress, so the girls are pretty
comfortable. There’s wifi, satellite TV, plenty of hot water and small
necessities such as shampoo, cream rinse, shower gel, coffee, tea, milk and juice.
There’s a well-stocked small market around the corner and plenty of wonderful
narrow, but deep shops lined with bins of feta, olives, pastries, produce and
even roasted chickens. Easy to make a complete cook-free meal that’s healthy
and inexpensive.
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| Silver at the market |
Rousing ourselves our first full day in London, we headed to
the Portobello Road Market with its pastel townhouses and winding streets
stuffed with a riot of incongruous wares: souvenirs, silver, antiqued sporting
goods, paella, pastries, cheeses, pashminas and ice cream. No rhyme nor reason
to placement and such a colorful clash of cultures. We ate street food, grabbed
a few cheap souvenirs and meandered through the throngs to nearby posh and
quieter Nodding Hill. We hopped the tube to Harrod’s, the antithesis of the
rowdy market with its opulence. I knew we had to visit the food hall and
Autumn, a budding designer, wanted to swing through the haute couture.
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| Harrod's Food Hall |
Many
gowns were inspired by history and sketches hung nearby. We sipped the original,
400-year-old recipe for East India Tea Company’s Earl Grey – a bit flowery for
my palate, but quite elegant. The ornate deco staircase descended to a memorial
for Princess Diana and Dodo Fayed, whose father previously owned the store.
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| Letter to Diana |
Feeling very royal after our visit, we strolled to
Buckingham Palace, watched the guards do their little dance, chanced by Big Ben
as he sang out 8 p.m., were awed by Westminster Abbey and St. Margaret Church,
with a window created for the wedding of Henry VII and Catherine of Aragon, before
heading to the Sherlock Holmes Pub for very fresh fish and chips. Somehow we nabbed
a bar table on a busy Saturday evening. There’s a small museum upstairs and an
authentic pub down, where we sat on high stools. We walked back through
Trafalgar Square and Piccadilly Circus, which left me grateful to return to our
very immigrant, non-touristy neighborhood.
Sunday, I forced myself to arise for Quaker worship at the
Friends Center, just opposite Euston Station. An oasis in a bustling part of
the city, worship was quiet and the perfect antidote to rushed and somewhat
stressful traveling. Though I entered 10 minutes late, I was able to settle in
and pick up on the flow of the silence and vocal ministry. I had a few quick,
but meaningful conversations before they adjourned for their business meeting
and I needed to meet my
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| Front-row seats @ King Lear |
daughter at the theater.
My 16-year-old had set her alarm way back in April to get up
at 3 a.m. our time to score 15£
tickets to King Lear. I was as excited as she. We all met up and the other two
departed for a Dr. Who walking tour. We ate a quick, delicious and well-priced
light lunch before the almost three-and-a-half-hour drama. We had dressed in
our best and were somewhat disappointed by the Bermudas and flip flops.
Live theatre is intense and, sitting in the front row, we were reminded just
how dedicated stage actors are. The guy in Bermudas and flip flops who sat
behind me and two seats over said he could see behind stage. Nonetheless, we
were up close and personal – a little embarrassing for my teen when there was
brief male nudity. And, perhaps, when so much blood flowed. I had forgotten how
bloody this play is. My daughter said she saw a poster at intermission entitled
“Everyone dies” with a synopsis of how Shakespeare’s characters meet their
deaths.
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| Bridget Jones' pub |
We emerged
early evening and decided to wind along the Thames, twisting toward The Globe
Theatre, London Bridge and landing at the Globe Pub, which served as Bridget
Jones’ apartment in the two movies. I love the books and character because she
asks the world to accept her as she is. It was exhilarating to stumble on this
– I had it on my to-do list – even if it wasn’t open. Along the way, we
uncovered afternoon tea and gin
and tonics at the Southwark Cathedral café called The Refectory, but it had
just closed. Looked like a gem quietly hidden behind the South Bank attractions.
We also walked past the caged, and sadly, closed, stalls of Burroughs market. So
much to do, so little time.
We located
the nearest tube station, then turned the corner, trotted down an alley to
order a draft bitter and fountain Coke at the King’s Head Pub. On the way home,
we stopped by our local grocers (four to be exact) to concoct a multi-course
course dinner: English cheddar, spinach pastry similar to spanokopita, Greek
salad, roasted chicken, meat pies and baklava.
Monday, my
husband and daughters were up early for breakfast at Speedy’s Café of the BBC’s
Sherlock Holmes fame, while I slept in. I needed a lazy morning. Although I
adore our neighborhood, it is perienially noisy. Our texting wasn’t working so
I left a handwritten note that I would meet them at Selfridge’s. I am such a
fan of the BBC Mr Selfridge’s that I couldn’t wait. Not as deco-decadent as
Harrod’s, Selfridge’s is hip and contemporary with an artistic endeavor in
every window. A simple, short cotton beach skirt was priced at 150 £, too rich
for my blood, though I settled on a child’s oil cloth backpack dotted with red
double-decker buses. Makes the perfect purse. The store was dotted with a
variety of restaurants, an entire floor devoted to shoes and all items were
grouped by designer, almost as if each had their own shop. We stopped for
drinks on the Ikea-like fourth floor food court with a great view of the
surrounding neighborhood.
The dinner
plan was to head back to the Globe after visiting the Tower of London and Tower
Bridge. The girls were hungry, so we picked up a snacking picnic and headed for
Hyde Park, stretched out in the grass, then hopped the tube at Marble Arch.
While debating the merits of blowing our budget on Tower of London tickets, we
discovered they were only open another 45 minutes. Not enough time, we all
reasoned, so we walked around the old castle, across the bridge and ambled
toward The Globe Pub, which was open.
It was stiflingly humid, unusual for London, and the old Globe seemed stale.
One round was enough here, just for the sake of Bridget. We trudged, well
that’s what the girls would have called it, to more of the central, regular
part of London to Fleet Street and the Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese, an authentic
pub (rebuilt in 1667 after a fire destroyed the original from 1538) sprawling
down into the former caverns of a 13th century monastery. The
ground-floor restaurant was packed on a Monday, so we climbed the ancient
stairs down to a labyrinth of small rooms and snagged a long table as a small
group was exiting. The girls ordered gi-normous and tasty burgers, Tad opted
for fish and chips and I dared to get the fish pie, a white sauce of fish and
shellfish over mashed potatoes. Our meals were excellent.
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| Buckingham Palace |
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| St. Margaret's Cathedral, front; Westminster Abbey |
