In which we Arrive in London

N.B.: This entry is dated on the date of occurrence, not the date it was written. There are two journal entries dated 25 July, but I've separated them in the blog: see bracketed information below.

[Long delay--I couldn’t find this journal last night. Mad panic, thought I’d left it in Leicester ----- what did I say about anyone who might find it?? Whew. I just packed it too well.]
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Jane's Journal Page Notes:
Palm Lovers...

Playing is healing,
And healing is so much of what we need,
Imaginations fused are a study in mischief,
Evolve with your lover~~
Knowing you must eventually let go.
Embrace your lover in this time you have been given
To be together.

Journal entry:
I think we left around 10:00 after a second day of nice normal breakfasts: cold cereal and hot toast. Jesse is probably glad to see the end of us especially as I got all weepy as we left. Weird. I definitely had gotten over my nervy day, but was still tense about London for some reason. And I hadn’t cried when we said goodbye to anyone else. Poor Jesse!

As we left, Daphne gave us her usual choice between ‘short’ and ‘quick’ routes. We chose short, which resulted in us driving through the countryside a bit before getting onto the motorway. Normally, Jean and Reg's house is about 7 minutes from it, but we drove south parallel to it for about 20 minutes. Once we got to Daphne's choice of motorway entrances, we cruised south with no problems at all. In fact, the traffic leaving London was atrocious: at a complete standstill in two different areas.

Daphne directed us off the motorway early for some reason. We stopped for gas and ended up driving through several far-western London suburbs (e.g. Ruislip) during prime shopping time. Also known as lunch-time. Busy, lots of traffic. Lots of roundabounts. Lots of people. No place to park to grab food. By the time we reached Heathrow, I was pretty hungry. Finding Hertz was a little tricky and that at least took my mind off my stomach (a difficult achievement!). Maybe it was just that I was sad to say g’bye to Daphne. I’ve decided I want my own Daphne, but she won’t be British at home. Sad.

The Hertz guy offered to call us a cab as we unloaded the boot. We eventually caved in, chickening out of the tube. The cab driver charged us £48 for the drive (arranged before we got in the car); he also told us if we called him Tuesday he’ll take 20% off the return trip on Wednesday. We’re still deciding.

He was a good driver. Very calm. His claim to fame is that he’s driven for Peter Gabriel twice, though he didn’t recognize him the first time and had to be told he was famous. He’s also driven people to Paris. And back.

Once again all the bad traffic was coming toward us: a nasty accident on the other side of the dual carriageway on the outskirts of the city had everything backed up there. On the other hand, that loosened up the driver’s tongue. I think he was a little concerned because I sat in front rather than Beast. He eventually told us he was Pakistani, and the penny dropped for us. It's not usual for him to talk to women he's not related to. Of course, we knew he was probably Middle Eastern, but we weren't sure which country. I was amused by the fact that he had a very Amish hairstyle and beard. He was a very nice guy.

The drive took about an hour, a good trip, through Hyde Park and Kensington Park. I actually knew where we were for the last ten minutes. So things haven’t changed THAT much in London! I think it kind of weirded out the driver that I kept turning in my seat to say to Sparky, "Just a few more blocks" and "There's one of the tube stops we'll be using."

We got to the Harlingford, which is on the corner of Cartwright Gardens and Mabledon (and Leigh St.). Had I known that it was the corner, I probably would have tried harder to book a hotel further down the row. There are 5 or 6 hotels next door along Cartwright Gardens, in a Georgian townhouse row. As usual, our room (#26) is up two flights of stairs. Can’t quite figure out the numbering system: there are rooms in the 20s on the floors above and below us. Fortunately, we are near the end of the hall--unfortunately, it‘s toward the corner, not away from it. It’s fortunate because the fire doors by the stairs SLAM every time anyone goes through. It’s a trade-off: we are further from the fire doors, but overlooking the intersection.

The room itself is TINY. But honestly, more sensibly arranged than Durham's digs. Here's the description:

The door opens in the middle of one side of the room. To the right is a double bed against the side wall. To the left is a single bed against the wall. Both side walls have small niches to put glasses, book, etc. on in lieu of a nightstand. The bathroom door is between the hall door and the single bed, just next to it (it wouldn't be hard to grab the wrong door at night!). The room narrows slightly as you go toward the window, making the room somewhat pie-shaped. There is a narrow reception-style chair, and a decent-sized desk with TV above it to the left of the window (on Sparky’s side), and a midget Ikea-esque closet to the right of the window. The closet for the room next door pokes into our room next to our closet. The bathroom is very Intourist-y, although there is a shower curtain and the toilet seat isn’t wooden. In fact, I think the hotel bathroom in Samarkand might have been bigger than this bathroom. People under 5-feet tall and 90 pounds would be fine in this room; everyone else has to leave to change their minds! This room was clearly added on by narrowing the hotel corridor--the corridor weaves its way down to our room like a drunken college student.

When we arrived, we pretty much dumped our things and left again to find food. It was probably 2:30 by then. We found a fish & chips place 'round the corner that also did burgers and other quick fried food. Bad choice. [I’ve been paying for that choice all day today...ugh.] Oh well, we were really hungry and it was too late to hit a pub--the cooks had all left for a couple of hours, till dinner. We know. We checked.

After eating, we walked to King's Cross Station to buy tube passes for the remainder of the day. They are in a massive construction project that encompasses St. Pancras and King's Cross and is a giant mess. Must come back to see the final product! Sparky did his run at the barriers at platform 9¾. There is a sign set up over an unused archway near platform 9. Very sweet. Sparky was not the only kid--in fact there was a 19ish-year-old taking a load of photos and trying to suppress her grins of excitement. There was also a sweet little French girl of about 6 years.

We tried out our tube passes by riding to Russell Square so that we could see the British Museum. We arrived around 4:00, so we only got a bit over an hour to see the exhibits. The Great Court--restaurant and meeting place only--is open till midnight but the rest of the Museum closes around 5:30. So we scooted quickly through the Egyptian exhibit and went into the Reading Room, which is VERY IMPRESSIVE, before stopping for tea at the cafe in the court. Mmmm, scones.

Back to Russell Square tube stop--through the Square itself this time--where we tubed to Embankment station so Sparky could see Big Ben. We walked from Parliament up the Thames past Cleopatra's Needle, crossed the street and walked up to The Strand where we found a beautiful Italian restaurant called "Paradiso e Inferno." Wonderful food! We sat next to a table full of Russians, which was weird. Every time I’m in London, Russia becomes important for some reason. They were all smoking incessantly, and most of them didn’t have much English. I got a strong sense of Mafia from them. Strange. I don’t usually go directly toward that stuff, but there was just something....off...maybe something I subliminally understood them talking about?

Just after we finished, the place lived up to its name -- it got REALLY HOT. We discovered at that point that the kitchen was downstairs where we were seated. We also suddenly became invisible to our waiter, apparently because all we wanted to do was leave. I very nearly fainted. Hot flashes suck.

We finally escaped, and strolled to the Charing Cross tube station. We rode back to Euston station, where after wandering around a bit we managed to find our way to the hotel. Where we crashed into bed.