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We stepped off the coach into the bustling city of Oxford for the second walk of our day tour. Richard had told us that students at the university were in the middle of exams, and sure enough, he pulled us to the side of the street to spy on a student in full robes, which they are required to wear to exams, as he mounted his bicycle nearby.
Oxford city view.
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On Wednesday morning, I got up early (again) and tubed over to Paddington Station. Remember my earlier London Walks tour of Notting Hill? Well, the company also does day trips to nearby cities and sites by train. The one that fell on Wednesday during my trip was to Oxford and the Cotswolds, which was perfect, since I’d never seen the Cotswolds and haven’t been to Oxford since I was nine. Plus I love all the “Inspector Lewis” mysteries that are set in the town of Oxford.
At the station, I spotted our guide, Richard, in his telltale red cap, paid for my ticket and waited for them to call our platform. I started chatting with Debby, another American visitor who joined the tour that morning. She was also in town for the Jubilee and told me a great story — she’d actually been watching all the preparations on CNN at home in Buffalo that Saturday, decided she couldn’t miss such a royal occasion and got on a plane within two hours. A woman after my own heart! Keep reading »
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After the hub-bub died down in front of St. Paul’s, I walked in the other direction to get a better view of the church. Pretty soon I found myself on Fleet Street, but was lost and turned around. After the late revelry of the night before, I was hoping to find a Tube station that would whisk me back to my hotel, and specifically my bed. But the innumerable barricades along the streets prevented me from navigating in the direction I thought I should be going.
As I stood there confused, I noticed a significant amount of people still lining the barricades expectantly. I walked over to lean against one and look at my map, just as someone asked a police officer, “What time will they be coming by?”
My ears perked.
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I figured this would be the hardest post to write, and probably also to read. To write, because I may have to explain why I get so teeny-bopper excited over the British royal family, and I have no justification. To read, because most of you aren’t going to care one whit. So, I’ll give you an out — there is lots of mooning and fawning over royals to come, so I’m not offended if you need to cut out. I know it’s not everyone’s cup of tea. (Har, har, har.)
As Day 4 dawned, I woke early and tubed over St. Paul’s Cathedral, site of the morning Diamond Jubilee Thanksgiving service, which was to begin at 10:30 a.m. Most of the streets were blocked, so I had a heck of a time actually getting to the cathedral, and I passed groups of men and women in full church attire making their way to the service. How’d they get to be so special?
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I emerged from Hyde Park near Knightsbridge, on my way to Harrod’s. I don’t actually care much for Harrod’s itself, but some souvenir (and food) shopping was in order. I later learned that the al Fayed family sold the store to the Quatari royal family, which may explain the disproportionate amount of Arab visitors. I wandered through the food stalls, past exquisite pastries and tins of biscuits and jam. It’s very touristy, and was very crowded. On my way out, I caught the shoes that were part of a contest Kate Middleton judged earlier this year (or last?). Neat.
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Monday was my birthday, so I planned to take it a bit easier and enjoy life. The only Jubilee-related celebration that day was the evening concert at Buckingham Palace, but only U.K. residents could score tickets, and in a lottery at that. I had thought about pitching a blanket to watch the concert in Hyde Park, but the weather was just too unpredictable.
I had breakfast at a little cafe by my hotel, Carmina Cafe, that was good, hot and filling — poached eggs with roasted tomato, goat cheese and rocket (arugula), toast and coffee. I actually had really excellent coffee the entire time I was in London — definitely a highlight.
For the morning, I pre-booked tickets to Kensington Palace, which was refurbished and reopened just recently. As I walked over from the Tube, the weather looked weirdly menacing but held.
Pardon this interruption in the middle of the London recap, but I heard the best story today.
For the past two months I’ve been training to take over duties for a coworker while she’s out on maternity leave. We are kindred souls in that she’s a details person and a planner just like me, though she might take organization and scheduling to a whole new level. In the middle of our training sessions, we’d stop to chat about her daughter-to-be, Kayla, and all the cute gifts and clothes she’d just received at another baby shower. As the due date approached, the nursery was painted lavender, the toys were cataloged and the pink onesies and polka dot sundresses were arranged in the closet … everything in place to await Kayla’s arrival.
I was a little worried that my coworker would go into labor while I was in London, but Kayla decided to be late. She was born on Wednesday night, which is joyous news … except that she is a boy, and her name is Michael. With all of our prenatal technology in 2012, including multiple exams and ultrasounds — even in 3-D! — it turns out that we can still be surprised in life.
My mom always says that if you want to make God laugh, go ahead and make your own plans. Well, I think he got a big belly rumbler out of this one.
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After my weird sleep patterns and full day of sightseeing the day before, I slept in a bit on Sunday morning. The mission of the day, however, was to get in position for the Queen’s Thames River Pageant, one of the first high-profile events of the Diamond Jubilee weekend celebration.
I had been watching the crowd build up at Tower Bridge on television, so I knew I didn’t want to go there. Tower Bridge was the end of the pageant, where the Queen would disembark to watch the rest of the procession. That = craziness. Instead, I got out at the Mansion House tube stop, a ways down the river. With the rest of the country. We all — gobs of children, teenagers, families and strollers — walked for ages down the barrier streets, looking for a way in to the river. But, security was tight and every building and establishment along the river had scheduled private, ticket-only events. I’d had the opportunity to buy such a ticket, for a cocktail reception at about $250 a pop. That seemed ridiculous at the time, but not so as I walked and walked to get a decent view.
Near Blackfriars, along the Victoria Embankment, I spotted a place at the top of an incline that was only, oh, 15 people deep. So I wedged myself in and prepared for the two-plus-hour wait for the boats to reach us. There were screaming children, moments of aggressive pushing/leaning and close quarters among people who had both traveled from around the country and camped out there for the morning. It was not what I would call ‘pleasant.’ I tried desperately to protect my tiny sliver of a view of the river anyway. I was also positioned across the river from the Tate Modern museum, where a large screen was projecting someone’s, probably BBC, television coverage. So we could see images of the royal family boarding their boats, and had a vague notion of what was happening elsewhere.
Oh, London.
I’m freshly back from my London Jubilee/birthday excursion, and missing it already. That’s a little unusual, because as much as I am enamored with British culture, television, tea, accents, history and the royal family … I’ve just never really liked London. On this trip, though, I think the love affair began.
London’s such an easy city — to get to, to get around in, to visit alone. Though it’s nothing like New York, I felt a distinct and similar cityness — on the tube, in the hum of commuter rush hour, in just its oldness. But in that, of course, New York has nothing on London. I just felt surprisingly comfortable, and loved being back in the middle of the bustling city — you know I can throw an elbow in a crowd, hurl myself into a packed train car and speedwalk past the tourists with the best of them.
Now, it wasn’t a relaxing holiday, not like laying on a Caribbean beach with a mai tai for a week. And I killed it, every day, which means I made it through most of the sites on my to do list. It also means I hardly slept, mostly because I never acclimated to GMT. It sure made the coming home easier though — no early waking and to bed at 8 pm for me.
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South & Sundry 