London

I am still enjoying entering an elevator in London - a "lift" as they say - and hearing a posh English woman's voice say, "Doors closing," and "Doors opening."  Outside our window we see a beautiful building facing our room, with statues set into the stone face and ornate columns.  But then all of the buildings in London seem to be like this! - resonating with history and displaying beautiful architecture.  It turns out that this building is the Church of the Annunciation, and there is a letter-box slot set into the brick wall - is it still operational?  I think of dropping a little note inside -  but to whom would I write it?

A sign tells me that there has been a place of worship on this site since 1787.  "The architect was Walter Tapper, and he built the church in the Edwardian Gothic style.   The altar reredos and stained glass window are by J. C. Bewsey.  The organ is by Frederick Rothwell.  The Stations of the Cross are by Alos de Beule."  It seemed odd to find this outpost of the Church of England nestled in this busy street opposite the modern shrine to Rock and Roll in which we were staying.

I have become accustomed to my morning Tai Chi wherever we happen to be, and on this trip my intention is to continue doing so, outside in the street in a quiet place, or perhaps in a deserted hallway or the fitness room ("leisure suite," as it is usually called).  I can't remember missing morning Tai Chi in nearly 35 years, any more than the parishioners attending the Church of the Annunciation have missed their matins.  After Tai Chi and a welcome cup of coffee, we went downstairs to enjoy the full British breakfast which, with minor variations, we came to expect over the next three weeks:  kippers, sausages, thick wedges of "tom-ah-toes," mushrooms, thick fat bacon, soft-boiled eggs, and that standard British breakfast fare, beans on toast.  Yes, I saw my fellow diners spooning actual beans on actual toast, and although I had been told to expect it I was still surprised.  We are talking about beans out of a can, simply spooned onto pieces of toast.

In addition to the standard British fare, we found several foods catering to the different ethnic types staying in the Hard Rock, such as falafel, "ful medames" (which I had to Google), pita bread, and hummus.  Muesli also seemed to be available everywhere in the absence of granola.  The staff, too, did not seem to be British, but Middle Eastern, Russian, and Italian.  One of our travel companions from America would tell me a few days later that it was three days before she heard a genuine British accent.

Our first adventure in London was a scheduled tour of the city.  We boarded a bus and met our London tour guide, Gloria, who took us to Kensington Palace, Albert Hall, Harrod's, Piccadilly, Trafalgar Square, Soho, Downing Street, Westminster Abbey, and Parliament - all of the iconic London sights.

I was especially struck by the clock on Parliament with its darkened face at 2:00 p.m., the hour that Charles I had been executed.  “What a terrible thing, to execute a king!” Gloria said.

Martha posed for this photo in front of a statue of Millicent Garrett Fawcett, the suffragette who famously threw herself in front of George V’s horse at the Epsom Derby in 1913 and finally got his attention to the plight of disenfranchised women.  "Courage calls to courage everywhere!"

The highlight of Gloria's tour was a viewing of the Changing of the Guard at Buckingham Palace, which draws massive crowds.  We were not disappointed by the pomp of this British tradition.

 

This bird caught my eye, perching on the head of a statue and watching the pageant unfolding before us with a dispassionate eye.

We finished our morning tour and lined up in front of a pub called The Bag O' Nails, waiting for them to open. A sign on the door explained that a tavern known as “The Bacchanals” stood at this corner as early at 1775.  The original sign showed a satyr of the woods and a group of jolly dogs called bacchanals, but the satyr being painted black with cloven feet was called the Devil by “common people, while the bacchanals were transmuted by a comical process into a Bag O’Nails, after the play by Ben Johnson.”

London is filled with such history; a man could spend a lifetime walking these streets and learning this history.  We found a table by the window and Martha ordered Fish and Chips; we discovered that "fish" means a huge portion of fried fish, enough for four or five ordinary Americans to consume.  I also discovered that "Doom Bar" beer was on tap, which delighted me.  Doom Bar is the preferred beer of the fictional Cormoran Strike, a character in a series of crime fiction books written by J. K. Rowling (author of the Harry Potter books) published under the pseudonym Robert Galbraith, of which I am a devoted fan.

After lunch, we had the opportunity of touring Buckingham Palace, which is only open to the public for six weeks a year when the Queen is on vacation.  We could not take photographs in this sacred place (I would have taken a hundred or more), but suffice it to say that we spent the afternoon marveling at the beautiful palace of the Queen of England and the artwork that she and her predecessors have collected over the years, paintings by Rembrandt and Rubens and Titian.  We finished our tour with tea and scones at the Garden Cafe.

It had begun to rain just a little, barely enough to make me open the umbrella, and we made our way on foot back to the Hard Rock through the bustle of London in the afternoon.  We made an early night of it.