Travels in London I

Travels in London I
(or What I Did on my Summer Vacation)

6/30

7/1

7/ 2

June 30, 2001 (Saturday)

Flew into Heathrow at about 10:00 p.m. local time. Met Ethan and Nicole at the airport (finally grabbing a much-needed bathroom and smoke break before setting off). Drove home with Nicole while Ethan took the tube home. We're sleeping in Ethan and Nicole's room; Penny is sleeping in the office; Ethan and Nicole are sleeping in the living room. The home is small but efficient. Amy (the West Highland Terrier) is spunky. Had a draught of Scotch with Ethan before hitting the sack. Surprise number one: the English do not believe in air conditioning, and it is very warm.

July 1, 2001 (Sunday)

Woke up at 11:30 in the morning. Once we had all showered and eaten a little breakfast, we went with Nicole on the tube while Ethan went to read. We started with a tour of the new Globe—had a great tour guide by the name of Kitty (great quote she had: "Cymbeline, or as we call it, 'Seldom-seen Cymbeline.'"), then bought stuff at the gift shop. They have a wonderful Shakespearean exhibit on the grounds; Helene and Penny tried Shakespeare karaoke with Romeo and Juliet.

Had an impromptu visit to the prison museum, The Clink. Our guide was not the greatest, but was enthusiastic, at least. Very good atmosphere. We ate an outdoor barbeque place called the Anchor just down the way in Southwark (tempted fate by eating a cheeseburger). Then we walked a bit along the south bank of the Thames—drifting by pure happenstance, as it were, into Sir Francis Drake's ship, the Golden Hind—until suppertime.

We ate at a nice cafe called the Cantina, where I had a cheese pizza that was actually quite good (although I could only finish six of the eight slices). Then we walked across Tower Bridge to meet Ethan for the Ripper walking tour at 7:30. When we got there, however, there were over 75 people gathered in the plaza to take it; instead, we decided to hop the tube down to Baker Street, where we had a pint or two at the Metropolitan Bar while Ethan talked to a waiting list prospective for LBS. We got back home around 11:00 p.m. to get some sleep.

July 2, 2001 (Monday)

Woke up around 8:00 this morning, showered, and got underway for Stratford before 10:30. First arrived at Oxford around 12:00. After some minor troubles with finding the actual route into the city, we found parking and ate at a local pub called The Eagle and Child. I had genuine English fish and chips, which overall was pretty good except for the couple of rib bones left near the tail end (I hate getting fish ribs in my filets). Shared our nook near the door with an American couple, although we didn't converse with them—the man burned through two or three smokes in half an hour; I was a little concerned for Penny.

Walked off lunch in "downtown" Oxford; it was more crowded than I perhaps expected. After that, we returned to the car and got slightly turned around attempting to exit Oxford and find the M40 motorway. Once we'd found it, we continued on our way to Stratford via Warwickshire (so we could visit the renowned Warwick Castle).

Hit Warwick Castle around 2:30 p.m. after Ethan did his best to get us lost (with help from Penny). Saw the great hall and the exhibit "Victorian Weekend Party" in the main living quarters), and the "Ghost Tower" where Sir Fulke Greville was murdered by his servant, Haywood (exceedingly cool refurbishment, although the "ghost" multimedia presentation was kind of cheesy). Then the girls dragged us down to the river island to watch an Aussie playing his ratcatcher routine on a playing-stage wagon. The Aussie was lively; the little Irish lass he chose to play his "assistant" was, well, evidently a junior Bitch Scout in training.

After the ratcatcher, we went back to the castle, trying the 500+ step ramparts tour. Realized that due to the steps and narrow, spiral staircases, probably no one ran much around the castle in its heyday. The largest tower is Guy's Tower, which stands 39 meters (almost 128 feet) high, with a commanding view of the approaches. The route continued past the gatehouse and barbican toward Caesar's Tower. At that point we went down to watch the archer on the front lawn for a bit—very amiable fellow, let me feel the balance on his longsword—before heading back inside for a tour of the dungeon under Caesar's Tower and the Torture Chamber exhibit. Finished off with the Kingmaker exhibit, which celebrates the Battle of Barnet (and medieval life in the castle). Unfortunately time ran short; we missed the State Rooms, which I would have enjoyed a bit more than the Victorian exhibit that occupied the main living quarters.

Left Warwick Castle at quarter til 6; found Stratford-upon-Avon without incident. Did have a minor problem with the Grosvenor when they didn't have a confirmation number for our reservations, but got it cleared up fairly quickly. Got bags to our respective rooms and met Penny and Ethan at 7:10 in the lobby to get some dinner at the hotel restaurant.

Dinner took about two hours. I am now firmly convinced that the Brits don't believe in air conditioning. The temperature in the restaurant was borderline uncomfortable, but the food and wine was quite decent (had a dish of Chicken Supreme). Ethan was a little put off because we couldn't immediately see an itemized bill for the dinner, but we moved on to take in a bit of Stratford at dusk. Walked around the town for roughly an hour after dinner, stumbling upon a number of cool storefronts and—quite unintentionally—Shakespeare's birthplace. There's a store called Traditions of Britain just up the same street that looks like a place at which we may be able to get kilt stuff for Mom; there is also a sporting goods place down the way that has a lot of nifty swords for sale—including a magnificent rapier. I might have to look into this.

We got back to the Grosvenor and proceeded to play hands of euchre with Ethan and Penny until about 2:00 in the morning. Helene took to bed a little earlier, not feeling extremely well; I retired soon thereafter to be with her, and we tried to get to sleep in the stifling heat of the room.

July 3, 2001 (Tuesday)

Woke up at 4:00 a.m. at least a little cooler (it has been, according to the locals, unseasonably warm even for July, and the Brits have some sort of taboo concerning air conditioning), but with a drinker's headache. I finally drifted back into semiconsciousness a bit later; we both eventually woke up around 9:00 a.m.

Got showered and took breakfast at a pastry shop called the Hathaway Tea Room, where I had a breakfast roll of bacon and egg (at which point I remembered that English bacon is like a cut of country ham from back home, only slightly less salty and cooked a lot less). The breakfast was short but good. After that, we stopped by Marks and Spencer, where I could pick up a pair of shorts and a lighter shirt (it was already starting to broil). From there, we stopped back by the hotel so that I could change, then headed for the headquarters of the Shakespeare Birthplace Trust (conveniently, Shakespeare's birthplace).

First stop was the Shakespeare exhibition; it's a pretty nifty collection of memorabilia and reproductions (e.g., Shakespeare's will). Once we'd gotten through the exhibition, we moved into the birthplace house itself. We met a couple of very pleasant guides within the birthplace, one of whom explained the origin of sticking the pinky out while drinking or eating—it's used for dipping spices while dining. On the way out, we also encountered the Catholic-school-girl-from-hell in the gift shop—tartan skirt, patent leather knee-high boots, and twin pigtails. It was probably for the best that she didn't have an altogether attractive face.

The next stop was the Traditions of Britain shop we'd found the night before. Unfortunately, we weren't able to find anything specific to the Alexander (Mom's) family without incurring some serious research; evidently, the Alexanders not only could have come from the MacAlister clan or the McDonald of Glengarry, but they also tended to spread only slightly less rapidly than rabbits through the isles. We also tried to inconspicuously visit the sporting goods shop, which was made difficult when Helene announced, "You boys do your man things—we're going for some Ben & Jerry's." At least the skinheads that were inside talking guns when we walked in had the civility not to snicker openly. It was a tiny shop anyway, and much more concerned with hunting and guns than traditional weaponry such as the rapier.

Ethan and I met the gals and then caught some lunch at Haviland's on Meer street—had a sausage and coleslaw sandwich that wasn't half bad, although it might have been somewhat better if a) the baguette had been white like I ordered, instead of whole-grain, and b) the sausage hadn't been cold. We then left for a walk to Holy Trinity at about a quarter to three because we had dinner reservations at Marlowe's at 5:45.

Took a good walk around Holy Trinity; got a good peek at the Bard's tomb, then circled the cemetery perimeter for some exterior shots of the church. Wasn't aware that the nave included Anne Hathaway, the bard's daughter Susanne, his son-in-law John Nash, etc. We left Holy Trinity and passed by a "brass rubbings" place that Helene and Penny originally wanted to check out. As it turns out, we did not check out the brass rubbings; however, it did spawn one of the longest-lived running gags of the trip—"breast rubbings." After Trinity, we took a walk along the Avon to get back to the Grosvenor, getting back to the hotel before 4:00 p.m. We sat and had a drink in the lobby before heading up to the rooms to freshen up for dinner. It is still hot, especially in the rooms, but a little less stifling today than it was yesterday.

The excitement for the day came when I tried to plug in the hair dryer; I didn't realize that an American plug needs both the adapter and the transformer. With just the adapter on the plug, the hair dryer made a great big spark and promptly blew the fuse for the entire room. Took the staff only about 20 minutes or so to get the power back on. Of course, we were running late by that time, so I couldn't take a shower and rinse my hair.

We dressed and met up with Ethan and Penny at 5:30 to go to Marlowe's. According to the guides, the restaurant was voted one of the best in the UK. We managed to find it after going a block too far north. I was unimpressed. The restaurant was exceedingly hot, with questionable table service and average cuisine. Ethan ordered a terrine that was awful (it was like ham flakes suspended in plain gelatin); I had chicken supreme again, which was good. Penny never did get her new napkin; we finally filched one from another table. All in all, it's a bit of a stretch to imagine this place as one of the top eateries in Stratford, much less in all the United Kingdom. We left at 7:10 to go to the theatre.

Attended the play at the Royal Shakespeare Theatre. What a production! Best production of Twelfth Night I've seen; hard to believe it's been five years since Helene and I have been to see a stage production. The play was done wonderfully using a mid-nineteenth century setting. The Belch and Malvolio characters were especially good, as they should be. We saw a bunch of scantily clad early teens that seemed kind of a mixed blessing—it was good to see youth in a theatre, enjoying the show, but it was less a joy seeing them dressed, well, like hookers. Haven't seen so much skin in a theatre since Oh, Calcutta! Oh, and I would have liked to throttle the kid whose cell phone went off just as we were getting underway after the intermission.

Got back to the hotel and changed back into shorts and such at around 11:00 p.m. or so. Took a quick walk to cool off (the Grosvenor traps heat like a Thermos bottle), and then we returned to the hotel for another round of drinks and euchre. Helene went to bed just after midnight; I, of course, stayed to play poker with Ethan and Penny until around 2:00 a.m. Then Penny left, and Ethan and I played blackjack and shot the shit until about 3:30 a.m. or so. I finally retired upstairs to try to get a little sleep. I'll be meeting Ethan at 10:00 a.m. for breakfast and packing; check-out is at 11:00.

One addendum: the night porter is responsible for drinks after the bar has closed down. For two nights straight, I've had the choice of Budweiser or Becks for beer after hours. The first few times, I ordered Becks and got Budweiser. Tonight I tried ordering Budweiser just to see if I'd get a Becks. No dice; Budweiser again. Oh, well.

July 4, 2001 (Wednesday)

July 4. Independence Day spent in Britain—I tell you, this is my kind of irony.

Somehow woke up at 9:00 when Helene left to meet Penny. I got showered and packed our stuff; I met Ethan at 10:15 to check out in the lobby. Once the bags were in the car, we took a walk back into Stratford's high street district to scare up some breakfast. I had cinnamon French toast at the Cafe Rouge, then went to find some cash (and the name of the tea room in which we took breakfast yesterday, as I had forgotten to jot it at the time).

Got £100.00 from a Barclay's teller nearby (which amounted to about $142.00 American, as it seems when I returned). I bought a couple of Shakespeare books at the Maher bookseller, then went back to the hotel lobby at noon to wait on the gals.

We drove out of Stratford to visit Anne Hathaway's cottage. According to the guide, the cottage is still about 90% original materials, and was home to people all the way up to 1911 or so. The guide also had a good history on cliches that was quite interesting—board tables that spurred any number of sayings, including "turning the tables" and "above board," among others (because the table itself was just a loose board, turned to whichever side was polished); and the bread oven, which inspired the phrase "upper crust" because the bottom half of the bread lay in ashes. Thus, the family got to eat the cleaner, upper crust, and the farmhands would get the dirtier, lower crust.

We left the Hathaway House at approximately 1:20 p.m., at which point (true to form) we promptly got lost trying to find B4639 to get to a place in the Cotswolds en route back to London. By 1:48, Ethan tries to kill us on B4632 while passing a farm truck.

Made it to Hildcote Farms at 2:05 p.m. Ethan and I had a drink and some cakes while Penny and Helene visited the gardens (that's getting to be another running gag on the trip: "My God, how can we just pass a garden?"). We left the farms at 2:30, visiting Chipping-Campden for lunch—only to find every restaurant either closed tight or not serving from their lunch menu. Although it was interesting to see the Market Square building, I think all of us were more than ready to just get the hell back to London by this time. We got back on the road at 3:10 p.m. to search for the A44. We got perhaps a more extended tour of the midlands than we had originally anticipated.

Got back to Ethan's flat at around 6:15 p.m.—I got a slight case of King George's revenge on the final leg of the trip, but managed to get through it. We left for the restaurant at about 7:15 for 7:45 reservations (after changing to "smart casual" for the evening). Smart casual seems to correspond to GBOPHB casual back home. We arrived at Anacia's essentially on time; Nicole was a few minutes later from getting off work. Had a long dinner in yet another sweltering restaurant—what is it that every restaurant so far has to be ten degrees warmer inside than out and still put candles on every table? The pork cutlet was very tasty, but I've discovered two things about the British dining experience:

Dinners are at least half again longer than I would care for.
I find it exceedingly difficult to enjoy even the finest cuisine when I feel like I'm sweating through my shirt.

We left the restaurant in the neighborhood of 10:15-10:30 and caught the tube back to Ethan and Nicole's flat. We had a couple of nightcaps, then I hit the bed at around 12:30 to finish this journal entry. Ethan and I are supposed to be having a "guy day" out tomorrow while the girls go shopping, etc. Should be some fun.

July 5, 2001 (Thursday)

Woke up at about 9:50 a.m. or thereabouts. Nicole went to work; Ethan went to work out. I stuck some clothes in the wash and took a shower at around 10:30.

Ethan returned in due course, and we left for Bluewater Mall a little past 11:00; arrived at the mall before noon and promptly went for lunch. We're ostensibly here to pick up a picnic basket set for Mom and Dad. We wound up at Ed's Easy Diner, which is (as I understand from Ethan) inspired by Ed Debevic's back home. I ordered a burger. Ethan stunned the clerk by ordering the Original burger with the optional second patty—as a chicken breast. Clerk said he had truly never served anything like it before, and I tended to believe him. Of course, I managed to dump a whole serving of ketchup on my lap, which I'm sure the surrounding Brits found entirely amusing. The server was very nice, however; I got a full thing of club soda and a rag to blot it, which seems to have mitigated the damage a bit. We'll throw the shorts in the wash when we get back.

Finished lunch without any further incident. Marks and Spencer didn't have anything resembling a picnic set, so we went to John Lewis. They had a decent floor display of baskets and sets there, but a great many seemed to be out of stock. We found a 4-piece setting that might have fit the bill, but the basket as a whole was on the bulky side and somewhat overpriced, I thought, at £175.00. Talked to Helene about it, and we decided that she would look around Coventry for a nice tea set instead. We left Bluewater at 1:45 p.m. so we could check on Amy (and I can change my pants from the great ketchup blunder). We'll try the Big Bus tour after.

We got back on the tube pretty soon thereafter. At Victoria Station, we managed to find tickets to the Big Bus tour and got on the bus by 3:30 p.m.—we took the Green Line because it seemed like the most central and compact route of the three lines. We had a couple of good tour guides (they begin and switch off at Russell Square); I didn't catch the man's name, but he was quite amusing, and the gal that replaced him at the square was a funny one herself named Emma. I continued through the circuit sans Ethan after 4:40 p.m.—Ethan had to tend to the doggie. I eventually arrived back at Victoria Station at 5:15 p.m.; after determining the difference between Victoria Station and Victoria Underground Station, I hit the tube.

I was quite proud that it only took a couple of trains passing to figure out exactly where I needed to go (at least I picked the right platform to begin with!). Made it from Victoria to Cannon Street station without mishap, arriving at about 5:47 p.m. Since I was supposed to meet Ethan at 6:15, in the station, I walked upstairs for a bit of cooler air and a quick cigarette (can't bring myself to use the word "fag," as it gives me the giggles). At that point, being nearly 6:00, I decided to come back down into the station and park it on a bench on the Westbound platform, where I assumed Ethan would magically appear on one of the District Line trains at 6:15 or so—also gave me a good 15 minutes to catch up on the traveling journal before I started to forget anything.

Went upstairs at 6:25 to discover that Ethan had somehow slipped past me (or come from somewhere else). We met Helene, Penny, and Nicole at Browns, a local mid-upscale chain pub/restaurant. Met Andy and Richard there as well, chaps that work with Nicole (actually, Richard is the owner). Had a couple of pints and talked history for a good long while with the both of them; Andy can't believe what Americans get as a vacation package. I assured him it wasn't a joke. Eventually Andy and Richard had to go, so the rest of us sat and ordered dinner. Had a Guiness steak-and-mushroom pie that was delicious—although I'm sure it will be sitting in my stomach even after tomorrow.

We split about 9:45; the girls went off for Leicester Square, and Ethan and I started wandering the City of London proper. We explored the Barbican Centre for an extended period of time (I was under the mistaken assumption that the Barbican was still, well, a barbican; it is now a quite modern arts center). We found the City of London School for Girls particularly fascinating, if disappointingly deserted (imagine the two of us lurking about the central pond with a glazed look in our eyes, mumbling, "Girls, girls, girls...."). Found a bathroom for Ethan in the center, wandered about for a bit, then left for the Moorgate underground station just before 11:00 p.m. We made the Whitechapel stop by 11:07 (good timing!) in order to head back to the flat for a good nightcap and cigars.

We actually beat the girls back home; they called from Soho to say they would be on their way "in a bit." Both Ethan and I found ourselves extremely tired when we sat down, however; plus I took a cool shower to try to chill down a bit. In a nutshell, I had a Coke, we chatted for a bit, and then we both retired for the night. The women got back home around 12:30 (or as I reckon it, about 15 minutes after we turned in). I read Kermode's book that I got in Stratford (Shakespeare's Language) until a little past 1:00 a.m.

July 6, 2001 (Friday)

Our last full day in Britain. Somehow it seems both at once like we've done everything and haven't done enough. It's a good vacation, however; we realize there's only so much we were going to get done in a week, and it gives us an excuse to come back again. Hell, we haven't even seen anything to the north.

I woke up briefly at 6:54 a.m. to pee, then went back to bed. Alternately woken up by Helene, Amy (the terrier), Nicole, and Penny, I finally convinced myself that it was time to drag myself out of bed around 9:00. Showered and bageled, then got dressed. The plan today is simple; we visit the Tower of London in the morning and the British Museum in the afternoon. This may be a bit ambitious, as it's currently 10:30; we should be leaving for the tube in about 15 minutes.

We got to the Tower of London in due course at around 11:00 or so. What a great place! It's really fascinating to see roughly 1000 years of history all contained within the walls. Although the White Tower dominates the interior, the grounds are far more huge than I ever imagined. We started with St. Thomas's Tower, following the way into Wakefield and Lanthorn towers. We followed that with a trip into the White Tower and its armoury—the chapel in the White Tower is magnificent in its rugged simplicity—and caught the Crown Jewels exhibit as well. Before leaving, we managed to catch the Bloody Tower and Traitor's Gate (had to see both of those). This will be a place to visit again, because even with all that (we spent three hours inside the walls), we maybe caught half the highlights.

Incidentally, Helene now keeps saying (after the Crown Jewel exhibit) that she wants a tiara to call her own. My souvenirs from England: a sippin' flask from Sheffield that was on sale for £24.99 in the Tower gift shop, and a bottle of genuine Tower of London mead—I've always wanted to try mead, although I hear it is quite the acquired taste. We got a gift for Helene's nephew Eric as well, and Nicky got a build-it-yourself beheading kit that is better viewed than explained. Think of a drinking bird, except that the bird is a headsman. Much fun was had by all.

We finally left the Tower at about 2:00 p.m.; Helene and Penny got some ice cream, and then we all headed to J.D. Weatherspoon's for lunch (it's another local mid-scale pub chain in London), although I was tempted by the opportunity to go to a Kentucky Fried Chicken where I could have ordered a pint with my strips meal. I had a chicken wrap while crammed into a corner table with no easy access; the food and drink hit the spot, but the space planning on the upper level left a little to be desired. We left JDW's right about 3:00 p.m. At that point, Ethan left to drop by his school, and the rest of us departed the tube station in favor of taking a cab to the British Museum due to the time crunch.

We eventually flagged a cab and made it to the museum by 3:50. We all but ran through the Egyptian exhibit (I did get a relatively unobstructed shot of the Rosetta stone as we were leaving); also saw the new Korean exhibit along with Southeast Asia. Couldn't leave without catching a glimpse of the original Parthenon friezes from the Acropolis. We'll need a good day (or perhaps two) to fully appreciate the museum the next time we visit to make it worth it. Helene got a present for her nephew Scott, and we met outside the museum at 5:00 p.m.

Nicole flagged a cab for us outside the museum to take us back to her office, where Helene and Penny had stashed the results of their shopping trip from yesterday. We picked up the plethora of bags, gave a hello to Andy and Richard, then left to catch the train at the Cannon St. tube station. Wound up back at Ethan and Nicole's close to 6:00 p.m., and we all changed for dinner at Nikita's.

Got underway a little later than Ethan had wanted (about 6:45 p.m.). We took the tube down to Earl's Gate stop, where we promptly discovered a Madonna concert in preparation. Chalk up one more reason to dislike Madonna, I suppose. We managed at last to disentangle ourselves from the mass of pop-culture conformist humanity and arrived at Nikita's at about 7:37 p.m. Much like the our experience at the Grosvenor, we were a little surprised to find that they had no record of Ethan having made a reservation a couple of weeks ago. Fortunately, this wasn't an issue, as they weren't extremely busy in the downstairs dining quarters.

If for no other reason, this restaurant was memorable for being the first one I can remember that didn't feel like a fucking greenhouse. We ordered an absolutely wonderful vodka called Starka—92 proof, wood-aged and smoked, cut with a brandy and a port. It tasted very much like a good, smoky Scotch, actually. The sausage appetizer was vaguely reminiscent of eating a giant Slim Jim (not in itself a bad thing). The beef stroganoff was quite simply some of the best I've ever tasted; the portion was just right, and the sauce was not at all as rich as it looked. Combined with rice instead of egg noodles, the stroganoff left me feeling satisfied without feeling bloated, unlike the pie of the previous night (no matter how delicious it had been). We finished the dinner off by sharing a cherry creme broulet that all of us engaged with slightly more decor than a bunch of sharks in a feeding frenzy.

At any rate, we departed Nikita's around 10:30 p.m., making our way back to the Earl's Gate tube stop through the mass of now-satiated Madonna fans and heading for home. Helene, Penny, and I packed our things until nearly midnight. I shared a cigar with Ethan, along with an Amoretto/Scotch admixture for a nightcap (surprisingly good, especially considering that Ethan came up with the idea on a whim). Ethan and I talked outside until darn near 2:00 a.m. I went to sleep almost immediately upon hitting the bed.

July 7, 2001 (Saturday)

I woke up—completely against my better judgment—at nearly 7:00 a.m. Helene and I both waited while Penny did bathroom duties (shower, etc.), then bolted for the door at the first opportunity.

I got a shower and then packed the incidentals until about 8:50 a.m. We got Penny off via minicab to catch her train to France. We caught a cab with Ethan and Nicole to Paddington Station, where we could check in our bags and get our seat assignments (which is a pretty damn cool concept, if you ask me, and why we should have to spend an hour in a line at O'Hare and other places is absolutely beyond me...). We took the Heathrow Express train in from Paddington, putting us in the airport right at 11:00.

We had an appropriately rude Russian serving us in the cafe breakfast line. Whatever his problem was, he could have dropped a good bit of his attitude. Despite the incident (and Ethan having to speak to the guy's manager), it was a decent bacon and egg breakfast roll, which I'm sure my intestines will pay for later. I still can't get used to the bacon here, I must admit.

Bade Ethan and Nicole farewell at the departure lounge and headed for the gate at around 11:40 a.m.—made it there just in time to wait, ha, ha. Met the five-year-old Turkish boy that we have nicknamed "Akhmed" (on account of we don't know his real name); Akhmed has a clutch reflex that seriously needs to be curbed. If he wasn't running into us, he was grabbing anything within reach—my bag, my pants leg, Helene, etc. We were informally introduced in the que for Gate 17, at which time I was certain that God (in yet another display of His infinite sense of humor) would seat "Akhmed" and his family in the aisle next to us. As it turns out, they were mercifully seated a good ten rows back.

When we finally got on board the plane at 12:20, we wound up waiting onboard at the fucking gate until almost 2:00 p.m. Once in the air, I entertained myself alternately between the 777's personal video system (my touchscreen was broken, but I did enjoy Wallace and Grommet's "A Close Shave"), writing in the travel journal, and some ethnographic study (however impromptu) of the obviously homosexual British couple seated just ahead of us in 26 H and J. Must have been a late night for them....

At any rate, we are now 2,553 miles away from Chicago, due to arrive at O'Hare in four hours, 49minutes. We should be crossing the southern tip of Greenland within the hour. Our arrival time has been moved from 3:05 p.m. to 3:47 p.m. at the time of this writing. More writing later, I suppose.

Poor Helene—I don't think she's enjoyed a single meal on either the flight over or back. The capper today: pizza. We hit O'Hare on time (relatively speaking, due to the late takeoff), and spent almost no time in Customs. I was just looking forward to my first cigarette in more than ten hours (I somehow managed to avoid killing people for the duration). While Helene dialed up her parents, I wandered outside—only to wonder if we had somehow been deposited in Miami instead of Chicago. I immediately took back a number of things I'd said about the English heat wave, because it had to be high 80s with damn near 100% humidity; it felt like Angola Farm chain gang weather out there. Returned inside to discover that Helene's parents weren't home (found out later that they had spaced on the whole pick-us-up deal, thinking we were coming in on Sunday). Helene grabbed a cab, and we made it home before 5:30.

Spent the rest of the evening straightening out a mess that had occurred at work in my absence. You know, the last thing I sent before I left was an e-mail that said (literally) "I'll be back in a week—try not to burn the place down." I am glad to see that they observed my dictum to the exact letter of the law. Managed to keep myself awake until 11:00 p.m. that evening, trying to readjust to the time change.

EPILOGUE—July 19, 2001 (Thursday)

It was truly a wonderful trip.

There is a great deal of sadness mixed with our return, however; Nutmeg wasn't long for this world when we came back. We took her into the veterinarian's office on Sunday morning, and the diagnosis was pretty much 100% full-blown renal failure. We nursed her through until Monday evening with the help of some fluid therapy, but we had to put her to sleep at 5:45 that evening. It has been hard on both of us, but it was the humane thing to do.

It's been almost two weeks now, and both of us are keeping busy. I've got work, and Helene is preparing to return to Whitman for the beginning of the new school calendar. With the full benefit of hindsight, I believe it safe to draw a few conclusions about the experience:

I unfairly made fun of British cuisine. There were enough ethnic restaurants in Britain to warrant the apology.
I will not, however, apologize for a number of the times in which I found myself cursing the heat.
Next time, I believe we'll try for something a little more off-season. Not only should that take care of the incessant heat, but it should mean a little easier time getting around the country. Besides, the air fares drop like a lead balloon if it's not high summer season.
Castles are cooler than I'd ever imagined, more massive than I'd ever believed, and more costly in upkeep than I'd ever be willing to pay.
The Brits are far friendlier to Americans than I'd been led to believe.
Ethan and Nicole have acclimated wonderfully.
No matter where else on earth I go, I really do dig being an American.

I am sure we will enjoy another visit to the isles in the future, at which point I look forward to exploring a few more old stone buildings and traipsing a bit further northward. The best thing, however, about going on such a trip is being able to come back.

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