The night after our arrival in London we went to the caroling at Royal Albert Hall, where the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra, Royal Choral Society, and National Youth Choir performed—with the audience joining in on the carols. Four hundred people singing joyful carols is a glorious and transformative experience and if you ever find yourself in London during the Christmas season, I highly recommend going to this event. Thanks, Julia, for arranging it.
The next morning we took the train down to Plymouth to spend Christmas, plus a few days, with Julia’s family. Getting to know Julia’s parents, Khim and David, in a more personal and relaxed way was helpful in coming to know Julia better. Their essence is one of hospitality. Friends drop in late at night and are fed. They’ve recently renovated their kitchen and their new table is the heart of the household. I would also say that they maintain a calm aspect. A clock is not the law and its hands can be ignored. The work will get done when it gets done. A spill is not a tragedy. This tranquil perspective is something to aspire to, so I shall channel Khim and David next time I feel myself knotting up inside. Thanks you two, for welcoming us and showing us such a wonderful time.
We returned to London on the twenty-eighth. Overall, it’s been a packed trip. Some great restaurants—Indian, Vietnamese, and Malaysian cuisine; oh my gosh, the best fish and chips in the world; The Duck and Waffle on the fortieth floor of some building overlooking the Thames. Sightseeing: As we lived in Bucks County for three years, we’ve seen most of the touristy stuff in London, but we hadn’t seen St. Paul’s Cathedral, so there we went. It was breathtakingly majestic—only in my wanderings I somehow got separated from David, Sam, and Julia; and the battery in my phone was dead. I spent half an hour sitting in the nave expecting that eventually they’d come through looking for me. Finally, growing impatient, I walked a complete circuit, down through the crypt, outside to see if maybe they were waiting for me out there, then back in through the main entrance; and then I did the circle twice more—until finally I stopped and asked a kind woman in a uniform how I could find them. She called her buddies in the crypt and described my tribe just as the three of them were passing by in front of the downstairs security station. The crypt guys stopped them for me, and I went on down—and it turned out we’d been walking the same circular route at differing points. I’m glad I asked for help because that could’ve gone on for hours.
Another attraction in London is the shopping. Some don’t like to shop, but that’s not me. I hit the fabric floor of The Liberty Store twice and purchased several yards of their lovely cotton. It was quite expensive so I’ll have to use it wisely. Also, Marks and Spencer’s twice, where I bought two pairs of stylish trousers—one says trousers in the UK, never pants. But I didn’t feel like I’d be paying proper homage to one of my favorite cities if I didn’t go to one of their famous department stores. So we trooped up Oxford Street and joined the masked throng at the entrance to Selfridges. You know how sometimes you think something’s going to be grand, and then it falls flat? Well that’s what happened with Selfridges. From past trips, I remember that there were amazing after-Christmas deals to be had; and though this time they still had their fifty-percent-off racks, asking three hundred-and-fifty pounds for something that was once seven hundred pounds, but looks like it’s worth, at most, a hundred pounds, is offensively audacious. And I wasn’t the only one who was disappointed. Customers were there. People were looking. Nobody was buying.
Before we left the states for this trip, rain was forecast for every day of our stay. And that simply didn’t happen. We got caught in a light rain only once for a few minutes. Honestly, there were times when the rain stopped as soon as we stepped outside and started again when we returned inside. It’s important to recognize when serendipitous things like cooperative weather happen, so I’m taking a second to be thankful for that.
Yesterday was our day to explore Greenwich. We started out with lunch at a Vietnamese restaurant where we shared spareribs, spring rolls, prawns, a prawn crepe, and a salty egg yolk lobster. Yum. Then we walked through Greenwich Market, a festive grid of booths set up within a square that’s lined with eclectic shops. We wandered from there to the banks of the Thames, passing the famous vessel, Cutty Sark, on our way to the grounds of the old Royal Navy College; and then we walked beyond the navy gardens to Greenwich Park, which is extensive and is the home of the stunning Royal Observatory where, historically, mean solar time was calculated.
“Where’s this pub you promised?” I grumpily asked Sam. By this time we’d walked about four miles and my feet hurt.
He obligingly led us from the park with its ups and downs, out on to the street where, half a mile later, we arrived at a pub. I ordered a Guinness and got off my feet with a satisfied sigh. It was exactly what you’d expect from a neighborhood pub. Men in corners hovering over their pints and solving problems. The publican with a joke and smile for everyone. And the crazy smelly man who wandered in, speaking loudly, touching all shoulders, and making everyone cringe. Julia and I were the only women, which begs the question—is pubbing a men-only pastime? When I was about halfway through my Guinness, I looked around for the restroom. “I think it’s that way,” David told me, pointing beyond the bar. I got up and headed in that direction—and many men shouted out from their different tables in different corners, “No! It’s over there!” Surprised that they were so mightily invested in my achieving the correct destination, I laughed and thanked them all in a voice every bit as booming as their collective instruction. My philosophy is, if you inadvertently end up being the center of attention you might as well embrace it.
One final stop along the way—a trip to Sainsbury’s because the flat was out of food and alcohol. Sam demonstrated the store’s new system, which certainly grabbed our attention—he claimed a wand upon entry and scanned the barcodes as the items went into his bags in the basket; and then at checkout the wand communicated with the register so all there was left to do was pay and leave. Cool, right?
By the time we arrived home we’d walked six miles and sixteen thousand steps. Julia conjured up chili for dinner and then we all settled in front of The Witcher. Sadly, only one more episode left of the new season.
Our night of caroling at Royal Albert Hall—you should try to make it next year!
The Bravo Eugenia. What is Jerry Jones’s yacht doing at Canary Wharf?
London is a beautiful city, but some of the architectural choices made along the way have been questionable. This building hulks over the Thames like a massive hideous sea slug.
The Tower Bridge from the London Bridge.
The Royal Observatory perched over Greenwich Park. From there we were off to the pub for a pint.
