For Your Consideration

21 Days In London

By Patrick Bertels

Book Preview

     Bellingham in early October has a certain charm. Among the dominant green of conifers the deciduous trees are begining to glow in an array of sunset hues. Leaves torn from their limbs by the first winds of autumn pepper the lawns, and lie in drifts along the street curbs. The sun this morning is making a valiant effort to break through the clouds, but gives off little warmth when it succeeds. Soon we will be making good use of our Smith & Sons umbrellas, keeping each other company in a stand by the front door.

     It's a perfect day for mah jong, and as we wait for Sylvia and Steve to arrive I'm stealing a few minutes to write. It's been over a year now since we traveled to England. I've set myself half a dozen deadlines to complete this book, but somehow it never gets finished. It's actually become a bit of a sticky subject between Greg and me. Then, just a moment ago, it occured to me that part of the reason I'm  never able to finish is that I really don't want the trip to end. It's silly really, but constantly tweaking the text or rearranging photos has kept our trip alive somehow. It's become my escape from the banality and oppressive predictability that sometimes accompanies everyday life. Isn't it funny how, at times, we realize our true motives only after we are ready to accept them, and set them aside.

      The road of life moves beneath our feet of its own accord, and we can only travel forward. Before me, new adventures wait to be lived, and new stories long to be told. Still, I know on occasion I will pull this volume from the shelf, and recall again that magical time when the four of us spent twenty-one days in London.  

Day 21: Please Take Care Of This Bear

  At Paddington Station there is a bronze statue in honor of the area's most famous resident. Paddinton Bear has barely a moment's rest from all of the children climbing on him, and posing for pictures with him. His nose has been rubbed by their little hands so often it shines like a well used door knob. Sylvia says it gives him the appearance of a pig. Greg thinks it's more like a weasel. Whatever the case I took a moment to snap a picture of him on his suitcase as we sat beside him with ours on the last morning in London.

  The day was a grueling one. Even in business class I found it impossible to sleep on an airplane. After a nine hour flight we had a six hour lay-over in Seattle. It was bad planning on our part, but I was too tired to hear Greg repeat it ad nauseam. I hadn't traveled from Darkest Peru like Paddington, but I was starting to feel very bear-ish. I trudged around Sea-Tac swilling coffee and browsing at weird airport stores until our flight finally departed. We had been awake for 24 hours by the time we finally crawled between the sheets of our very own bed. It was 12:30 a.m., and even though our bodies felt like it was 7 a.m. we fell to sleep as soon as our heads hit the pillow.

Day 20: Wicked

  This morning was dedicated mostly to running about town and grabbing a few souvenirs that had caught my eye. I haven't had as much of a shopping bug as I thought I would this trip, but I had decided there were a number of things that I actually did need after all. After nearly a month here I really feel like I know how to get around. Criss-crossing the city to patronize museum gift shops barely took a morning. Unexpectedly ending up with some time to spare I spent a couple of hours wandering around Notting Hill, and poking around antique shops on Portobello Road. Too soon I realized I couldn't postpone the inevitable, and headed back to Paddington to do laundry and begin packing.

 The anticlimactic mood was threatening to take over the rest of my vacation, but luckily we had planned dinner and a show for our final evening. So, after a afternoon nap and quick shower I joined the rest of the party in an early meal of Dim Sum. Full of delicious Chinese dumplings and tea we leisurely made our way to the theater where tonight we would be taking in the London production of Wicked. This musical retelling of L. Frank Baum's classic American fairy tale The Wizard of Oz features the Wicked Witch of the West as the protagonist. This musical clearly had the biggest budget of any performance I have seen here, and the incredible sets and costuming beautifully enhanced a wonderful score and book.
  The most astounding event of the evening, however, was a conversation with an older couple seated next to Sylvia and Steve. The gentleman on hearing our American accents inquired where we were from. We all smiled at the coincidence when we realised they were fellow Washingtonians, and they would be returning on the same flight as us the next day. But wait, here's where it gets really weird. They had also been on the very same flight to London three weeks earlier. We traded horror stories about the delayed flight, and marveled at the fluke that we would all happen to choose seats side by side at Wicked on our last evening in London. 'What were the odds?' we all wondered.

  The chance meeting with the husband and wife ran through my head as I lay in bed that night. The familiar accent and cadence of their speech had resonated in my mind. Tomorrow we would be winging our way back over the pond. Waiting for us was all our family,  friends, two dogs, a cat, and a little bungalow on Franklin Street.  As I fell asleep I saw ruby slippers clicking and heard a voice repeating 'There's no place like home. There's no place like home. There's no place like........'



Day 19: Tea At Buckingham Palace

Today I had tea with the Queen at Buckingham Palace. True, the tea was from paper cups and the queen was Greg, but it was marvelous none the less. As we sat on the terrace sipping our hot tea and nibbling scones with berries and clotted cream we discussed the grandeur of the Palace's State Rooms which we had just toured. The enormous scale actually tempered the baroque opulence the palace was adorned with. The resulting effect was one of exquisite taste as opposed to tacky excess. I suspect the rooms were not only meant to impress, but also intimidate visitors. After all, as the audio guide had said, this is where Queen Elizabeth lives and works. It made me smile to think I had just spent the morning poking around her Majesty's home office. 

  After finishing our snack we left the cafe, and made our way past the restrooms and gift shop to the southern garden path. All three of the structures are completely portable, and once the queen returns from her annual holiday they will stowed away. We followed the path as it snaked through autumn-kissed trees and around ponds that reflected the palace on their dark surface. Eventually we found our feet once more on the city streets outside the palace grounds, and we returned to the east front.

  The area had been too packed with tourists waiting for the changing of the guard to get a good look at the palace on our last stop there. We had walked right past the throngs to stand in an almost nonexistent queue that morning. Now we could properly admire the building's main entrance. The beautiful fountain that sits in the mall provided fertile ground for my camera lens. The best of the shots are available on my Flickr page.

Day 18: Off With Their Heads!

  Today the four of us piled into a black taxi to visit the Tower of London, or Her Majesty's Royal Palace and Fortress as it is officially named. The Tower was originally a royal residence, but has served variously as an armoury, a treasury, the home of the Royal Mint, a public records office, and is currently the Queen's private safety deposit box containing the Crown Jewels. The famous Crown Jewels seem to be what everyone talks about, and they are amazing. What fascinated me though was it's history as a prison and execution site.

  Not as many prisoners as you might think were executed within the Tower's walls. Most were marched up to Tower Hill to meet their fate before the masses. A lucky few were afforded the privilege of having their sentence carried out with an audience of peers. Noble and aristocratic audiences were much less likely to jeer or throw rotten food at someone of similar standing, even if the culprit was disgraced. If you were especially lucky the executioner had a good eye and a sharp axe, or better yet a sword as in the case of Anne Boleyn. Some not as fortunate required more than one try before finally being dispatched. Margaret Pole holds the record at twelve. All in all, ten people met their ends on the Tower Green.

  Near the Chapel Royal where the unfortunate souls were laid to rest with the commoners who had worked, lived, and died in this keep lies a memorial for them. Comprised of two engraved circles with a glass-sculpted pillow at its centre, the larger circle of dark stone bears a poem - written by the artist - around its rim,  'Gentle visitor pause awhile : where you stand death cut away the light of many days : here jewelled names were broken from the vivid thread of life : may they rest in peace while we walk the generations around their strife and courage : under there restless skies.' The upper glass circle bears the engraved names of the ten famous and not so famous individuals executed there: William, Lord Hastings 1483, Queen Anne Boleyn 1536, Margaret, Countess of Salisbury 1541, Jane Viscountess Rochford 1542, Queen Katherine Howard 1542, Lady Jane Grey 1554, Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex 1601, Highlander Farquhar Shaw 19 July 1743, Highlander Samuel Macpherson 19 July 1743, Highlander Malcolm Macpherson 19 July 1743.

Day 18 Photostream

Day 17: Queen of the Desert

  For almost one hundred years the sun never set on the British empire. Despite the loss of the thirteen colonies that became the United States, England's territories on virtually every continent kept some part of the kingdom in daylight for most of the nineteenth century. At it's height this small island country ruled the largest empire in history, and the spoils of it's dominion fill the halls of the British Museum. Sarcophagi and their mummified contents once stowed safely away in Egyptian tombs now lie encased in glass for all to see. The marble remains of the Parthenon which once lay upon a hillside overlooking Athens are now carefully reconstructed in an enormous gallery. These and many more magnificent and wondrous treasures are available for consideration to anyone who enters one of the worlds most amazing museums.

  Today I steeped myself in it's beautiful antiquity: ancient pottery and armor, sculpture carved in every manner of stone, drawings straight from the hands of Raphael, Michelangelo, and Degas, and the Rosetta Stone were all examined in turn. So it was a little surprising that, despite all the amazing things I saw, I left feeling a little small and sad. All those objects seemed to be desperate attempts to escape mortality, and the sheer age of them was a reminder of how fleeting life is. I needed something to lift my mood. Luckily Greg had procured two tickets to tonight's production of Priscilla Queen of the Desert.

  The theater where Priscilla is performed is smaller than my old high school auditorium. Two levels of box seat form concentric circles above the main floor stalls. The fronts of the boxes are elaborately carved wood panels complete with cherubs whose arms stretch out over the audience. For the current show little mirror balls have been hung from their chubby fists. Looking up from our seats the effect was a host of angels welcoming you to disco heaven. There's nothing like watching a bunch of men dressed in women's clothing lip syncing Gloria Gaynor and Donna Summer songs for two hours to give your spirits a boost. The show was a campy, over the top production complete with a neon pink bus, showstopping musical numbers, and confetti explosions. We give it two snaps up.

Day 17 Photostream

Day 16: Au Revoire

Today was spent lazily wandering the Marais and shopping. Clouds moved back in, and merchants returned to their posts smoking cigarettes in the doorways of their shops. We collected a few souvenirs for friends, and a few articles of clothing for ourselves. Greg tried on a handsome grey cowl necked sweater and a pair of slate colored pants that fit like a glove. "We'll think about it." We said as we left. "Don't think too long." the couturier replied with a knowing smile "When it's right, it's right." Boy, has he got Greg pegged I thought to myself. Sure enough half a block away Greg doubled back to purchase the whole ensemble. A bag containing a beautiful purple paisley scarf  that caught my eye soon dangled next to Greg's.

   Suddenly, a flash of lightning lit up the afternoon sky interrupting our shopping reverie. As thunder rolled through the humid air and large raindrops began to fall we dashed into a little cafe for lunch. Sitting under the awning and watching the rain fall we amused ourselves with fantasies of selling all our worldly belongings and moving to Paris. By the time we had worked out most of the totally unrealistic details the sun had returned, and lunch was finished.

   With heavy hearts we finally began walking back to the hotel to retrieve our bag and return to the bus station. A depressing silence descended, and in an effort to lighten the mood I turned to Greg and quipped, "Well at least now whenever things get really bad we can tell each other 'We'll always have Paris.'"