Letter from St. Nick

A couple of weeks before Christmas, my daughter gave me a letter to mail to Santa Claus. Here is the response she received on Christmas Day.

Friday Dec 12: Divided and Conquered

Friday morning, up at 9:30. Even so, we still didn’t make it to the Tower until 11:30. Our warder, the charmingly named Dickey Dell, relished his job, and especially liked telling the gory details of the hangings and beheadings that took place there. He mentioned the Norman invasion of 1066. He said it’s been hard, but they’re slowly getting over it. The Tower is the number one tourist attraction in London, and it is a great time. The building itself is awesome, and the beefeaters do a great job.

From there we split up; Amy and Ginny headed to the Cabinet War Rooms, Polly and the kids to Hamley’s Toy Store, and me to Banqueting House and possibly the Elgin marbles, if there was time.

Banqueting House is a wonderful place. It’s used for state dinners now, but it used to be part of the palace used by Charles I. It’s basically a large room, hardwood floors and lots of windows. But the ceiling is the great part. Rubens painted it in 1622. It depicts the connection between God and the King. When Cromwell’s Commonwealth briefly replaced the monarchy, the king walked through that room and led out of a window. There, in front of a huge crowd, they beheaded him. Fittingly enough, the restoration of the monarchy took place there also when both houses of Parliament watched the coronation of Charles II.

I passed by the Horse Guards and snapped a few pictures on my way to the British Museum.

As I walked, I realized I had a rock or something in my shoe. It was kind of big. I sat down in the Great Court and reached into my shoe. What a perfect specimen of the obnoxious American I must have been. I pulled the offending object out of my shoe. It was a one-pound coin. I have no idea how it got in there. It had to have been in there all day. I dropped my smelly pound into one of the museum’s donation boxes.

The British Museum is where they keep the Elgin Marbles, fragments of friezes and statues from the Parthenon. They are quite controversial because Lord Elgin went down to Athens and basically stole these pieces. He paid some paltry amount and then they loaded them all up on a ship and brought them to London. They don’t really feel too bad about it, a pamphlet from the museum said, because “experts agree, it would not be possible to reattach them to the original structure.”

They are quite cool. The friezes depict a procession of peasants and civic dignitaries approaching the Gods, who are seated on thrones. Lots of horses and livestock, too. The marbles inspired many British poets, including Keats and Casement, who mentioned the ox lowing to the moon.

I returned to the flat in time to shower and head out with Polly for dinner. We went to a French place called “Le Cercle.” It had no sign except for its name etched on the tiny sliding glass front door. We went down a twisting staircase to the warm dining room. I told Polly each dish was so good it almost made me cry. I had poached cod, beef tartare, and pate. Each course had wine with it; and they were all fantastic.

We stopped off for a pint at the Tea Clipper and called it a night. It was a great day, our last in Jolly Old England.

Thursday Dec. 11: A Matter of Moments

Up at 9:30, I headed out to do a little grocery shopping. I went to Jack O’Shea’s, fine butchers since 1790. I asked for bacon and the fellow behind the counter started grabbing some pork chops. I had to specify the strips of “streaky bacon” as it was labeled. One other crazy difference between them and us? They don’t refrigerate their eggs there. They just have the cardboard containers sitting stacked up on the counter. I fixed breakfast for the kids and we all lived, so maybe they're on to something over there.

After eating we headed out to catch a Big Bus Company hop-on/hop-off bus tour. It took us around town to all of the sites. It was a nice way to see all of the spots we might not have time to visit. A fellow named Ian was the live guide aboard the bus.
We sat up top where part of it was covered and the back half open. Ian was filled with fun facts and a few puns. He kept asking Virginia questions she was too shy to answer. At one point he asked Frank to sing London Bridge for the whole bus. He declined. He had the driver stop at an unscheduled spot so we could see the London Eye framing Big Ben. Despite Ian’s build up, it was slightly underwhelming.

Some people hopped off the bus and Virginia and I got the plum seat, right in the front row. It was a great vantage point from which to see a pedestrian come within one foot of being killed as he stepped right out in front of the bus. “Ah,” Ian said, “we’re just in time to kill this chap!” The guy spotted the big red bus bearing down on him at the last moment, just in time to leap back on the sidewalk. Guess it wasn’t his time to go.

In restrospect, I would have done the bus tour on the first full day we were in town. It is a great way to get your bearings on the first day whilest recovering from jet lag.

After two hours of Ian we arrived at the Tower of London and headed off the bus to go inside. We stopped at a restaurant called EAT. It took us forever to get our food ordered and get it eaten and get out of there. EAT was more like DAWDLE.

When we got to the ticket office, the woman told us that the last warder-led tour had already started out and the place was closing down. We had just missed our chance. So we got on the next bus and headed to Westminster Abbey, which we learned had just closed its doors to new visitors a matter of minutes earlier. Everything conspired against us and our touristy exploits!

We walked along the Thames at dusk, and got to see a nearly full moon emerge from the clouds right behind the London Eye. That was pretty cool.

We went to bed early, knowing we had just one more day to cram in everything else we wanted to do. We didn’t go to the Tea Clipper that night. We didn’t feel like we deserved it.

Wednesday Dec. 10: The French fries taste like blood.

Wednesday morning we got up at 9:45, continuing our trend to adjust to the time change. We had breakfast at the Brompton Quarter Café. I ordered the kids pain au chocolate, and you should have seen their faces when they got to the chocolate center. Frank could not have been happier. Chocolate for breakfast! But the rest proved a little too fancy for the kids. The pancakes were more like crepes, and they put honey on it instead of syrup. The kids did not like these changes to one of their favorite dishes. We grownups loved our food. I had a traditional English breakfast: eggs, sausages, bacon, a baked tomato, and baked beans; quite yummy.

After we left the International House of Eschewed Crepes, we headed back to Hyde Park for more fun at the Winter Wonderland. This time Virginia, Frank, and I did the Ferris wheel. Because the midweek crowds were light, they let us go around three times. It was an amazing view of the park and the London skyline from a different vantage point.

Graham and Frank partook of the bungee jump experience where they each got hooked up in a harness and bounced 15 feet in the air. They loved it. As usual we were running late, so we hopped on the tube and after a couple of train changes we headed to Camden in Regent’s Park. We grabbed some sandwiches at Fresh & Wild, the British incarnation of Whole Foods.

We headed to BADA, where Polly’s niece Ellen has been studying all term in the drama program. Her performance on the next Thursday night would be the culmination of her work, and was the impetus for us to take this trip. We were privileged to see a rehearsal, since the kids weren’t coming to the actual performance. The show was Shakespeare’s King Lear (a “real upper,” as Ellen described it), and they did the final act for us. Ellen’s director instructed my kids: if something’s funny, you can laugh; if something’s sad, you can cry; and if it’s boring, you can leave. It wasn’t boring. You may not have studied King Lear in a while, but it includes the gouging out of eyes, stabbings, and poisonings. This rehearsal included lots of fake blood in small plastic packets. It was really great. Frank watched it all with great interest except for when two of the characters kissed. For that he had to cover his eyes.

We had a look at Piccadilly Circus. The kids liked the lighted signs and all the hustle and bustle. We walked down to the Sherlock Holmes pub near the Embankment tube stop. The kids had sparkling apple juice and a bowl of chips. Graham said he liked the juice, but not the bubbles. Although Frank loves French fries, he didn’t eat the ones at the Sherlock Holmes because he said they tasted like blood, a reference to the ketchup, and King Lear, I assume.

That night we went back to the Tea Clipper, where we met a wonderful bartender who was quite amused to hear our tale of ruining the kettle, and told us where to buy it. But she really liked finding out that her colleague the night before had to clean out three taps. “That’s brilliant!” she kept saying. They let Polly ring the bell for last call at 23:00.

Tuesday: The Day All Three Lines Went Down at Once

I woke up at 10:00 today; my glacial recovery from jet lag continues. We seemed to always have trouble gauging how long it takes to get anyplace in London. It takes an hour to get anywhere. You spend half of your time waiting for a crosswalk signal to turn green.

We went to the Winter Wonderland, an outdoor carnival of sorts, at Hyde Park. It had everything: rides, food, and, as a sign proclaimed, "German's Beer."

Graham wanted to do the Ferris wheel and Virginia did a ride where you sat in a chair suspended by chains as it spun around and around. Frank sat on a small motorcycle on a carousel. Frank and Virginia went into a haunted mansion, inexplicably decorated for Christmas. It was 6 pounds and could not have lasted more than two minutes. We had not left enough time to do any more, but vowed to come back the next day. We did not have time to take the tube so we hailed a classic London taxi and headed to the National Gallery.

From the computer room we plotted a course through the museum where the kids would get to see monsters. But even Perseus turning Phineas to stone was not enough to keep a five and seven year old interested. We caught a few Van Gogh painting, a Seurat and some work by Monet before ducking out. I was sorry to go.

Outside the National Gallery, the boys ran around and took photos of the Christmas Tree. Then we crossed the street to go to St. Martins in the Fields to do a little brass rubbing. The boys loved this. Basically they wrap black paper over a brass etching, and then the boys rubbed a colored crayon sort of thing over it to make an impression of it. We then had dinner in the Crypt Cafe. This is in the basement of St. Martin in the Fields. It was a tad macabre. While we were there some fellow abandoned his tray of food before paying. It was strange. Perhaps he got spooked at the idea of eating soup and drinking a beer on a floor made of the gravestones of church members from the 1800s. Creepily delicious!

After dinner we headed back out to Trafalgar Square where they have caroling under the Norwegian Christmas Tree, given to England every year as thanks for keeping the Royal Family of Norway safe during WWII. The groups that sing are volunteers, mostly raising money for a cause they support.

After the kids went to bed, Polly and I left her sister and mom with the kids while we went to try out the pub around the corner, the Tea Clipper. We walked in and everyone was watching the TV right above the door. We were attracted to the place immediately for its neighborhood feel and friendly staff. It had a real Christmas tree in the corner. nice.

It was filled with men, hitting the pub on their way home from work, it appeared. They came in to watch the soccer game. When it was over, they all bailed out. We chatted up the bartender, who was not in the best spirits, because all three of the ale lines went dry at the same time. Apparently when that happens, you have to pull the tap to fill 15 pitchers with water, 5 pitchers of line cleaning solution, and then 15 pitchers of water. He then had to repeat that process three times. And then the 22:00 rush hit. Eighteen kids showed up at once and all got carded. You can drink beer and cider at 18 here. The bartender hurriedly filled pitchers of water and orders. At one point he exclaimed to his co-worker, "You help these people. My bloody arm's about to fall off."

Polly and I shared a shot of Laphroaig, a delicious single malt scotch. Then we called it a night after I got to try out the tap.

When they rang the bell for last call, I could tell the bartender was relieved, even though he had two more lines to clear.

And then off to bed, closing out our most successful day of touring.

Monday: "I Just Kept Thinking of Falling"

Cheval Place is a very small 2-block street in Knightsbridge. It's cobblestone, and dead ends to the west of our flat. It is home to a couple of Indian restaurants, a few hair salons and two or three dress shops. The dress shops are called dress agencies. Apparently some of the dresses require representation. One of the shops is right across the street from our flat, and we can see it through the window in our kitchen. One of the favorite pastimes of Graham and Frank is to watch the mannequins be dressed in the window. The shop employees must have noticed this, because later in the week they began to pull down a shade as they dressed them. That is British modesty to an extreme.

Monday morning is trash day on Cheval Place. Early in the morning (felt like 3:00 AM to me), several trash dumspters were noisily lifted by a trash truck, violently shaken, and then replaced wherever they are hidden off of the street. I kept thinking it would stop, but it just kept on going on and on. I persevered in my quest for oversleeping, and slept in until 11:00. Better than the day before, but hardly adjusted. Polly's mom says we'll be perfectly attuned to Greenwich time when it is time to go home on Saturday.

Our first full day (sic) of sightseeing began with a tube trip to Westminster. It's a great tube stop because when you emerge you see Parliament, Big Ben (well, the clock that houses Big Ben), and Westminster Abbey. We crossed Westminster bridge on foot to the London Eye. This is a new attraction since I was last in London, and it is great. An incredible view of the city. I could see St. Paul's Cathedral, Westminster Abbey, the Thames... everything from a wonderfully high vantage point. I asked Virginia if she enjoyed the London Eye, and she said, "Sort of. I just kept thinking of falling."

From here we took the excellent advice of Michael Boxser, a friend of Fowler Jones, and took a Thames Clipper boat ride up the Thames. They have a bar on board and I had a Stella Artois as we cruised up to Greenwich. We didn't make it to the O2, London's new entertainment district and performing arts venue. Instead we ate at a pub.

We drank wine at the flat and turned in, hoping every day wasn't trash day on Cheval Place.

Jet Lag claims three casualties

The first casualty jet lag claimed was the day. We were not up and moving until 14:30. As my friend Fowler said, "In bed at 3:00, up at noon? It's like college!"

Amy, Polly's sister, arrived in the morning and had a little rest. I got up at 12:30 and was the first in the house to rise. Everyone was moving a little slowly.

I was ready to hit the touristy stuff. When I came out of the shower it smelled a little like something was burning. I worried either that someone had placed something on one of the radiators, or that one of the heated towel racks (a mysterious staple in every bathroom) had overheated a towel. When I entered the kitchen, I saw that a thick acrid smoke hung in the air there. That's when I learned my wife had decided to make coffee and had placed the coffee pot on the big burner and cranked it up to high. But it was an electric coffee pot, and the rubber bottom melted completely. Thankfully, it did not catch fire, and we were not forced to use the fire blanket, conveniently hanging on the wall. The coffee pot was the second casualty of the day.

We decided to walk around and get an idea for what the neighborhood was like. We are staying in Knightsbridge, near Harrod's department store. After a short walk I suggested we see what this store was like inside, despite my dislike for shopping.

The place was a complete zoo. Hundreds of people were storming around and all of them wanted to walk wherever I was walking. We placated the kids with the purchase of truffles (I got a salted caramel truffle... yum). Our party became separated and we realized how much we rely on cell phones for simple logistical reasons. That's because we have but one working phone among all of us. Which is a lot like having no working phones among us, because I have no one to call, and no one can call me. They call cell phones carphones here. And they use them on the left side of the head. Crazy.

We went to the toy demonstration area, where they show the hottest toys. Those included a remote controlled UFO, a radio controlled flippin' rat, and make-your-own snow, a mysterious white substance that turned into cool-to-the-touch snow when you added water. Graham was not happy we would not purchase a toy for him. "Why'd you bring me here if you weren't going to buy me anything?" Meet jet-lag's third casualty: my son's pleasant personality.

By the time everyone reconnoitered at the flat, it was time for dinner. I had managed to call Ellen, my niece who is here as part of a drama program run through USC, where she attends college. She's the reason we came to London, as she finishes up her coursework this week in a culminating performance of King Lear later this week. so we met up with her and went to Wagamama.

After a dinner of noodles, edamame, and vanilla ice cream with toffee sauce, we went home and the kids sacked out. Ellen headed back to her flat, and the missus and I went to Bunch of Grapes, a pub in Knightsbridge.

After a couple of ales and lagers, we headed home and in a stupor, cleaned the melted rubber off of the burner in our flat. The evidence gone, we decided we had to find a kettle to replace the one we'd ruined. But now it was time for bed. And we slept blissfully until the garbage trucks came to Cheval Place.

London Travelogue 6 Dec. 2008

Our day of travel began at 3:00 AM, when we woke up to hurriedly get dressed and out the door to the airport for at 6:25 AM flight to Chicago.

We flew American Airlines. The flight from Chicago to London Heathrow aboard a Boeing 777 was practically empty. My guess is that it seated 400 people and there were maybe 60 people on board. We flew coach.

Each seat had its own video screen and remote, something that delighted the kids. Frank was so excited he said, "This is the awesomest day ever." He confirmed his preternatural gift for hyperbole when, as his video screen appeared to malfunction, he said the day had turned to "the worst day ever."

I do the same thing; if something exceeds my expectations, I'm thrilled. When it doesn't deliver, I'm pissed.

I enjoyed watching the flight path channel, an episode of MadMen from season 1, and a little blackjack. My wife played a game called Caveman Crunch, a PacMan knockoff with a man who goes around eating woolly mammoth tusks instead of fruit. She played and played, progressing in the levels of the game, but getting more and frustrated. We've all played games like that, ones you work and work to master and then you suddenly realize they are not even fun.

We made it to the apartment at 23:30 (that's British time).

There was a small electrical issue when my wife's breast pump did not take a liking to the British power grid. It went into overdrive and the power supply started smoking. I think I remember reading they used a version of this souped-up device in Abu Ghraib. Since we arrived late, all of the pubs and convenience stores were closed. Luckily my forward-thinking wife brought us a pint of Glenlivet, which I drank with her and her mother after we put the kids to bed. We sacked out around 3:00 AM.

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