Despite the fact that the 5 hour time difference has messed with my body, I still know that today is Saturday. I also know that I should get up when Joy does so that I can enjoy another yummy cholesterol-laden breakfast before I start my day but … I actually slept well last night (thanks to some pharmaceutical assistance) so never mind. I don’t get up until about 30 minutes after they stop serving breakfast and jump into the shower.
Today is the day of the wedding that Joy has come to attend so Aletha and I are left to ourselves. We both share a love for open markets and she has suggested that we hit the huge one that happens every Saturday morning on Portobello Road. Then we could hit nearby Notting Hill made famous in the Hugh Grant movie of the same name. Cool. We make a brief stop at a convenience store so I can pick up a sandwich and then we head to the tube.
Once again I’m so glad that we nominated Aletha to be the navigator. I can just sit back and watch the world go by while she has to worry about all the maps and making sure that we don’t get lost. Personally, I have no problem with getting lost. That’s usually how I end up finding the coolest stuff. Today, though, we do not get lost. The crowded street market can be spotted from the train as we emerge into the open. We get off the train and join the fray.
Boy, is there a lot of stuff at the market. Vintage clothes and shoes, jewelry, souvenirs of England, books, records, food stands, you name it and it’s here. After musing over some interesting rings (all silver, cheap, and some of them had revolving pieces) and the sometimes funky clothing, Aletha stops at a little stand selling bagged teas. We do a lot of sniffing of the highly aromatic teas before she chooses several as gifts for her co-workers. I refrain because I don’t drink tea and I figure there will be many other things to consider for souvenirs later on. And I was right. Turns out the area where we joined the market was just the beginning of the shops. We turn a corner and the entire street is laid out before us, crowded with people, stalls and roaming dogs. All nestled among the permanent shops that have set up their wares and, oddly enough, quite a few residential streets and more than a little construction.
This is what I love about open markets. While it is not normally fun being jostled by innumerable strangers, dodging their toxic nicotine fumes, or having to check my backpack every minute to make sure no one has jacked me, I really like being around all the different sights and smells. It’s another unbelievably beautiful day and everywhere you turned there’s something else of interest.
I stumbled upon a table covered with teacup/saucer/small dish combos made in England of bone china. They are all pretty but one pattern of white china with red and white roses on it stands out. And only 5 pounds! I have no idea if it will survive the plane trip but I have to get it. I figure I can mount this (my first official piece of china) on one of my bare dining room walls as a constant reminder of England.Still much more to see of Portobello Road but, as we still have to travel to Notting Hill, we start making our way back to the train station. Aletha has already determined that we will have to change trains to get on the right line so she leads and I follow, happily clutching my new purchase. The changing station for the lines is in a much larger station that also serves the long distance Amtrak-kind of trains. We have to cross this cavernous building past the tracks, a long row of chained bikes and bunches of scurrying passengers to get to the ticketing hall. This part of the station is loaded with fast foods chains and (what a surprise) yet another Starbucks. Aletha pauses to check the signs for the tube station while I gawk once again like a slack-jawed tourist. She leads us down some stairs to wait for the train.
A short train ride later and we’ve reached Notting Hill, the site of another open market. Wait a minute. Doesn’t that sign say Portobello Road? Come to think of it, didn’t I see some t-shirts at the last market that said Notting Hill? Don’t tell me we waded our way through that enormous train station just to end up in a different section of the same market. Aletha and I look at each other and confirm that yes, we are clueless tourists. Good grief.
Oh, screw it. I’m hungry.
We walked past a few stands and restaurants until we settle on a place called Manzara that smells pretty good, has a place for us to sit, and serves this strange pseudo-Italian food called pides. They’re like pizza slices with the dough curved up on either end to make a kind of boat. Not bad and not too expensive either. We sit, I eat, and we decide what to do next. Aletha wants to hit the British Museum but isn’t too crazy about how it’s described in the guidebook. I still want to go to the aquarium we saw near the London Eye. Since neither of us have been to one in a long time, that’s where we head next.
We get back to the Waterloo stop on the tube, pass the bizarre sculptures strewn around for the Dali exhibit in the gallery, and make a bathroom break. Aletha realizes that she has misplaced her bag of tea and we try to figure out where she could have left it. I suggest that we go back to the restaurant on the off chance that it’s there but she says no, we shouldn’t go to any trouble. We lament for a while and then we go to the aquarium.
There’s a reason why London is not known for its aquarium – it’s strictly small potatoes geared towards the kiddies. It’s divided into zones based on different regions of water (Pacific Ocean, the Nile, etc) and is very dark and maze-like (what is it about the British that all their tourist spots are so confusing? Do you think they’re trying to anger all these outsiders so they’ll vow never to return?). The tanks are not much bigger than what you could find in a private home with just a few exceptions. The aquarium’s pride and joy are the three sharks they have swimming with a bunch of other fish in a huge tank in the middle of the building. You can see them on any of the aquarium’s three levels. They also have a mechanical fish. Yes, it’s an actual moving fish that they’ve created for some inexplicable reason. Unfortunately, we only got to see a video as it wasn’t on display that day. Other than the manta ray petting area and the interesting foliage draping the walls of the Amazon exhibit there was nothing really special about the joint. Aletha and I kind of ho-hummed our way to the exit that dumped us right into an overcrowded gift shop. The shop was too full of kiddies begging their harried parents for overpriced souvenirs to even consider shopping for ourselves. Most definitely not my cup of tea.
Speaking of tea, Aletha was still mad about losing hers. She asked me if I wouldn’t mind going back to Covent Garden to a tea shop she remembered there. Did I mind? I loved Covent Garden and was upset that we didn’t take more time on our first trip to explore it. Besides which I was just happy being in London. The other ladies were the ones with the agendas but I was fine just to wander. So sure! We can go back there.
Big mistake.
Traveler’s tip #3: free samples are deadly. We’re wading our way around the crowds and street performers
to the little store called Whittard’s (www.whittards.com). I’m watching Aletha make her choices for the 6 bags for 12 pounds sale and looking really hard at a bag of English breakfast tea when the Asian saleswoman shoves a tiny cup of hot tea in my hand. “Hey lady! I don’t do tea. I’m only following Aletha and – damn this stuff smells good.” I take a sip expecting the smell to be deceptive and the tea to be bitter (as I’ve found most teas) and wow! That’s some good tea! Aletha has also had a cup shoved at her and together we both go looking for this tea while trying to ignore the saleswoman who says that there is more upstairs. Stupidly, we head upstairs and sample yet another tea and before you know it we’re spending almost 20 pounds (approx. $40 for those of you keeping count) a piece on tea. And neither one of us drinks caffeine. And I don’t even drink tea! Freaking Brits!I may be bitter but at least the tea wasn’t. And I did just buy that teacup … was that portentous somehow? Only London knows.
Since neither of us had anywhere else we wanted to go for the day, we opt to just keep walking. We’re walking along, just taking in the London sights when somehow we end up in front of the National Portrait Gallery. Right near it is the National Gallery and a whole bunch of people gathered in the courtyard in front of it.
Always curious, I guide us that way. There are people on the steps leading down to a couple of fountains and these huge reproductions of paintings. Still not sure what was going on but it made an interesting sight. 
We’re back on the train and Aletha comments that we have so mastered the tube system. I have to agree with her. Her savvy navigation kept us on track the whole time while I was able to spend my time noting the differences in the tube stations. Every one of them was distinctive in some way. Most are below ground but some between Notting Hill and the hotel are open air. Lifts are vital since taking the stairs would probably kill most people. There are signs warning the public that this stairway has 193 steps or this other one has 178 steps. I think these signs benefit the Underground as well as the travelers; the management certainly doesn’t want to have to call an ambulance because someone got to the 100th step and collapsed.
Some of the stations have ads plastered all over the walls behind the trains, some, like Russell Square, have painted tiles on the walls that tell you the way out. There was one station that looked completely trashed or under construction while another (Charing Cross) was done in these really cool murals of old time London. ‘Mind the Gap’ became drummed in my head after hearing it at a few stations. Some of the ‘gaps’ between train and platform were negligible -- both platform and train were level enough for wheelchairs and strollers to easily transition from one to the other. There were some, however, that were large enough to twist an ankle if you weren’t careful. One station had a gap so large that you had to jump down from the train in order to make it to the platform.
With no way to contact Joy, we take our tea in hand and head back to good old Russell Square. We’re hanging around in the room, waiting to see or hear from her before get some dinner. After a couple of hours, though, we were getting too hungry to wait. Back downstairs we realize that there’s a note on the bulletin board. Joy was having a good time at the wedding and wouldn’t be getting back until late. We decide to go back to Leicester Square for dinner.
There is another Garfinkel’s here, a place that we can both agree on. Once the staff quits ignoring us and the growing line of people waiting behind us to get in, we are quickly served our meal. Aletha had lamented that morning that this was our last day in London. I was sad too but, as I wrote some notes over my burger, we figured we had spent the day (and the trip) well. Still didn’t have enough time but like I said, in my best Ah-nold voice, “I’ll be back.” And Sunday meant we’d be on to Paris, a whole new city to explore.
As we’re making our way back to the tube station, we notice the ever-present crowds of Leicester Square suddenly scrambling out of the way. There is a sound of chanting and drumming coming our way. At least 20 people are marching in a group and dancing to the drums. The people on the outer fringes aren’t dressed in any particular way. It’s the ones near the middle, in the traditional long peach robes of the Hare Krishna, that let you know what’s up. We got out of their way while staring in wonder. Now, what on earth were they doing so far away from the airport?
We get back to the hotel where we make sure we’re ready for the trip to Paris. Neither one of us is too keen about going back to Charles de Gaulle but maybe it won’t be so bad since we don’t have to transfer anywhere. I finish packing and settle into bed when in comes Joy. She has had her own adventures that day starting with some down tube stations. She left early to attend service at Westminster Abbey and then see the Frieda Kahlo exhibit at the National Gallery. But with the station closings, traffic in the tube was a nightmare. She didn’t make it to the church and as soon as she got to the exhibit, she had turn around again to get ready for the wedding. She did enjoy the wedding, though, despite the fact that she recently had to lay off the groom. The bride still didn’t know.
We laid out the game plan for the next day and then headed to bed. We had to start early so we could get to Heathrow and make our 11:30 flight to Paris.
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