L&P Day 7

Day 7 -- Monday, September 26, 2005

Now, I am normally not a good sleeper. I’ve consigned myself to the fact that I will be an insomniac for life. But this … I’ve mentioned that our room in the Hotel du Lion D’or has a large open window along the far wall. We had to keep it open as the hotel does not have air conditioning and it was a little close in the small room. The air flow was actually good. The noise flow, however, was even better. All night long it was smoke-laden French voices coming out of the restaurant, babies crying on other floors, high heels clicking on the cobblestone street all sailing through the window and into our trying-to-slumber ears. It was, in a word, horrible.

Not adding to the situation was the “bed” I was sleeping in. The futon was low to the ground and I could easily feel the metal spine in the middle of it. The spine was higher than the rest of the bed meaning that it kind of sloped on either side. I spent the night trying to find a comfortable position while keeping the pillow over my head to drown out the noise. After several hours, when neither of those things was working, I just lay there watching the sky from my post just beneath the window. It seemed to be pre-dawn for a couple of days before the sky suddenly lightened. Then and only then did I manage to go to sleep and even that only lasted until the garbage trucks came.

Traveler’s Tip #7: DO NOT EVER BOOK THE HOTEL DU LION D’OR IN PARIS.

Groggy and not a little upset, the three of us woke up a little after 11:00 and realized that we were to meet a friend of Joy’s at 12:00. I dragged myself off the futon from hell and went into the tiny bathroom. Very quickly, I was again longing for London and its hot showers. Apparently I’d picked a very busy time to bathe because the shower kept flashing hot and cold. I got out not because I was particularly clean or refreshed but because I was frustrated. Not a very good start for the day.

We trudged down the stairs and met up with a woman named Ena and her sister Margaret. The ladies were from Scotland but Ena lived in France and worked for Joy’s company. Her sister was on holiday in Paris. We head to Le Mussett (the sisters’ choice – it took us a second to realize that we’d eaten there the night before) for brunch. Even though the sisters had taken a smoke break before we entered the restaurant, we still ended up seated in the smoking section. Fortunately it wasn’t very crowded.

With the meal over, Joy, Aletha and I continued our walking tour of Paris. Today’s agenda includes the Arc d’Triomphe so we headed to the Champs Elysees. Here was yet another street packed with little restaurants and shops. We did some window shopping with plans to return on our way back from the Arc.

Joy had already told us beforehand that we would definitely go to the Arc as it provides some of the best views of the city. But, she said, she would not be climbing to the top. She’d done it before and told us that those steps are brutal. I was looking forward to the climb and had even spent the last few weeks preparing for it with daily trips up the 4 flights of stairs in my office building. I was psyched but Aletha was on the fence. I didn’t want to go by myself and make the other two women wait for me at the bottom but none of us was too sure that Aletha could make the trip. She still wasn’t eating but one meal in the evenings and all the walking we were already doing had to be hard on her. But, good woman that she is, she decided to get the full Paris experience and make the climb with me.

I didn’t realize how strong she was until we were about halfway up the winding stone stairs. Those suckers were rough. There are several little cubbyholes built into the staircase to provide climbers with a little rest. Even still, that was a hoof, even after all my training. As my pace was a little faster than hers, Aletha told me to go on ahead. I left her resting and made my way to a large landing that housed some benches and restrooms. As I’m catching my breath, I notice that there is a painter leaning on a ladder close to the steps just snickering his head off at the tourists’ efforts. Jerk.

Aletha makes it to the landing and I give her some of my water as she takes a rest. “Are we there yet?” she asked. I tell her that I don’t know but it can’t possibly be much farther. Once she’s rested, we head up another, much shorter, flight of stairs. We’re now in the museum, an area with a small gift shop and lots of displays of Arc artifacts and history. I take a look in the gift shop while Aletha has a seat and makes the acquaintance of a couple from the states. Turns out they took the elevator to the museum and have yet to go the final few steps to the very top. There’s an elevator? Aletha says she definitely would have taken it if she knew. I shrug it off and say we can take it back down if she wants.

With me in the lead, we climb the last few steps to the top. As I step into the light and see the whole city laid out before me, I stop at the stairs to cheer Aletha on by telling her that the view is so worth the climb. On yet another bright clear afternoon, you can see the entire city from the Arc. It is absolutely amazing and again I’m struck by how big the city is. We’ll only walk a small portion of it but Paris, like London, stretches on for miles in every direction.

We walk along the length of the roof to take pictures and we can’t help but notice the circle of traffic below us. There is a tunnel that takes pedestrians from the Champs Elysees under the circle to get to the Arc. And with good reason. I wouldn’t even risk that circle in a car. On foot, you would die. This circle, one of many in Paris, is insane. There are no lanes, just a mass of cars swerving around. To enter it from one of the side streets, most cars dash into the first space they can find and hope for the best. Buses, on the other hand, just barrel through, stopping all traffic in the process. Why there aren’t more 12-car pile-ups in Paris is a complete mystery to me.

We head back down after maybe half an hour, taking the stairs all the way despite my offer of riding the elevator (good woman, Aletha!). Back at the bottom, it takes us a minute to find Joy who had to move from her original spot because a group of smokers had crowded her out. “235 steps. I counted them on the way down,” Aletha informs us. Joy just nods. “That’s why I stayed down here where I could catch a nap.” I just smile at them and offer to lead them in a round of jumping jacks.

Aletha has been given another assignment for her European vacation. Just as she had to find a Beefeater in London, she was tasked to find a specific Louis Vuitton bag in Paris. Easy enough. There are plenty of higher end stores on the Champs Elysees so we head back to begin our search.

There are 3 locations of Louis Vuitton on this street. The largest store is closed for construction so we follow the detour signs to a smaller store down the street. As we’re looking at all these items, few of which were priced less than a thousand euro, we know for a fact that we are in the wrong professions. To think, there are people who come to Paris just to drop some major coin on all the designer fashions. Well, we are really not those people. And Aletha’s friend is also out of luck. We can’t find the bag she’s looking for so we move on.

I have always been a fan of Fendi. I’ve had two of their fine Italian handbags and would love to have a third but they are hard to find in Atlanta. So I was very glad to see that Paris has a Fendi store. Both Joy and I are wild about the handbags we see on the store’s first floor and even though we can’t afford a damn thing, I lead them upstairs to see even more over-priced goods.

One of the salesmen has heard all of our oohs and aahs and figured out that we are too broke to even be looking in this store. He stalks us from the second floor to the third on the guise of pointing out items of note. I don’t care though. I’m not trying to steal anything except a few moments of pretend-time by imagining that one day I might be able to buy this stuff. Especially the tan leather coat with the real fur collar. I don’t even wear fur but that coat was lush. And about 5,000 euros (I don’t even want to know what that is in American dollars). Oh well, I console myself, none of the clothes or shoes would fit me anyway.

From there it was on to Dior as my friends are getting into the window shopping thing. Joy admits that she has never been in stores like these before. But since we’re in Paris, might as well see as much as we can. Dior has the clothes, shoes and bags of the other stores but also has jewelry, perfume and makeup. It also has an entire black family (kids included) doing some serious shopping. My first thought was ‘how do they make their money?’ with the second thought being ‘why on earth would any child need Dior anything?’ This is certainly not the way I was brought up.

We planned to go to the Eiffel Tower but wanted to wait until the light show at night. As it was still light outside we just walked around for a while. We stopped at a café for a little break (and because the desserts in the window looked too delicious to pass up). The non-smoking section was located way in the back. What, are the French ashamed of anyone who doesn’t have a cancer stick hanging out of their mouth? Do they need to hide them from other good and decent folk? It didn’t seem to matter much anyway since the whole area reeked of smoke and the waiter lit up as soon as he left our table.

Maybe it was the smoke or the climb up the Arc or walking along the Champs Elysees, but I was in a French mood. I order a cappuccino to go with my apple tart. I don’t even drink coffee (maybe one cup a month when I’m ready to collapse at work) and certainly not cappuccino. But it just seems appropriate. Aletha and Joy look at me with some wonder and warn me that all that caffeine and sugar will have me bouncing off the ceiling later on.

We do some more walking before we start looking for a place to eat. The place we find is a little on the pricey side (but still not so high-class that they don’t allow dogs. The French love their dogs as much as they love their cancer sticks.) I had this cheesy vegetable/fish thing (I guess you could call it a soup) that was excellent. I don’t know if it was particularly French but it was tasty. Then we were off to the Tower.

It’s quite a long walk from where we ate dinner to the Eiffel Tower but it’s nice to walk along the Seine and take in the sights. It was very exciting to see the Tower get bigger and bigger as we neared it. We stood at the base of it for a while but since it was still light, chose to get some distance so we could really see the light show. The Trocadero (still not sure if this is a museum or what) is located across the street so we go there to get some pictures and wait. In the street below us, there is a procession folks that looks like Olympic runners. There’s a van behind them as they travel past the Tower and to the base of the Trocadero where they stop next to a bridal party. The couple picked a great day for a wedding. We couldn’t think of a better place to get married than Paris on a beautiful fall day with the Eiffel Tower in the background.

After avoiding some over-zealous pigeons, we joined the other tourists on the steps in front of the Trocadero to watch the Tower light up. The show starts around 7:30 (if it’s dark by then) and consists of a bunch of white lights twinkling all over the Tower. We sat mesmerized for a minute (boy, are tourists easy) before we walked back to the Tower for a trip up.

The lines are pretty long to board the elevator despite the fact that it’s a Monday night. The elevator itself fascinates me. There is no vertical shaft at the Tower’s base so the elevator (there are two) travels at an angle up one of the legs. There is a different fee for going to the middle or the top. There’s a highly recommended restaurant at the middle along with a gift shop which explains the split fees. If you’re going to the top (as we were) there are people at the middle who check your tickets. Then they lead you to another elevator that takes you the rest of the way. You also have the option of taking the stairs. When I suggested this to the ladies they just looked at me like I was nuts. Or like that cappuccino was taking effect.

The elevator lets you out in an enclosed area full of info about the Tower and glassed reenactments of the how the Tower was planned and built. On the walls are little flag stickers that show you the direction of every other country in reference to the Tower. A short set of stairs leads you into the open air at the very top. The views of Paris at night are breath-taking particularly on the side of the building where the wind is so strong it literally whips the air out of your lungs. Joy is approached by a nice looking bald black man who offers to take our picture. Turns out he is from Roswell, GA and is in Paris on a very brief layover on his way to a military assignment in Germany. As Aletha and I check him out we realize we’ve lived in Atlanta too long. We are both single women who’ve had little dating success so based on past experience; we automatically assume that an attractive black man from GA must be married or gay. Since he’s traveling with two guys, we lean towards gay. That is until Joy spots the wedding ring. See? It never fails. We really need to get out of the Atlanta area if we ever hope to score.

We go back down the stairs to the enclosed observation deck. After making a circuit of the entire deck, we realize that the line for the elevators ends at the steps we just descended. “No problem,” I say, “we can just take the stairs. Come on, the Eiffel Tower isn’t that tall (ha, ha).” They tell me to go ahead. Even waiting in line, they’d still beat me to the bottom. I can’t argue with that, especially since it was pretty windy.

Back at the bottom, we start the very long trip back to our hotel. We walk past a bunch of guys selling little lit-up replicas of the Tower. Suddenly, one of the guys spots a gendarme (cop) and quick as a flash, there are no more vendors. It’s actually pretty cool. Their stuff is laid out on a cloth that has handles on either side. All they have to do is pull the handles towards each other and they have a handy dandy sack. Sling it over a shoulder and they are no longer illegal merchants but just more tourists walking in Paris. One of these non-merchants walks past us pretty quickly, looking behind him as he goes. It’s so Bourne Identity, which I find exciting. The other women are a little nervous, though. Joy asks me if I’m prepared to use my kickboxing skills to ward off any potential attackers. My response: “I get to kick somebody? Where he at?”

That wasn’t the cappuccino talking by the way. I just like to kick things.

Despite the promise of swift and eager protection, the ladies decide that it is simply too far to walk through unfamiliar areas in the dark. We head to the Metro which deposits us just a few blocks from our hotel. I’ve learned my lessons from the previous night so while the ladies are in the cyber café, I head upstairs for a shower. Sure enough, the water reaches a certain temperature and stays there. The ladies have returned by the time I get out. I drug myself with vitamins and the lovely blue pills that will hopefully knock me out for the night. The three of us have a nice little discussion about jobs, colleges, and adventures in parenting (from the child’s point of view) before we sack out for the night.

L&P Day 6

Day 6 -- Sunday, September 25, 2005

I woke up somewhat sad. It’s not that I don’t want to go to Paris, it’s just that there's still so much to see in London. But, there’s nothing to be done now. We get up, do our last minute packing and preparation and head downstairs. Joy collects our money, checks us out, and then the two of us have breakfast. Luggage in tow, we trek back to the Russell Square tube station.

On the train, I’m wistfully looking out the window and saying my own private goodbye to London. The Sundays song “Here’s Where the Story Ends” runs through my head, only one of the three songs that I’ve had on a constant loop since arriving. “London’s Calling” by the Clash and “Underground” by David Bowie have also been playing in my own personal soundtrack for the last few days. I try to shake them off and prepare for the next adventure (and a new bunch of songs, most of which come from the movie French Kiss).

At Heathrow, we run into a bit of a problem. Apparently, both my luggage and Joy’s are a couple of kilos over the limit. The trainee behind the Air France desk asks us if we would like to switch some stuff from our checked bags to our carry-ons. We oblige her to a point but then she has us not only weigh our carry-ons but put them in the metal bag measuring device because they “look a little poofy”. Joy is visibly losing her patience as a line begins to form behind us. I merely mutter to myself as I try to redistribute some weight. Then, after all this, the attendant says that we’ll be fine and asks us if we wouldn’t like to change the stuff back so that our carry-ons wouldn’t be so heavy. Lady, we’ve already spent a good 15 minutes in line with people staring at us. Can we just get on the freaking plane? No. Not until after she shows Joy our itinerary (we already know where we’re going so why bother?). In a huff, we’re finally able to get our bags and tickets and proceed to the gate.

We make a quick stop outside of the mini mall (set up in the airport to sell mostly perfume) to reorganize and get our blood pressures down. Since we’re early and our gate hasn’t been posted yet, we park ourselves near some of the shops. We passed by a money exchange place on the way so Aletha and I got up to change our pounds into euros. Traveler’s tip #4: if you’re traveling and would like to see the exchange rate between currencies, log on to www.expedia.com and click on the Currency Converter under Traveler’s Tools. This table updates every couple of days to give you some idea of how much money to bring. Additional tip: this is something I read in a guidebook after the fact but learned to be true later. Once you’ve set out your clothes and money to take abroad follow this easy 2:1 rule: take half the clothes and twice the money. After having to make more than one ATM hit in both countries for food, hotel, and admission prices for different sights (not to mention souvenirs), and knowing that the dollar does not fair very well in most of Europe, take my word for it that you will need more money than you originally planned. I had also packed more warm weather stuff than I needed. The weather in both countries was gorgeous (late September is definitely the time to visit) but not warm enough for shorts. A mix of long and short sleeved shirts along with a jacket, some jeans, and serious walking shoes should be all you need.

I took a brief walkabout along the stores after we exchanged our money. Of note, there was a tea shop and a caviar store obviously geared to people who actually have money. Since that ruled us out, we went on to the gate.

The three of us are seated together in a row, but as I look around I have to wonder why. Here we had gotten all this grief about our slightly over the limit luggage and the plane was only half full. And some of those people were commuters so they only had overnight bags. What the hell? We could have each had our own row to ourselves! But, we figured, why make a fuss. The flight was only an hour. Joy and I got in a few extra minutes of sleep and before you know it, we were on the ground.

Back in Charles De Gaulle, Aletha and I were very wary. But, much to our surprise, we had an easy time of it. No bus rides this time. We landed in the terminal, got our luggage, and headed for an ATM machine. We got out some euros and thanked God that we didn’t have the problems of the male passenger behind us in line. The ATM ate his card which left him broke and confused in a foreign country (he was British). We wished him luck and went outside to catch a taxi while Joy commented that his situation was her worst nightmare come true.

On the roughly 30 minute ride into Paris, I make note of everything I see on the road while an American song, “Don’t Cha”, played on the radio (we’d hear this song many more times while in Paris – so much for the French soundtrack in my head). It’s good to note that driving on the wrong side of the road is reserved only for Great Britain and its territories (like the Bahamas). There are a lot of businesses on the way from the airport, most notably Ikea (a favorite of Aletha and Joy). Most of the time, though, there are just trees. This changes gradually as we reach the heart of the city. There were tons of brand names that I recognized on the office buildings. Car manufacturers, electronics, and make-up companies all had offices in Paris.

The taxi goes around a circle made of cobblestones before traveling the narrow streets to our hotel. The Hotel Du Lion D’or is located on a small side street across from a bar and a restaurant in a very nondescript building. We pay the driver and Joy checks us in. She looks as us in alarm once she finds out that our room is on the 4th floor – and there is no elevator. Okay. The cute French guy behind the desk offers to help with the heavier luggage as we start the trip up with the smaller stuff. What is it with the winding stairs? The hotel has one landing with a small sitting area after the first set of stairs and then way too many spiral stairs leading up to our room. After taking a breath, Joy unlocks the door … and bumps right into the bathroom door on the other side. As we pile in, we now know that our room in the London hotel was a palace compared to this room. There’s a standing bureau directly across from the door and a double bed to the right. In lieu of another bed, there are these 2 low chairs beneath a huge open, unscreened window. As we gaze around in wonder, the desk guy brings up the bigger luggage. Now this stuff was not light (as the Heathrow attendant informed us) and those stairs were a bear, but he seemed to handle them with ease. We, on the other hand, decide that we will only be going up and down those bad boys once a day.

We freshen up and discover that yes, the little chairs each unfold into a bed. Of course, once one is unfolded, we no longer have any room for opening our suitcases or even walking. But, no matter. As it is Sunday and prices are cheaper, we have already decided to hit the Louvre. Maps in hand, we descend all those wretched steps and begin our search.

This hotel was our third choice after the first hotel cancelled our reservation in favor of closing for renovations, while the second hotel had a price hike. This hotel was chosen for its price and proximity to things we wanted to see. That was the idea on paper. It’s an entirely different thing when you’re trying to navigate a foreign city. We’re walking around for blocks seeing much more of Paris than we had intended as we search for the Louvre. Finally on the right track, we go through these lovely gardens before we spot the arch and the pyramid that are at the entrance.

http://www.louvre.fr/llv/commun/home_flash.jsp

Visiting this museum was Aletha’s idea. The only thing I knew about it was that it was big and held the Mona Lisa. ‘Big’ does not begin to describe this place. Massive is more the word. The arch is in a kind of courtyard surrounded on three sides by the museum which just goes on and on. We take a few pictures while trying to decide how to get in while avoiding the major crowds. We end up taking a tube-entrance-like set of stairs and entering the museum from underneath.

There is something like a mini mall connected to the museum with shops and restaurants lining the halls leading to the main entrance. At the base of the pyramid is a large open area where visitors can pick up maps (a necessity) and buy their tickets from an automated machine. Then it’s on to the second of two security checks. We show our tickets, open our bags, and then begin our own tour.

Like most tourists, we make a beeline for the Mona Lisa. But, that doesn’t mean we didn’t see a lot of stuff along the way. The Louvre is full of fine are that is not limited to the statues or paintings. The building itself is artwork. In between art displays, the three of us divided our time between navigating, avoiding the worst of the crowds and gawking at the ceilings. A typical stance for me was standing in the middle of a room of paintings trying to get a good shot of some amazingly ornate ceiling while not tripping over the people around me. Then I’d have to catch up to Joy and Aletha in another room.

There is no real way to describe all you can see in this museum. You can literally take an entire day and still not see everything. We didn’t have that long. We’d arrived about 2 hours before closing time and the ladies had an agenda. We passed through the Greek and Roman statues (which I love) and the Egyptian section on the way to the lady herself. We passed by the Venus de Milo and into a really cool section of massive paintings from the 1800s. I’m kicking myself for not remembering the painter’s name but the canvases were really beautiful. Then we entered the room where the Mona Lisa was held. My first impression: she looks so small. She is on a wall in the middle of the room all by herself while there’s a roped area in front of her for the tourists to pass by. There was a quite a crowd in front of her taking in as much in as they could with their eyes because you’re not allowed to take flash pictures of her (too many will ruin her). I never did understand all the fuss about her. While it’s great to say that I was in Paris and saw this famous painting, I found the paintings surrounding her far more interesting.

Traveler’s tip #5: a bit of a French lesson. If you ever plan to visit the Louvre, learn this phrase: Où est la sortie? Translation: Where is the exit? There are about a million exit signs all pointing in different directions to exits that don’t even exist. I still think the French did this just to trap tourists into becoming permanent additions to the displays (why spend the time and money to go digging for mummies when you can just wrap up a bunch of Americans and make them look like ancient corpses? Other dumb Americans won’t know the difference!). Since the Louvre has been added onto continually since its construction, the exits that these signs point to do exist but they are not in use (I know this because I tried one). The employees will point you towards stairs that will lead you further into the maze (and into circles in our case) before you reach the same entrance area that we first saw. The trip was annoying Joy and Aletha but I was cool. Again, it was the joy of not being in charge of the maps.

Outside (finally) we head across the street to get a bite to eat. Because of its location near a major tourist attraction, the fare was both French and American. They served quiches and sandwiches (very big with the French as well as the British) right next to pizza and hotdogs. Even the guy behind the counter was a sort of hybrid. He was French but really enjoyed talking to Joy about American football and music.

We continued our exploration of Paris on yet another unbelievably beautiful day. Everywhere you look there are ancient buildings incorporated into daily Parisian life. An ornate fountain might front a building that houses a McDonalds, centuries-old statues sit in the middle of circles of modern traffic. We walked along the Seine and noted that there were more private cars here than in England and fewer cabs. It seemed like every other car in London was either a black cab or a luxury model. Paris, though, seems more practical with a lot of impossibly tiny economy cars zipping around the fewer cabs. Like London, Paris has a subway system but I get the feeling that it’s not as widely used as London’s Underground since so much is in walking distance.

Whether by intent or accident (I don't know since I wasn't steering) we found our way to Notre Dame.
This place is beyond grand. We join other tourists who are either trying to take pictures of the building or simply staring at it in awe. A mass was just letting out so we went in. Like Westminster Abbey, this church is rimmed by small chapels for different saints (Joan of Arc has one). There is an area where you can light a candle and say a prayer and another area where you can buy medals bearing pictures of saints. We pass by a group of robed people preparing for another mass before we line up with other tourists near a far wall of the church. The robed people climb onto the pulpit while a woman with a beautiful voice begins to sing. We listen for a minute before making a quick exit. Once we’re back outside I say that it was a little strange being in the church as a grungy tourist while these French people are trying to attend service. There were even people taking pictures of the mass. Now even I, as a complete heathen, know when I’m intruding. Joy agrees with me and admits that for some reason she didn’t realize that the mass would be in French
We walk around the side of the building and find a park behind the church. We sit for a while and watch the pigeons walk by while Joy and Aletha again consult the map. The park is closing soon so we pick a direction and start walking. We’re all starting to get hungry so we figure it best to find a café on the way back to the hotel.

Finding something to eat in Paris is something you never have to worry about.
There seems to be a café every few feet in this city! Since September is still somewhat warm, most of the tables out front are filled with tourists and natives alike, smoking their cigarettes, drinking their cappuccinos and watching the world go by. We chose one of these cafes, Le Mussett, and eat dinner. Traveler’s tip #6: as I mentioned in my account of our first trip to Charles De Gaulle, the French have a serious issue with smoking. All restaurants have a smoking section and depending on where you go, there usually isn’t much of a difference where you sit if there are several people smoking around you. You will get smoke in your face. We found it best to either sit inside whenever possible or chose a patio table only if there weren’t a lot of people around. Also, if you don’t want to pay for water, make sure you ask for tap water. If you just order water, you will be getting bottled.

Back to the hotel, we make use of the computer room that’s conveniently located next to the front desk. We charge the room for our time and then it’s back up those freaking steps. We take our turns in the tiny bathroom. After Joy takes her shower, she comes out and says “that place is so small, I couldn’t even feel if I was wet. One turn and I realized I had touched every wall.” Who says that you can’t find adventure anywhere, even when taking a shower? I make an attempt to watch some French TV before sinking onto the really low bed and trying to sleep.

L&P Day 4

Day 4 – Friday, September 23, 2005

Even though I was tired as hell, I barely got any sleep. At 6:00 I finally gave up the fight and took another hot yummy shower during which I discovered why there’s a drain in the light hardwood floors. Since the shower only has a half partition that is pretty flimsy, water tends to seep around the bottom and right to that drain. Still I did a little mopping up before I got dressed and went exploring.

Though a little overcast, the sun was still peaking through the clouds as I left the hotel. The Harlingford, as I mentioned, is part of a building with other hotels. The building is curved in a crescent shape so I just follow it and see where it leads. The hotel is convenient for being close to not just the tube station, but a bunch of university buildings and some office buildings. Once out of the quiet little neighborhood, the noises and rush of the city continue on another busy street. I pass by the British Library and get swept up in the morning rush hour for a moment before I check the time and figure I’d better get back.

I eat breakfast as soon as they start serving then head up to see if the others are awake. They’re starting to stir and while they get ready for the day, I scope out the guidebooks. We’ve decided that today would be shopping day culminating in a trip to Knightsbridge and Harrods department store.

First we travel to Oxford Circus and I can’t help but wonder again why, on a weekday morning, there are so many people shopping. We can’t all be tourists, can we? We window shop along a street that’s jam-packed with stores while Joy looks for the Virgin Megastore that she once visited. We stop off at a place called Top Shop, a store that looks deceptively small until you realize that it’s on several levels of this huge building. The part we enter happens to be the maternity shop. Aletha and I stand back and wonder if Joy knows this as she goes wandering around. Ah, yeah. Now she knows. We all go downstairs to the women’s department.

There seems to be no rhyme or reason to the store’s layout. There are signs for the departments and their locations on the other floors but it all depends on which escalator you take. Shoes have their own floor as does men’s wear. We find our way to accessories where Joy does some shopping before we leave.

All along this street are remnants of Fashion Week, the city’s big event the week before we arrived. We’d already seen the bold headlines of the British newspapers proclaiming that Kate Moss had used coke at one of the parties and there were still displays in windows touting the new fashions.

I spot Marks and Spencer, one of the more famous department stores in London. We go in and note the same multileveled structure as Top Shop. This one is different though because on the lowest level is a full grocery store. That seems weird to me but then I recall that we hadn’t seen any supermarkets anywhere in London so far. There were several small ethnic grocers (mostly Indian or Asian) but nothing like what you’d see in America. Joy told us that they just weren’t to be found in the areas where we were. That also explained why we had yet to see a gas station. We’re just so used to seeing a Publix on every corner and a gas station every 5 feet that it was a little strange not seeing it here. More proof that we were indeed in a foreign country.

I got an odd little thrill at seeing Brits going about their daily business that was separate from the touristy stuff we were doing. Since it was almost lunch time, there were people in their business attire rushing in and scooping up the pre-made salads and sandwiches before rushing out again. I grabbed a bagel and a bottle of water and rejoined the others.

We hit the Virgin store, another place spread on different levels. Joy warns us not to buy any DVDs because they won’t play in American players and then the three of us head our separate ways. I am amazed at the number of DVD box sets there are for American television. I thought that only Americans were addicted to television but that is not the case. The same things you’d see in a local store were in this one including shows like the Sopranos and Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Joy had already told us what big fans the Brits were of The Simpsons but seeing a whole display of Simpsons goods was still a shock.

On the fourth floor I found something odd. Well, it’s not like it was the first odd thing I’d seen in England. There were box sets of shows I’d never heard of as well as an old one (The Tomorrow People) that I hadn’t seen in years. Still, seeing those things didn’t prepare me for the little section I stumbled across on the top floor. In one corner, past the big statue of Batman, was a section of adult tapes. I wander over thinking they were like the soft-core stuff that’s behind the little plastic partitions in MediaPlay but no, these were the real thing. Just out in the open, rows of hardcore, pretty amateurish-looking, DVDs. I know I shouldn’t be surprised. Despite all our country’s claims of freedom of expression, we are still considered prudish by European standards. I’ve already noticed a greater comfort with nudity than in America and I know that France will be an even bigger example of this. I shrug it off and go find the others. We get back on the tube and then it’s on to Harrods.

At the door, we shuffle in with the rest of the tourists and devise a game plan. Joy wants to hit the bookstore and Aletha decides to follow her. I, as usual, chose to explore on my own. We’ll meet up later and grab some lunch. Before the words are even out of Joy’s mouth, I’m wandering off to see more of the richly decorated store. I found out later from one of the guidebooks that there is an unspoken dress code for Harrods but since it’s become a must-see sight for tourists, any way you are dressed is fine. Since the locals avoid the place, if you’re in Harrods everyone already knows that you’re a tourist.

Oh boy. How do I even begin to describe this place? Harrods is something like an entire mall compressed into a single store. A single, gigantic store (I only took one picture as I felt it really made me look like a clueless tourist who’d never been in a department store before. So if you want to see the store, go here
http://www.harrods.com/Cultures/en-GB/KnightsbridgeStore/). It is an absolute maze with one department leading to another and another and another. As in Marks and Spencer, there is a grocery store on the lowest level complete with a separate tea shop, a candy shop and a row of small cafes on slightly elevated levels so diners have a view of the shoppers below. Spread over seven floors, there are several restaurants, a book store, the ever-present Starbucks (I swear there must be one of those things built every hour seeing how many there are in this country and in Europe), and numerous other departments.

I try to keep from gaping as I pass through the electronics department, the tapestry department (I’ve always wanted a tapestry but 400 pounds is a little steep), and the furniture department. I just had to take a look at some of the furniture designed by Fendi (my favorite purse designer – I’d already looked at some bags earlier). There was a really great cream colored couch with the traditional Fendi Fs decorating the pillows. I couldn’t imagine having a designer couch (in cream no less) in a house with my kids. Then I saw the price. At 4,000 pounds (roughly $7,500) I didn’t have to ever worry about my kids messing it up. How would they ever get to Harrods?

Somehow, while I was looking for the bookstore, I ended up at the juncture of several escalators. This is where the Princess Diana/Dodi el Fayed memorial is located. Surrounded by all this Egyptian imagery on the walls and faced by a huge golden sphinx, there is a fountain and some shrubbery. In the middle of it is a picture of the couple and some personal articles. I take a quick look and move on.

Moving past the art gallery and the luminous lighting department I wander back to the electronics section (how’d I get here again?) and find that the bookstore is just off of there. I meet up with Joy and Aletha and together we go to the formal restaurant upstairs. Joy wants to have tea there but we’re too early. She’s not feeling well and just wants to eat so we go to the young men’s department. There, we sit at a 50’s style American Dinner for a ridiculously overpriced meal during which we have to dodge the smoke coming from the smoking section. I’m still amazed at the number of people who smoke in this country. There are warning labels on packs of cigarettes just like here but they aren’t even subtle about it like we are. There are no warnings about low-weight babies or increased risk of cancer. The back of a London pack of smokes simply says “SMOKING KILLS”. And still …

It starts raining while we’re eating. Kind of a bummer but considering the fact that we’ve had outstanding weather the rest of the time, we can’t complain too much. We leave Harrods and head back to the hotel. Initially it’s Joy that needs the rest as she immediately goes to take a nap. But it’s apparent that Aletha and I are also suffering the effects too much excitement, miles of walking, and perhaps some jetlag. We settle into the sitting room to read but end up dozing off more than once. We were the only two people in there for most of the time but since we were near the hotel’s front door, every time someone came in there was a lot of noise and some overly cheery British accented greetings. At one point, a group of folks came in and asked Aletha to take some pictures of them. I think they were Brits but visitors to London. The sky clears outside of our windows and after a couple of hours we figure it’s time to get Joy and get some dinner.

Leicester (pronounced Lester) Square is a mecca for tourists and residents alike. It is yet another area devoted to restaurants and movie theaters (and will they please stop taunting me with ice cream? There seems to be a Ben and Jerry’s or Haagen Daas every few feet!). We thought to catch a movie, finally deciding on War of the Worlds, but the show was sold out. It was 7:30 on a Friday night after all. We chose an Italian restaurant for dinner and parked ourselves out front.

While I like being able to people watch, the wind has picked up making me a little uncomfortable (it would have to be the one time I forgot my jacket). Then, I got a wind of what the guys at the table behind me were talking about. Three highly-inebriated buddies were on the patio of the next restaurant loudly and profanely talking about their prowess. A snippet of conversation: “We’re in Beirut and you’re down and about to be captured. I’ve still got a fully loaded Glock. I would shoot you in the head to prevent your torture. That’s the kind of guy I am. That’s why people don’t like me.” Joy and Aletha and I are exchanging looks and hoping to God that this guy isn’t really armed. He was too drunk and there were way too many people around. At one point, one of the men broke a glass and since it was right behind my chair, I jumped about a mile.

Somehow, we got through the meal without being shot (the cute Italian waiter made the experience a little more enjoyable). We hit the same Internet Café that we visited the night before (Picadilly Circus and Covent Garden are all very near Leicester) and then headed back to the hotel. We’re settling down for the night and I’ve turned on the telly. We all perk up as one of the BBC’s new programs is comparing London to Savannah, GA. There is a discussion about America’s class divisions based on race. The fear is that London will soon have ghettos like America because of all of the immigrants from different countries that are migrating to the city. Don’t know if the argument was ever really settled but I do know that we were not happy to hear them talking about our state.

L&P Day 5

Day 5 -- Saturday, September 24, 2005

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.

London & Paris Day 3

Day 3 – Thursday, September 22, 2005 The sun is shining beautifully on our first full day in London. When I get up to shower, I realize that the window in the bathroom is open and that, like the big window in the bedroom, there is no screen. Joy had said yesterday that there was no need to worry about bugs, that this is London not Georgia. I say that we must have gotten London’s share of bugs. “Georgia got everybody’s share of bugs,” says Joy. I still think it’s weird that there are no screens, but I also note that not one bug has flown into the room even though both windows were open all night. Hell, I can open the door in Georgia for a few seconds just to let the dog out and three flies will come in. I’ve been in Georgia for ten years now and I guess I’m just used to it. It never occurred to me that some people don’t live under constant threat of a bug attack. Joy found out that breakfast is included in the nightly rate. Great! One less meal I have to pay for. The three of us go down to the little dining area and take a seat. In addition to the juices, cereal, fruit and yogurt piled on the side table near the kitchen, you have the option of ordering something hot like a full English breakfast. Joy and I order this and find out that the Brits love their fried foods in the morning. A fried egg, fried bacon (a little too salty), fried sausage (delicious) and even a slice of fried toast come with some regular toast and a choice of either coffee or tea. Joy had ordered tea so I figured, while in Britain, do as the Brits do. I was pleasantly surprised. With a little milk and sugar, the tea was not only drinkable but pretty damn good considering that I never drink the stuff. It was a perfect accompaniment to the very good, though greasy, breakfast. It just felt so British. Of course it was only later that I found out that the full English breakfast is strictly for tourists as most Brits don’t have the time for such a large meal. And then there is the fact that this oh-so-British meal was prepared and served by an Asian family. Hmmmm … It was an even numbered day and our guidebook said that the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace was the place to be. The guard changed everyday but it was only on even numbered days that they performed this whole grand ceremony. But not until 11:30. That gave us time to visit some of those places we saw from the Eye, most notably Westminster Abbey. We got off the tube in the middle of the business district. Around us were the Houses of Parliament, Big Ben and lots of scary traffic. We found the Abbey, ‘queued up’ and got our tickets. Entering the Abbey, the first thing you note is that you’re surrounded by statues on all sides. Then looking down, you can see writing all over the floor. These are actually graves, some of them several centuries old. Instinct says to avoid stepping on people’s final resting places but this church leaves you no choice. Nearly every inch of free floor is set over someone’s grave. A little creepy but interesting. We are not part of an official tour so we just tool around on our own. Westminster is not just a historical site or burial place. It is a living church that conducts daily services (we entered the church right before a communion service). Every coronation since the1000’s has taken place here right up to Queen Elizabeth’s ceremony in 1953. This was also the site of Princess Diana’s funeral. The building has several chapels; smaller walled rooms loaded with paintings, statues and lots and lots of tombs. Despite the presence of death at every turn, the place doesn’t seem depressing. Old and beautiful with a great sense of history, but not depressing. Since the guidebook says we should get to the palace early to find a good spot, we leave the Abbey and start walking. Joy leads us past an absolutely gorgeous park with a pond and really big birds roaming around. We can tell when we’re approaching the castle proper not only by the increased number of people milling around but also by the presence of a lot of ornate gold posts and gates. There’s an enormous fountain in front of the main building that already has a bunch of people on and around it. The gates in front of the castle are starting to gather their own crowd so we pick a spot and park ourselves. There are a couple of guards posted on the wall of the building and every time they move, the whole crowd whips out the cameras. But, we have arrived early. We still have at least an hour to wait for the big show. I do not have the patience to stand in one place staring at nothing. So once I’d made sure Joy and Aletha weren’t going to move, I went on walkabout. I’d seen pictures of Buckingham before but I was struck again by how ordinary the building is. No neat spires or separate buildings surrounding the structure, no towers or turrets. It just looks like a big building. Other than the gates, guards and barbed wire, it could just be another big house. There are other monuments around the building and the expanse of park across the street to the right of the palace but other than that, traffic is business as usual. Once you get to the back of the grounds and past the park, there are office buildings and shops like you’d find in the middle of any large city. This is strange to me in that the castle isn’t in its own isolated patch but then I guess the royals have other places like that. The queen was probably in one of them as she was not in residence during the day of our visit. I head back to Joy and Aletha’s spot and find that the crowd has swelled considerably. I move closer to them and we wait a few minutes more. All around us is this odd collection of accents and people from all over pressing against each other; German, Italian, French, and some speaking languages I couldn’t even place. I couldn’t help but notice that the whole thing felt like an amusement park. Joy said it pretty much is. The royals are the British version of a circus. I had to feel for the folks who were constantly on display even as I prepared my own camera. Hey, I’m a tourist. What can I tell you? The mounted cops and the ones on foot soon started to part the way in front of the gate’s main entrance as a procession of guards on horseback soon came up the courtyard. The crowds would alternately press together to look at the street then turn around and stare at the gates. Another group of guards, this set with a full marching band in the front, made its way to the gates. Once inside, they lined up with the other guards as the band set up a little concert area. I moved around, not only to get a better view but to distance myself from the rude people who kept shoving their way in front of me. Joy was feeling the same way as she turned to me and asked if she was invisible. I agreed with her. Did people really think that the distance I was keeping from the people in front of me was just my way of inviting someone to fill that space? Uh, no. I just didn’t want to touch anybody. Difficult to do but I tried. There was a also a guy who kept poking me with his backpack as he tried to take a picture. I’ve had enough. I take a walk for some air and manage to get some more pictures. When I return to Joy and Aletha the second time, I find that there are as frustrated with the jostling as I am. Even though the ceremony is still going on (the band is playing) we have other things we need to see. Next stop: the Tower of London. Getting off the tube we take a few shots of the full structure before we head over to it. By this time, Joy and I are starved so our first target is food. There is a small building housing restaurants and souvenir shops, the British version of a mini mall. I decide to go traditional and scoop up some fish and chips. More greasy food but damn tasty. We queue up again for Tower tickets. Joy is trying to buy hers with a credit card just when the machines decide to go down. There’s some debate as to whether her card will be charged twice (she had already signed the slip when the problem began) that ended with the manager giving her a number to call in case she had any problems. Seeing this, Aletha and I quickly put the plastic away and got out about 11 more of our dwindling pound supply to pay for the tickets. Then it was on to the Tower. I’ve seen this attraction about a million times on the Travel Channel on Saturday mornings. It’s supposed to be one of the most haunted buildings in the world. Well, I guess the ghosts were busy that day because we didn’t see anything. Instead, I was surprised to note that the Tower is not just one building but several all clumped together behind a stone wall near a finger of the Thames. We toured a few of them, traveled up way too many winding stairs (how any servant loaded with trays managed to get up and down those suckers with no electricity was beyond us), and learned a lot about the Tower’s history. Some rooms had recreations of what they would have looked like in medieval times, some were bare, while others held display cases with actual artifacts. There were Beefeaters all over the grounds ready to ask questions. Aletha had been sent on a mission to bring a Beefeater home. Well … we were never quite sure what that meant. Beefeater is a brand of alcohol as well as the name of the guards in their red coats. Since there was a huge blowup of a Beefeater in one of the courtyards, she took a picture of that and hoped it would suffice. As we walked across the top of the stone gate, we noticed that some buildings below us had a laundry line stretched across the top with towels and stuff hung on it. Were there actually people living within the tower walls? Closer inspection told us that there were. Private cars were parked in the street below right next to what looked like regular townhouses. We figured that the Beefeaters probably lived on the grounds although that’s got be weird living so close to the tourist attraction. “How much would those cost per month?” we wondered. We bypassed the small show being given for a tour group with employees reenacting a scene from the Tower and headed over to the Waterloo Block that houses the crown jewels. This is, understandably, one of only two buildings in the complex that is guarded. Inside are mostly ancient crowns that have had their jewels removed. It seems that it was common practice for newly crowned monarchs to have their crowns redesigned and incorporate the jewels from the previous monarch into the new crown jewels. This is all leading up to the current set still being used by the queen. Before we can see those, though, there are several rooms that have been cordoned off as mini-movie theatres. The tourists can stand and watch the film of the queen’s coronation, a visual record of the jewels or a history tour of where each piece comes from. Then it’s past a display of scepters and on to the vault. A moving walkway guides you past each of the crowns, both past and present, each in their own glass case with a plaque bearing the names. Because we are in an actual vault and these jewels still have all their diamonds and glitter, we couldn’t take pictures. Wouldn’t want any of the guards to think we were casing the place. We see the site of the ancient gallows (now just a patch of land) before we make go to the White Tower. This building houses an extensive armory going from spears and knives up to cannons and guns. By the time we get through this tower it’s almost closing time. We stop at the gift shop right outside the main gate before taking a break to plan our next move. There is a bookstore in Picadilly Circus that Joy likes so it’s back on the tube. The bookstore, Waterstones, is a huge (as in 4 story) building filled with every kind of book you can imagine. Think MediaPlay with just books in it. There were lots of areas to sit and relax with your reading material and even a café and a travel agency on the lowest floor. Oh, yeah. I could live there. We spend some time browsing while Joy researches cheap London eats. We leave there and head to one nearby called Garfinckel’s. Since I’ve been eating British food all day, I chose the odd combo of a ham and cheese omelet with a baked potato. Joy suggests some cider to wash it down with. She doesn’t drink anymore than I do but she said that British cider was a bit different from American beer. I order some Scrumpy Jack and agree with her though it was still a little too beer-tasting for me. We hit a cheap internet café before going back to the hotel. And here Joy was worried about not having any night activities planned. By the time we finished all that walking we were more than ready to retire with a good book before bedtime. Not exactly the most thrilling thing to do at night but at least all three of us were on the same page. It’s a good thing when like-minded people travel together.

London & Paris Day 2

Day 2 – Wednesday, September 21, 2005 One of the first faces we saw after leaving baggage claim belonged to Joy. Boy, was that a relief. She told us how she had tried to track us down by calling the hotel and repeatedly checking with the airport personnel. They couldn’t give out names but they did finally tell her that a plane was landing from Paris with luggage checked in from Atlanta. That was enough to keep her in the airport to continue her wait (thank goodness). Traveler’s Tip #2: As long as your ATM card has an international symbol like Cirrus, you can put it into an ATM machine anywhere and get the local currency. And British money has shiny silver stripes. Cool. Money in hand, Joy then leads us to that staple of London travel, the Underground. It runs pretty much like the Marta system here. The station is in the airport and the line we were on made a straight shot to our hotel at the Russell Square station. The Harlingford Hotel is located just a few blocks away. It is on the end of a long building that houses four other hotels. There’s a park across the street and a bunch of other buildings that I would later discover are part of the University of London. As Joy checked us in, Aletha and I took in the digs. There is a small dining room to the right of the narrow entryway and a cozy little sitting room on the left with a fire blazing in the small fireplace. Our room is on the second floor and is, once we get the stubborn door to open, really small. But, no matter. We don’t intend to spend much time there anyway. To its credit there is a nice size bathroom where we quickly adjourn to refresh ourselves. A word about English facilities. The toilet has a rather large seat but a surprisingly small amount of water in the bowl. When you flush the water comes out in a huge torrent that pretty much wipes the bowl clean before disappearing down the drain. Interesting. The shower, while it takes a few turns of the knobs to turn them on, immediately gets hot. Very different from turning on a faucet in fair Woodstock. By the time the water warms up here, you’ve already finished whatever you were doing. I’ve just gotten accustomed to washing my face and hands with cold water. But the English shower was deliciously hot, just the thing for working out the kinks of being on a plane for several hours. Ahhhhhh. Once we’d all showered and changed, we made our plans, packed our backpacks (invaluable for carrying money, guidebooks, souvenirs or anything else you’ll need during the course of a long day of sightseeing) and headed back to the tube (that’s the subway for you yanks). On our short walk I continue to take in all the little details that tell you that this is a street in London. The street signs are posted on the buildings instead of poles, the famous black cabs with all their special amenities (and British license plates) are parked on the side of the road, and crossing the street means taking your life in your hands thanks to that whole driving-on-the-wrong-side-of-the-street-thing. Just for the tourists, there are directions painted on the street just off the curb that tell you which way to look. Even with those helpful hints and the pedestrian crosswalks, crossing the street in London is still a dangerous prospect. Aletha and I just follow Joy and hope for the best. Our first stop: Piccadilly Circus. The other ladies had ordered a special multi-day pass for riding the tube. I had ordered mine online and decided to save the delivery fee and just pick it up at the British Visitor’s Center. For the second time that day I’m stunned when we rise out of the tube station. As you are thrust into the light it seems like the entire city is bustling in front of you. All this activity and so much to see though I can’t help but notice that Piccadilly Circus looks a lot like New York’s Time Square complete with restaurants, traffic (both cars and humans), and huge video screens flashing advertisements. We’d gotten a map and directions to the center from the help desk in the station so we took a moment to get our bearings. Or more like Aletha and Joy got our bearings. I was too busy gawking and taking pictures. Do you think anyone could tell I was a tourist? We found our way to the Visitor’s Center and while I collected my 3-day tube card, Joy and Aletha wandered around the building. We picked up some info on tourist attractions and asked about the London theatre. I asked about one of the sights I really wanted to see; Stonehenge. Unfortunately, the tours going out there were a bit more expensive than I was willing to pay. Stonehenge is also about 80 miles outside of London. That’s a little too far and we would be in the city such a short time. Well, I’ll just have to hit that the next time I go to London (and oh yes, I will be returning). We decide to go to one of Aletha’s top choices, the London Eye. But first, lunch. Looking around, the comparison to New York becomes all the more apparent as there are a bunch of American eateries in the area. You can definitely see Britain’s strong connection to their former colonies. Do we want Pizza Hut or McDonalds? We pick Burger King and settle down for a nosh. Bellies sated, it’s back on the tube and on to the Eye. I had never even heard of this thing before Aletha mentioned it. Turns out it hasn’t been around for long. Joy tells us that it was erected for the new millennium celebration. It was supposed to be torn down later but it became such a tourist draw that the city decided to keep it. I can understand why. Admission is 11.50 pounds a person and the line was full of tourists when we were there. Too big of a cash cow for the city to ever give it up. As you can see the Eye is something like a big Farris wheel except each pod is large enough to fit several people. The wheel never stops turning which means you have to jump onto the car while an attendant holds the door open. Not as scary as it sounds. The thing moves very slowly – it takes 30 minutes for each car to come back to the ground. Also, they will stop the Eye if necessary so that elderly or impaired passengers can board. There is a bench in the middle of the car and plenty of room to move around and take pictures. Our car was full of a bunch of people. One woman was a US expatriate who moved to London 4 years ago but was taking her first trip up in the eye at the request of her visiting mother. There was a mixed race couple on board (she was French while her husband was Hindu) with his parents and their child. Another couple was from America; they were on their 3rd or 4th trip to London. This is one of the few ways that you can see the entire city at the same time. Situated by the Thames, the Eye gives you a good view of Parliament, Big Ben, the business district, Westminster Abbey … the works. We had some beautiful weather and took lots of pictures. Once our half hour ride was over, we headed to Covent Garden. Another tourist draw, this is an area full of restaurants, shops and street performers drawing crowds. Very busy and way too much to see in the short time we had there. We had to get back to the hotel for a dinner date. Sophie, one of the regional mangers who reports to Joy, meets us at the hotel and together we all walk to a nearby Italian restaurant. She lives in London so we take the opportunity to pump her for info about sights we should see. But, as is common with a native, she hasn’t done any of the touristy stuff. I tell her about wanting to see Harrods, the famous department store. She says that’s fine – just don’t go to Harvey Nichols. I ask why since that was another store I wanted to visit. She told us how some employee had recently been shot there by an ex-boyfriend. Since I try to avoid getting shot or mugged while on vacation, we re-think the Harvey Nichols idea. Aletha’s strict diet only allows her to eat simple food like chicken and salad for dinner. She tries to explain that she only wants a piece of grilled chicken but the employees don’t seem to understand. And yet they have grilled entrees on the menu. Okay. The chicken she gets has been breaded and fried and tastes, to Joy, just like KFC which is not exactly a diet food. So much for this restaurant in the future. Completely exhausted we say goodbye to Sophie and head back to the hotel. We’ve decided that since Aletha tends to make a lot of body heat and I have hot flashes (being a chick is fun isn’t it?), it would probably be best if she and Joy share a bed while I take the single. Otherwise Aletha and I would most likely set the room on fire while, more importantly, not getting any sleep. Sounds like a plan but seeing that the beds are so close together, we were all practically sleeping on top of one another anyway. While Joy and Aletha read, I discover that British television is just as dull as they say. Five channels, no cable, and most of the programming was either news-oriented shows or documentaries. The TV added to about 5 miles of walking and the effects of jet lag meant that I was out by 10:00.

London & Paris Day 1

Vacations are a good thing. I know this is not exactly a radical idea but it’s true nevertheless. Whether it’s a chill vacation of lying on the beach doing nothing or a fast-paced sightseeing vacation of constant walking from the time you get up until the time you go to bed, vacations are wonderful. I’ve just come back from a whole week of not dealing with traffic (Georgia drivers cannot drive to save their lives!), not having to medicate my dog twice a day (now I have to give her another medication because she has an ear infection), not worrying about gas prices (there are several dry stations from my house to work and the prices keep rising at the stations that still have gas), not having to worry about anything at all. I highly recommend taking a vacation to anywhere but especially to London and Paris since my trip was awesome. 

And please don’t let something like work keep you away. It is precisely because of work worries and all the other daily irritations of life that you need a vacation. Do it! Do it now! This article backs up my statement: http://msn.careerbuilder.com/custom/msn/careeradvice/viewarticle.aspx?articleid=616&SiteId=cbmsnhp4616&sc_extcmp=JS_616_home1&GT1=6891&cbRecursionCnt=1&cbsid=2ca9f031ab0948f59ba69df35de7c06b-181646946-tu-1 But before you do, please read on for yet another overly detailed rant about my vacation of a lifetime. I’ve included several traveling tips for those who wish to see London or Paris and I’ve divided it by day for convenience. 

 Day 1-2 – Tuesday, September 20 and Wednesday, September 21, 2005 The day has finally arrived! The trip that I’ve planned for, dreamed of for almost a year is about to start. My friend Joy organized this trip as a fun getaway while also planning to attend a colleague’s wedding in London. She figured, “why not add Paris to the mix and invite some girlfriends along for to the ride.” I’ve wanted to go to London since I was a child. I knew I’d get there someday. Joy decided that this would be the day. ‘Course, this isn’t such a big deal to her. Joy’s job as manager within a multinational computer company has her traveling all over the world on their dime. She’s been to both cities before as well as Cairo, New Delhi, Thailand, Sydney … the list goes on. Aletha and I have never been to Europe so believe me, we were excited enough for all three of us (and a few more people besides). And what better guide than Joy to make sure we get the full experience? Since Joy is the World Traveler, she set the dates and made all the hotel arrangements, including directions from the airports. We had decided to meet at her home in Smyrna to take one car to the airport. First though, I had my own last minute things to take care of. I’d managed to get rid of my youngest kid by having my former manager (and Beata’s grandmother) watch her for the week (thanks again Cindy!). That left me with arranging care for the other two (will someone please explain to me why I have three kids!?!). I dropped them off at the vet early in the morning then headed into the office to make sure Yvonne’s head didn’t explode as she filled in for me (more on that later). Because of my extended stay in the office, I made it a little late to Smyrna but no matter. Joy had given us plenty of time to help her drop off her car at the mechanic before we piled into Aletha’s car for the trip to the airport. Once we got through security and checked our big bags, we ate a late lunch at the food court near the gate. Well, it was lunch for me and Joy. Aletha has been on this radical diet and hasn’t eaten anything since May. She lives on supplements and power bars. This concerns me. We’ll be doing a lot of walking and both Joy and I have blood sugar issues that require us to eat pretty regularly. And, we are going to Paris. She tells us not to worry, that she’s spoken to her doctor about the trip and she’s all set. She’ll be able to eat small meals in the evening and she’s been exercising to prepare for the trip. Still, Joy and I vow to keep an eye on her. Joy says that the only thing worse that being sick is being sick in a foreign country. Because Joy has wracked up the frequent flyer miles from work, she is taking a different flight than we are. Her direct flight to Gatwick will have her arriving ahead of our flight which has a layover in Paris (weird I know) before we get to Heathrow so she’ll bus to our airport and take us to the hotel. We part ways and Aletha and I get on our plane. We booked separately and were unable to get seats together so I was near the front while she was in the back. First problem, I have an aisle seat. I hate sitting on the aisle. People have no consideration when traipsing past seated passengers and will easily hit you in the head and not even notice it. Second, I’m seated next to a couple of retired schoolteachers with big mouths and small bladders. Don’t get me wrong, they were a nice couple. But having them spend most of the night climbing over me to get to the bathroom was not helping me get any sleep or adjust to the 6 hour time difference between the US and France. I also like to spend my flights in solitude so I wasn’t too keen on anybody jabbering at me all night. During dinner of a very nice beef bourguignon with cheese for desert and free wine (could you tell we were on an Air France flight?), the wife told me that they were part of a group of about 30 older folks who were on their way to Athens (another dream destination of mine) with a quick stop in England. Again, a nice couple but I could have done without all the small talk. Breakfast (croissant, yogurt, a banana, and a thin slice of chocolate cake) was served at 5 am France time – way too early and doubly weird seeing that it was only 11 pm Eastern time. I had gotten about 3 consecutive minutes of sleep amidst the people climbing over me, the discomfort of having my knees pressed up against the seat in front of me (especially since the guy in that seat practically had his head in my lap) and the constant bouts of turbulence (the captain had to tell us to sit down after every jostle – in English, French and Spanish – making the interruption even worse). The three of us played musical chairs twice until I ended up where I wanted to be in the first place – by the window – just about an hour before we landed. Exhausted and a little disoriented, I deplaned and waited for Aletha. And waited. And waited. And damn is it cold in France at 6 in the morning! We had disembarked outside and my jacket was packed in my carryon. The plane had been almost stiflingly hot with the only cool air coming from behind the curtain that separated first class from the rest of the herd. The brisk breeze was a relief but only for a second. The other passengers were being directed to a waiting bus and I was almost ready to join them just to get out of the cold when Aletha finally came down the ramp. “Where is everybody going?” she asked. I shrugged as we started for the bus. She paused to ask one of the attendants where we were supposed to go but was rather brusquely told to head back the other way. We piled into this really crowded bus with no clue as to where we were going and definite doubts about whether we would make it to our connecting flight. Traveler’s tip #1: NEVER GO TO CHARLES DE GAULLE AIRPORT. I’ll explain why. Thirty minutes of rough stops, people nearly fainting in the sardine-like atmosphere of the hot bus, and a circuit around half the airport and we are finally able to leave the French bus ride from hell. But have we reached our gate … noooooo! Dragging our carryon luggage behind us, Aletha and I consult a couple of signs and people before we are guided to yet another bus(!) which will take us to our gate. Are you kidding me? We only had about an hour between flights and even though our plane got in on time, we had already lost a half hour just getting to this point. We deplaned at gate E which meant that our gate, F, would be the next stop. Right? Nooooooo! On the bus’s electronic sign, the order of the bus stops was marked A B C F E. Huh? Aletha and I check our watches and look at the sign again. There is no way we will be making our flight. Well, since we’d already seen half the airport when we arrived, it only seemed fair that we see the other half. We’re sitting in this nearly empty bus growing more and more frustrated and concerned since we had no way of contacting Joy. We get to our gate too late to catch our plane and are guided by a smelly Frenchman to a line where we can arrange for another flight. The next flight was scheduled for 9:00. But did we catch that flight? Noooo! We stand in line for at least 20 minutes before we even get to the desk and then it’s another 10 minutes for the attendant (Parlez vous francais?) to book us for the 10 am flight. Why did that take so long? You know the woman had to speak English – Air France is a division of Delta – so why was she wasting our time by fronting? And why couldn’t we get the 9 am flight? Aletha and I were not happy as we made our way to our gate. We sat down in this lovely glass-roofed terminal and Aletha tried to contact Joy. Her Blackberry still showed Atlanta time. “It’s 2:10 in the morning and the sun is coming up,” she remarked. Pretty trippy. I had sat long enough on the 8-hour flight so I decided to go on walkabout before I had to sit again. Plus I needed some water and Aletha asked me to scout around for an internet connection. I’m walking around and already I can see that France has a serious smoking problem. Not that I didn’t know this before I got there but there’s a big difference between knowing and seeing (and smelling). There are smoking areas in the airport that are right out in the open (like that smoke is just going to stay in their little area). There were a couple of shops, souvenir stands, and restaurants that only took euros (no more francs). Last exchange rate had the dollar at about 87 cents to a euro. If that was the case either the airport was extremely over-priced or we were in trouble. There were also little areas set up where you could get a massage or a facial, ice cream or coffee but alas no water fountains. It seems the French are very accommodating for everything else as long as you have the money to pay for it. I returned to Aletha and told her that I could find not a single link to the internet. She’d been unable to contact Joy so we just hoped that she was still waiting at the airport since we had no idea where the hotel was. This second flight was quick (once we finally got on it). They served a snack of these funky little tomato crackers and, before we even got settled, we were flying into Heathrow. We sincerely hoped that the airport would be easier in London than it had been in Paris as we got off the plane (and didn’t relish the thought of going back).