The flight from San Francisco to London on Virgin Atlantic was uneventful. I slept and Eric watched three movies. The flight attendants made some announcements prior to arrival. Strollers are " buggies", the " s" replaces a "z" and they don't have baggage claim. They have "reclaim" which really makes more sense. We're not in Kansas, anymore. Obviously, the Brits speak English, yet some of it really is "English" English. London is so international that black people, Asians, Indians and Pakistanis can all have British accents. You just don't know until a person begins to speak.
Our hotel is old and gorgeous. Like Eloise, in the Plaza, I just love, love, love hotels. I love them even more, without guilt, when Eric's firm is footing the bill. Our hotel was built in 1895 and it's got spectacular molding, tasteful paint and wonderful antiques. The street in front of the hotel resembles Paris with the wide, tree-lined avenues and stately buildings. Paris, minus all the dog shit.
Right across the street is The Queen's Gate entrance into fabulous Hyde Park. Breakfast at Lido Cafe on the Serpentine. Walks through the flower gardens and a visit to the Princess Diana Memorial Fountain. I remember the controversy when the "fountain" was being planned. I agree that it was a posthumous slight to her memory. It's in a lovely location, but so understated. It's a large, oval hole in the ground with water running through. The Cornish granite is beautiful, but the fountain is more like a kiddie pool with toddlers wading through it in their knickers. Doesn't seem right, but so much of Diana's story didn't.
I love London. Now I'm talking like a tourist slogan. Just slap me on a t-shirt and wear me around. Traveling just about anywhere is stimulating and interesting. London feels like home. I even came across a store in Kensington called "Partridges". Beyond charming, London is a feast of wrought iron, leaded glass, topiary hedges and window boxes spilling over with geraniums, hydrangeas and coppa. At home I've been on a binge painting things black, most recently the Dutch door. In Westminster, near Buckingham Palace, there must be a thousand doors painted black.
Mews are my new muse, although Eric isn't quite as a-mewsed. I traumatized him on our first afternoon here by making him search for a particular pub in a very out of the way mews. We never did find it, but I loved the other mews we found while getting lost. Cobblestone streets and narrow, winding alleys with sweet residences and businesses tucked away from the traffic. Speaking of traffic, they drive on the WRONG side of the road here. We both agree we wouldn't want to get behind the wheel. Way too nerve-wracking. We've almost been run over crossing the street at least three times. Even though the crosswalks are painted with reminders to look right or look left, it's still hard not to step in front of a bus. It's just so backwards.
The locals have been delightful - friendly and helpful. Unlike many other tourist spots, we've yet to encounter the "ugly Americans". Other than us, of course. So far no sightings of Gap or Banana Republic, even in the trendy neighborhood near Harrod's. There are quite a few Starbucks, though. I guess coffee is now giving tea a run for her money. We had a wonderful cab driver who told us his wife wants Starbucks every morning now. He said, "I tell her to shut up and drink her tea."
Time to visit the Tower of London. Off with her head.
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