6. Getting Our Bearings in London

It is after twelve when Ines returns.  She is quite apologetic about her absence.  Even she is impressed with the weather.  She tells us it rained every day in June.  I carry our luggage up the narrow flights of stairs to the flat.  Much to my disappointment, when I open our door I see another flight of stairs immediately beyond the door and several other stairs within the flat.  We have five levels!  I am completely drenched by the time I'm finished.  For the third time today and the sixth time in 24 hours I regret packing as much as we could and shipping the rest (in order to save shipping), instead of packing as little as we could.  Not for the first time do I think of the Stones' "Beast of Burden." The flat is very clean and accommodates us all quite nicely, but its saving grace is the wonderful cross ventilation through the south and north windows and the ever "fresh" London breeze.

At two o'clock Cathy and I go out with Thomas in the hopes of finding our bank and the 1000 pounds we wired ahead.  We leave Robert, at ten, in charge. 

Our flat is on a short street with three story apartments on both sides.  The sight is, for me, a familiar London scene: stairs up to the entrances, bay windows, white and off white paint, an overall impression of architectural order.  The area appears to be in transition with spotty renovation; some buildings are run down, some are quite nice and some are in the process of being remodeled.  There are lots of trees, mostly sycamores (but even a few eucalyptus).  The contrast to New York is dramatic.  Whether it is the beautiful day—sunny and warm with an ever present breeze, the architecture—the buildings allowing plenty of sky, or simply the well mannered and well spoken cabbies,  London is just plain more attractive than New York: with its stifling heat and hazy, ugly days, narrow visions of sky trapped between towering walls of concrete and brick and cabbies who neither speak English nor know their way around the City.

Our Flat and the Upstairs View West

My Favorite Dinner

We find the Barclays bank after some difficulty, but are pleased to find that our account is set up and has money in it.  (Fortunately, we did not choose BCCI, which has shut down all of its branches today and will remain in the news over the year.)  Cathy buys a hair dryer.  Lesson 1: when one buys an electrical appliance one must also remember to buy a plug.  At the bank we learn our postal code is CB10 3DZ, not CB10 3D2.  (Why not just numbers like zip codes?)  We return to the flat with our useful bits of information.  In the evening I buy pizza and fruit from a nearby shop and we retire early.

Saturday.  Cathy and I are awakened at 4:15 by someone ringing the buzzer.  Prank?  Drunk?  Locked out?  We ignore it. 

Thomas and I are up at 6:15.  Everyone else is up by 7:30 watching English television.  We take it easy during the morning.  Robert and I watch a little bit of cricket.   In the afternoon we walk to Queensway, a shopping street about a mile away, where a large old department store, Whitely's, has been turned into a mall.  We shop a bit, buy groceries at the Europa convenience market, which is a little better than a 7-11.  (A few days later I uselessly notice the supermarket around the corner.)  Standing with our groceries outside on the "pavement" (not "sidewalk") the six of us and our bags are turned down by a taxi.  It's the only time in London during the year that we're turned down. 

In the evening we return to Queensway for the 5:45 showing of "Naked Gun 2 1/2," which we skipped in New York, thinking we had a year to see movies in England.  Oops!  The ticket taker points out that, at the least, I cannot take Thomas into a movie "Rated 12."  Rather than work out how to split up the group, we opt for dinner at one of the several Chinese restaurants on Queensway.  Afterwards we go for a lovely walk in Kensington Gardens and walk home as the day, at close to ten, finally grows dark.

Sunday.  We get a late start this day, but take a taxi and make the noon mass at Westminster Cathedral.  Afterwards we walk back towards Buckingham Palace, through St. James Park to Piccadilly, where I activate our week long London Transport passes. We ride the Tube for the first time to Baker Street, and visit Madame Tussaud's.  (I later learned we narrowly missed escaped IRA terrorists at Bakerloo station.)  The wax museum is fun, but nothing interests the children as much as the sight afterwards, as we head down Baker Street looking for a restaurant, of a young man barfing against the large plate glass window at the MacDonalds!  No dinner there tonight!  (I'm pleased to say we haven't visited MacDonalds since Amarillo.)  I look for Flanagan's, which I remember so well from 1967; but it's closed.  We settle on the ubiquitous Angus Steak House.  We are the only people in the restaurant at six o'clock.  The day is still warm, the restaurant warmer. I eat my nice steak dinner with sweat dripping down my face.  In the evening we watch part one of a BBC thriller, "Chimera."

Monday.  It is time to start getting down to business.  I call Sara Gordon to thank her for all her help with our visa.  She is off to France, but agrees we must get together in the future.  She recommends tea at the Savoy.  We call the schools to confirm arrangements for a Wednesday visit to St. John's in Cambridge and to Dame Bradbury, another school, in Saffron Walden.  We have sent our deposit in to St. John's, confirming its availability if we like it; Dame Bradbury is right in Saffron Walden, however, and might just work better.  Cathy calls Lynn Dodds, from whom we will rent Westfields House and arranges to meet her after our visit to St. John's.  I speak to Candy at the office and later make arrangements to hook up the telephone at Westfields House.  I take Mara, Thomas and Jeffrey with me to Dover Court VW/Audi to sign the papers on the car and also join the Automobile Association at the AA office on Haymarket.  We all meet at Selfridges at four and buy some wonderful groceries.  In lieu of dinner we have an exquisite tea at the flat, with meats and cheeses and sweets and, of course, tea-- my favorite meal this first week in London.

Tuesday.  Sunrise 4:59 a.m., Sunset 9:20 p.m.  There is a playground just around the corner, at the end of our block, and we let the children play there for awhile on their own.  Though transitioning from rough to genteel, our neighborhood is not quite like home.  Upon Jeffrey's return from the park, where he heard and saw a big, fat kid use some rather rough Anglo-Saxon with Robert, Jeffrey asks, "We're going to an expensive private school, right?"

Cathy and I leave the children at home and go shopping on Jermyn Street.  Afterwards we walk up to John Lewis on Oxford Street.  I buy a very basic push chair (portable stroller) for Thomas (60 pounds!) and Cathy buys some Portmerion china on sale.  By three o'clock we have dropped our packages at the flat and are with the children at the New London Theatre to see "Cats." (I purchased the tickets months earlier in Las Vegas.)  We fulfill a wish Cathy and I had four years ago: someday we would take the children to see "Cats" in London.  The show is marvelous.  We sit behind a group of school girls (school is still in session) who are having great fun with their teacher.  At "Interval" (not "intermission"), Mara, of course (being forewarned), is the first in line to get Old Deuteronomy's autograph; Robert and Jeffrey fall in at the end. 

After the show, we lose our way walking through Covent Garden, but finally locate an American restaurant called Joe Allen's, which is not that bad.

6. "Somewhere across the Sea": Arrival in London

London!

Friday, 5 July - Saturday, 13 July.  14 Sevington Street,  London W9 2QN (Maida Vale area). 

We are the last passengers to leave the airplane.  We check our seats, now strewn with blankets and litter, making sure we don't forget anything.  It was a short, but cramped flight and the first feeling on British soil is one of great relief at being able to walk and stretch.  We have four very tired children and we are not in a hurry.   Still, there is a line at immigration.  The children are cranky.  Robert won't carry anything extra ("too heavy"), Mara lies across the seats and refuses to sit down off to the side as requested. 

Meanwhile I carefully answer the questions the immigration officer is asking.  He is a bit perplexed by my visa letters.  It seems they should be in another form.  Apparently Mr. Gardner in Los Angeles issued us the "person of independent means" visa, usually good for four years, but put a one year limit on it.  When I tell the officer I am here on sabbatical to research and study gaming law, he tells me I should have a different letter, but then assures me there is no problem.  He says, "If you'll excuse me I have a lot of bureaucratic things to do now,"  and begins filling out several forms, stopping occasionally to consult with another immigration officer.  He asks me if one year is correct, and, although I know one year is not enough, I think that asking for an extension later on will be easier than explaining our desire to remain through the entire school year, which is a few weeks more than a calendar year.  

After some time the paper work is at last concluded.  We seem to have passed our first hurdle.  We are reminded that we must register with the local police, and then directed to the health offices that lie behind a side door which I had not noticed before.

Inside are what looks like hospital surroundings: nurses, white walls and examining rooms.  I have read about a brief health inspection, though it was never quite clear to me what it was.  Now it is: Cathy and I have a chest x-ray and answer some questions.  The children, beyond the cranky stage and demonstrably tired, are good, but I worry that Thomas, who has a man-sized, productive cough, will let loose with one while we're in the medical offices.  Fortunately he doesn't and after a 15 minute visit we return to station #22, for our final stamp of approval, our one year.

It is about 8:40 by the time we are past immigration, an hour and forty minutes after touchdown.  Since we are the last passengers to pick up our luggage, our colorful Land's End bags are nicely segregated and ready to go.  We forgo the hand carts and hire the porter with the tour group cart.  This time the tip is £15. 

We need two taxis.  One of the cabbies seems to know the way to our flat in Maida Vale better than the other.  Cathy's taxi will lead, ours will follow.  We're off to London.  By 9 o'clock we are in bumper to bumper traffic on the M4 motorway on a beautiful Friday morning.  It is hard to believe we are here. 

The traffic is awful.  It is over an hour into London.  Each time my irritation at our progress begins to rise, the sight of our surroundings calms me.  The day is so beautiful (high 70's and clear) and this is London.  Our guy loses Cathy and Jeffrey's cab and gets lost.  Still, when we pass an attractive store on a tree lined street bearing the name "Catherine Buckley," I have a feeling that nothing could be better than it is right now.

We are deposited in front of our destination at 10:30.  Our flat is on the third story; it is locked and we have no keys.  I now realize I should have paid more attention to the details of our early arrival instead of letting my secretary, Candy, take care of something she wasn't sure about.  There is no response at the basement flat where the owner lives.  I locate a telephone in a shop around the corner.  I call the numbers I have but there is no answer.  A woman who lives on the first (second) floor, with her window to the right of the steps leading up to the main entrance, tries to help, but the best she can do is tell us that our landlady, Ines, is supposed to return at twelve.  There seems to be nothing to do but wait; we are trapped and comforted by our possessions.  We take up ten feet of the walkway leading to the steps: heaps of sleeping children on heaps of colorful luggage.  The image of Jeffrey, sound asleep, just like another beaten piece of luggage is unforgettable, and somehow a fitting end to our long night of traveling.

5. USA: New York (part 2)

It is strange to see people in a hurry: but on Monday, we say goodbye to Michael and Alison who must be off.  We bid a fond farewell to our faithful Suburban and our American clothes and souvenirs we have packed away for the year.  Inside the hotel, an elderly, well dressed woman sits in the lobby of the hotel (she has no air conditioning in her apartment) and talks to the children.  We finally meet Jacqueline, who has arranged for our home in Saffron Walden, and her husband, and sign the lease for Westfields House.  We have spoken quite a bit with Jacqueline over the past six months; she is older than I imagined.  She and her husband have seven children and are off to see one of them sail around Manhattan. 

Today we walk to the Empire State building, down 5th Avenue.  Jeffrey and I go to the top on a beautiful, clear day.  The others are tired and crabby after the long walk from the hotel, and insist on stopping for a bite to eat.  Jeffrey and I meet them on the street afterwards, and the six of us pile into a cab and go to South Street Seaport, like touristy Pier 39 in San Francisco.  After a proper lunch and a visit to the shops and the street artists we take a taxi back to the hotel.  With everyone settled in I go on my own to visit Father Forrester, a Paulist priest and family friend, at Roosevelt Hospital.  The Buckleys go way back with Father Forrester, who has been on the altar for many of the family weddings, including Cathy's and mine.  In 1967, Jan and I visited him when he was stationed at the Paulist parish in Rome, Santa Susanna.  He looks good, but weak, introduces me to his other visitors as a relative. 

Jeffrey at the the Empire State Building

Taxi Ride

Trip to Liberty and Ellis Islands

South Street Seaport

 In the evening Cathy and I see Neil Simon's "Lost in Yonkers," which is terrific.  Robert's cold has now spread to the other children.

Tuesday, I go for an early run.  Then we visit the Statue of Liberty.  Even though it is still mid morning, the lines to the top are very long.  Instead we eat and buy souvenirs, getting our national park stamp.  The boat then takes us to Ellis Island.  What stories! 

Back in Manhattan, Cathy and Mara, feeling under the weather, head back to the hotel.  The boys and I stop for a street frankfurter, then go up to the 107th floor at the World Trade Center.  The day, however, is hazy and the outside closed, unfortunately not much of a view at all.

Our next stop is 75 Park Place, where we keep our appointment with Phil Jenkins, the NYC Budget Director.  We have come to see the picture of my grandfather, Ed Buckley, the City's first budget director, on the wall with the other city budget directors.  The four of us have our picture taken.  Everyone in the office is beat but happy -- the budget has just been agreed to at 7 a.m.  It is $28 billion, the largest after the U.S. and California.  (What was it like, Ed?)

World Trade Center;
Ed Buckley's Picture at City Hall

 Cathy discovers a laundry across the street from the hotel that cleans and folds.  In the evening, once again courtesy of "Home Alone," Cathy and I see "City of Angels," the Tony award musical, which is too clever to enjoy.  We are now handing out the amoxicillin to everyone.

Wednesday we have breakfast at the Barbizon and catch the 11:20 from Grand Central Station to Yonkers to visit my great aunt and uncle.  I see a man on the platform, who looks like my father.  I'm about to speak, when he says, "Taxi?"  The joke's on us.  It's Gogo's brother, Uncle Sid, who lives around the corner with Aunt Tillie (Theresa).  We have a nice old fashioned visit, centering around lunch, listening to family stories of my grandmother and my father and his sister, Ruth.  Sid and Tillie have recently celebrated their 65th anniversary.  It is a wonderful occasion.  There is much pleasure at our visit, and I am even introduced to great aunt Goldie by phone.  After lunch, Cathy gets the recipe for "Aunt Tillie's" which will become a staple for breakfast in the months ahead.  We take the 4 p.m. train back, through areas that look like Beirut; it's hard to believe that my father and his family used to live at 116th Street.

Visiting Sid and Tillie

 In the evening, Cathy and I have dinner with her brother, John aka "Chico Cannabalis," at Mulholland Cafe.  Afterwards we visit with John in our hotel room and drink Mumm's while we pack.

Thursday, July 4th, I discover a beautiful gothic church, St. Vincent's, only two blocks away, where Cathy, Robert, Jeffrey and I attend morning mass.  We finish packing and head off for our noon reservation in the Crystal Room at Tavern on the Green.  It is a fitting and festive occasion with balloons and beautiful drinks.  The day seems calm, and we return to the hotel for our 3 o'clock van ride to the airport.  Although we have sent things home in the Suburban, it doesn't seem as if we are much lighter and once again it is twenty dollars for the porters and bellmen, as we leave the hotel, board the van and check our luggage: two Land's End soft suitcases and a carry on for each of us.  We arrive at 3:45 and board the plane at 6:20 for our seven o'clock flight.

Tavern on the Green

We have two three-seat rows in coach on the port side of the British Airways 747.  I am in the front between Robert and Jeffrey.  Cathy is behind with Mara and Thomas.  Unfortunately, it's too early to see any 4th of July fireworks down below, and we are immediately out over the ocean.  The evening is clear.  I notice Jeffrey is taking noticeably large, deep breaths.  I ask him if he is comfortable and he replies, "Actually, Daddy, I'm never comfortable."  I ask, "On the airplane or in life?"  He pauses, thinks, then responds, "In life."

The flight is smooth, the movie, "King Ralph" disappointing, though the boys like it.  Afterwards, the children sleep (Jeffrey: "Wake me up if we crash.").  The plane cruises past the night at 620 mph and there are not much more than two or three hours of darkness.  I think of us as explorers, settlers like those on the Lost Colony, trying to make a name for ourselves and find a better life. 

Friday morning, July 5,  Heathrow, London, England.   We arrive almost 6 and a half hours later at 7:01.  The temperature is a pleasant 18 degrees Centigrade, the day cloudless and hazy.  Another chapter closed, a new one begins.

5. USA: New York (part 1)

Saturday, June 30, 230 mile drive, 8:30 a.m. to 4:20 p.m., Gettysburg to New York City, New York.  Sunday, July 1, to Thursday evening, July 4, New York.  USA Today says New York is "oppressive."  As I load up the car in the morning I tell a fellow in the parking lot where I'm going.  He says, "Don't!"

We're on the road at 8:30 on scenic country highways.  First stop, Lancaster, for breakfast (fried mush).  Thomas wants "one da-ha ($1)."  Soon we are on Route 340, through Pennsylvania Dutch country.  We see the black carriages and the Amish people, and notice the many clotheslines and small farms.  We stop for an hour in Intercourse, PA at a country shopping village, before moving on to the Pennsylvania Turnpike.  We haven't made very good time so far and by now we're anxious to get a move on.  We will bypass Valley Forge.  (Once again, it looked easy on paper.)  By two p.m. we're in New Jersey, over the Delaware.

The New Jersey Turnpike looks industrial.  We stop for gas.  It's hot and smoggy and humid.  I can't serve myself—there’s a law (just as I imagine New Jersey would be).  The service is lousy.  We buy ice creams and head to the City, approaching Manhattan from the south.  Soon we see, off in the distance, the unmistakable landmarks of our destination: the World Trade Center, the Empire State Building, the Statue of Liberty.  We have arrived! 

The vision of New York, like Oz, is lot different than the place! We drive under the Hudson through the Lincoln Tunnel and arrive to a gaggle of window washers.  We are spared, however: the Suburban windshield is too high to easily reach.  As I drive through town in what I think to be the right direction (toward 63rd and Lexington), attempting to figure out the one way street system, I suddenly realize how fortunate we are to be arriving (by chance) on a Saturday afternoon when there is no traffic.  Surprisingly, I do not get lost, and we land at the Barbizon at 4:20, 4,470 miles from Las Vegas.  For the fourth and last time, everything comes out of the Suburban.  The bellman can't believe it; we require two or three trips with the cart.  I give him a $20 tip.

We eat dinner at the nearby Mulholland Drive Cafe on Third Avenue.  Walking back, we run into my sister, Alison, and her husband, Michael, on the street, whom we have brought to New York to pick up our Suburban and drive it home. 

The hotel neighborhood is nicer than I imagined.  Our rooms are just right, occupying a spot where the building juts out on the east side.  Cathy and I have views in two directions from the 14th floor, east and south, toward downtown.  We are across our own short hall from the children's room, where the babysitter quickly becomes "Home Alone."

Finally Made it!

Tired Tourists

On Sunday Mara, Cathy and I walk to 8 a.m. mass at St. Patrick's (25 minutes) and once again (!) bump into Alison and Michael on the street.  Later, Michael, Robert, Jeffrey and I head off by subway to see Dwight Gooden and the Mets play the Phillies at Shea.  We take the E/F Subway from Citibank Center to Roosevelt, then the 7 Train to Flushing.  The subway smell reminds me of London, but there is more urine.  The day is gloomy and warm, the Mets terrible and the jets very close overhead.  Back in the City, Alison, Cathy and Thomas visit the MOMA and see the gay pride parade. Thomas gets a flag.  In the evening we drive into the Village for dinner, past hundreds and hundreds of proud, happy gay couples.  The cabby gets lost and we're a half an hour late for dinner with Cathy's brother, John, and his wife, Annie, at La Graziella, which is lovely.

5. USA: Gettysburg

Wednesday, June 27, 215 mile drive, 10:30 a.m. to 5 p.m., Nags Head to Chincoteague, Virginia.  We push off again, this time reluctantly, following a visit to the Wright Brothers Memorial at Kitty Hawk.  We are beach people and missed not being able to enjoy the ocean.  If it weren't for the nor'easter, Nags Head, we're sure, would have been the best place we stopped.  We leave the island and cross the bridge back to the hustle and bustle of the freeway system.  I get lost on the beltway around Norfolk, but finally find the Chesapeake Bay Bridge/Tunnel.  We cross the bridge to the tourist stop and look around a bit before heading under the bay to the "eastern shore," the upper part of Virginia.  Soon we are in country which bears a slight resemblance to coastal Georgia, with its grasslands and waterways, then leave the highway and turn east to Chincoteague. 

Our hotel is a big disappointment: one room with two queen sized beds in a run down, one story affair; but we have a good crab dinner overlooking the harbor and, afterwards, from the pool, we enjoy a beautiful full moon rise over the land.  There's nothing that a few sights like that won't cure.

Thursday, June 28, 250 mile drive, 9:15 a.m. to 4:50 p.m., Chincoteague to Gettysburg, Pennsylvania.  Friday, June 29, Gettysburg.  In the morning we visit the Chincoteague preserve at the shore and see the ponies.  There is other wildlife.  The scenery is rugged and beautiful.  The beach looks as if it would have been nice to visit, but after some snapshots and a stamp for our national parks book, we hop in the car and head off to Gettysburg.

Today seems like a long drive, as we make our detour through Delaware to catch an extra state (Delaware is number 13, excluding Nevada), then head west towards the Chesapeake Bay Bridge, stopping on the eastern side for crab cakes.  The bay looks inviting, the weather is clear and breezy.  Many sailboats are out, taking advantage of a fine summer day.

Despite my initial intentions, we bypass Baltimore (beautiful trees!).  It looked so easy on the map, but even the briefest of visits would put us back hours.  Instead we continue on into the rolling hills and trees of Pennsylvania, arriving in Gettysburg close to five in the afternoon on a hot, hazy day.  The day reminds me of visiting Mer in Pasadena.  I completely unload the car for the third time.  The Days' Inn motel is brand new, and we have a huge ground floor room ("Devil's Den," a battlefield site), actually two normal rooms without a dividing wall.  There are three double beds, two of which fold up.  Next door, by the hotel pool, is a Perkins restaurant.  I am pleased with my selection. 

 In the evening we take a drive along the Confederate lines and see fireflies and deer.  The humidity increases.  How did the soldiers manage? 

Friday, we hire a guide who comes with us in our car and directs us around the battlefield.  The heat, humidity and smog today are worse.  Somewhere I read they have acid rain here.  We return our guide and visit the commercial tourist areas.  I begin to read The Fallen Angels about the battle.  In the afternoon we swim in the pool.  Dinner is submarine sandwiches.  Next door we watch Union dressed soldiers (a band) get off of a train and march into town.  In the evening we see "The Rocketeer."  "Robin Hood" was much better, but we recognize the "The Rocketeer" locations in Disneyworld.

Devil's Den

The Gettysburg Battlefield

Gettysburg Tour

 Robert now has a cold, our first illness of the trip.  He calls himself (with a sleek smile for Cathy), "your fat little butterball."  Other recent images and impressions: Thomas and Jeffrey in the bath with Jeffrey's high voice when he's excited or imagining; competent, young lady Mara, so demanding at times.

 I call the office, my share of the PR money is even better than I expected, but it will take awhile before we get it.  As we prepare to leave we spend extra time packing away for good the USA tourist stuff along with shorts and other casual clothing that don't seem appropriate for Europe. 

5. USA: The Outer Banks

Monday, June 24, 270 mile drive, 10:25 a.m. to 6:15 p.m., Charleston to Morehead City, North Carolina.  As we leave Charleston we stop for a tour of Boone Plantation, just outside the city.  Passing through South Carolina into North Carolina, we see what look like many nice places to spend a summer vacation.  There seems no end to the beauty of the country and North Carolina is even prettier than South Carolina.  The thought occurs that this is the place to live.  Roadside stands of fresh peanuts and blue and pink hydrangeas in front yards have followed us north from Florida. 

We arrive at the Best Western in Morehead City in time for a swim before dinner.  After dinner, I have my first run-in with the three oldest and end up giving each of them a swat.  I close the door between our adjoining rooms, but leave the tape recorder on to record the conversations:  Robert has definite opinions and offers sound advice to his younger brother and sister on how to handle parents.  Cathy's line on Mara: She acts like an only child.

Tuesday, June 25, 120 mile drive, 6:20 a.m. to 1 p.m., Morehead City to Nags Head, North Carolina.  We are up before daybreak and are in the front of the line for our 8:15 reservation on the "Carteret," the Ocracoke Island ferry.  It's a lovely morning, but a stiff nor'easter is blowing, making it unseasonably cool.  The seagulls entertain us.  I fear Thomas walking into the water or out in the street as we wait to board the ferry.  We leave on time, arriving on the island at 10:25.  Our drive north on the island takes us along the high, midpoint of the island to its northern end, where we catch a smaller ferry, the "Lindsay Warren," to Hatteras Island.  This time it's a forty minute ride.  The water is choppy and green.  The islands do not seem to be much more than large sand dunes.

Our hotel in Nags Head, the Surf Side, is on the ocean, but we didn't plan for the weather and are disappointed that the nor'easter has closed the beaches.  Instead, we have a nice lunch, do some laundry and make do with the jacuzzi.  I buy some extra underwear at the Hanes outlet store and have the oil changed on the car, since we have driven about 3700 miles.  At Roanoke Island in the evening we attend the open air theater performance of "The Lost Colony" about Sir Walter Raleigh's colony on the island.  Mara seems to enjoy the play the most, appearing transfixed whenever I look over; but I too am tantalized by the mystery of what really happened to the lost colony.   

 We receive the news at the Surf Side that Will has been awarded the PR fees.  Wonderful news, yet at the same time depressing.  Have we already spent what I will receive?

I had a wonderful sleep last night!  We left the sliding glass door open and listened to the surf.  It must have been a combination of the ocean air, the roar of the sea and a poor night's sleep on the preceding two nights.  I dreamt that I went back to work after this trip.  It was very depressing because it was as if I had never left.  Later on in the dream I was smoking.  I remember asking Susan S. if she minded if I took a pack of her Winstons.  It was not a good dream at all.  I had a feeling of coming back to the office from a year away without accomplishing any of my writing goals; makes me think a little of the importance of those goals.  On the other hand, as we approach the end of the third week it is just like an ordinary summer vacation.

5. USA: Charleston

Saturday, June 22, 200 mile drive, 9:30 a.m. to 3 p.m., St. Simons to Charleston, South Carolina.  Sunday, June 23, Charleston.  Early in the morning we take a marsh tour out of Sea Island, given by a lawyer who found a greater interest in the birds and marsh life than in lawyering (!).  Georgia has 7% of the Atlantic Coast, but 33% of the marshes, which are the fresh/salt water grassy areas that cause the yellowy-brown ocean. 



Marsh Tour

Love those Boat Rides!

Lessons to Learn 

By late morning we’re on our way on the short drive to Charleston.  Our hotel, the Vendue Inn, is old and charming, with creaky wooden floors and within walking distance of the many historic areas.  We quickly settle in and explore the town by horse and buggy.  Hurricane Hugo's effects (1989) are still visible; even so, Charleston is beautiful.  In the evening Cathy and I dine at the hotel's gourmet restaurant and adjourn to the rooftop patio for a romantic drink, just the two of us and the lights of Charleston and a nice breeze -- until the children find us!  Still, we enjoy sharing the city with them and admire their cleverness at finding us. 

Sunday morning we attend mass at St. Mary's Cathedral, the oldest church in town.  I feel  out of place in my shorts.  After lunch at Hyman's Seafood Bar, Mara, Robert and I take a long walk on a muggy afternoon, pausing to view Fort Sumter and the dolphins in the bay.  Mara and Robert drag and complain, but always smile when I take their pictures. The weather is stifling.  Later in the afternoon Robert, Mara, Jeffrey and I see "Robin Hood" at the movies.  The temperature has dropped noticeably when we emerge.  Charleston has been drenched.  The evening smells like a hot frying pan that's just been doused with water.  As inhabitants of the desert, one of the things we have most appreciated is the rain, 13 out of our first 17 days.



 



Happy Campers in Charleston

With its English setting, "Robin Hood" cheers up everyone but me.  After two weeks on the road and our departure date drawing near, I am for the first time beginning to think about England.  With those thoughts come new worries about money.  Before we leave Charleston I buy some boxes to store our USA souvenirs and send them home in the car.

5. USA: St. Simons Island, Georgia.

Thursday, June 20, 280 mile drive, 10:30 a.m. to 8:30 p.m., Kissimee to St. Simons Island, Georgia.  Friday, June 21, St Simons Island. 

Two weeks (!) into our journey, we turn north for the first time.  We speed through Jacksonville on the freeway, noticing its port, but pause to wander through St. Augustine, before stopping to visit my former secretary, Fran, and her husband, Bill.  Fran retired at the end of 1990, after working for me for seven years (in spite of not selecting Fran when she first applied to the firm).  Fran and Bill returned to northeastern Florida, to be near most of their children and grandchildren.  We park and wander around the touristy shops in Fernandina Beach, a charming  little town, before ask directions at the jewelry shop owned by Fran and Bill's son. 

Fran and Bill's apartment overlooks what today is a rugged surf.  We have a pleasant visit, catching up on friends and family and take a walk along the sand.  After a couple of hours, however, we must leave for St. Simons, which itself involves a bit of family history: when I told my father where we were going, he was reminded that, when he was a boy, his father used to come to Little St. Simons in the winter for party political meetings.

We arrive late.  Once again our condo is lovely, though there is a mix up.  We are in the right apartment number, but the wrong building.  In the morning we have to move, but our new apartment is even nicer than the first.  From our fifth floor room on the north side of the building, we have a splendid view of the beach and the shrimpers out on the ocean.

We spend the first day of summer on the long, flat beach.  The ocean is not clear like the Gulf, but silty brown like the sand.  The water is pleasant, warmer than California, but not as warm as the Gulf.  Mara suffers the first casualty of the trip, a jellyfish sting, but that does not stop her from attaching herself to girls her age or size, as if they had always been friends.  Thomas makes tea with sugar (sand) and "wa-hoe" (water).  Robert never leaves the water.  Jeffrey, Mara and Robert all watch, fascinated, as "Captain Ackers" and his boy catch crabs, trolling a piece of chicken along the shallow bottom, next to the swimmers. 

Robert with Sun Protection and Thomas at St. Simons

Enjoying the Beach!

The Beach and Long Tides; The Pool

 The tide covers tremendous distances and by afternoon the ocean has moved out about 100 feet.  Cathy is left abandoned on her towel, as most everyone else moves closer to the water.  We visit the pool after the beach and have dinner at Crabdaddy's, with a casual walk around the Island shopping district to finish our day.