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.