The kids actually picked our big summer trip this year, and chose of all places, London (ironically because it is supposed to be cool and rainy -- when it is not having global warming heatwaves, that is). I was more than fine with that choice--it is my mother country after all (dad was born and lived in England 'til age 10), and I was able to add in a quick side jaunt to Normandy, France, to see the D-Day beaches, a life long bucket list item for me. I was prepared for a great time. And then the trip tried to become a complete disaster before we even started. Let me elaborate.
Because of scheduling issues, we decided to leave for London on a Tuesday at noon. Plus, since we were all on frequent flyer miles (score one for me), it was what I could do. The issue is that Kathleen's family had an important and very large family reunion the preceding Thursday through Sunday in Island Park, Idaho. Normally not a big deal, unless you know the history of Moon family outings. In short, a fantastic time was had by all, until Sunday, when fully 25 out of 50 of us were suffering from an extreme Norovirus outbreak, with the rest of us fully exposed and just waiting for the shoe to drop.
In case you are not familiar with Norovirus, just Google "massive, sudden, uncontrollable, goes-for-three-miles projectile vomiting" and you will know everything you need to. So as Monday evening rolled around, those of my family not already having experienced that prime joy of mortality (so eloquently dubbed "puking" by none other than Will Shakespeare) were uttering fervent "please not me" prayers. Happily, those prayers were more or less answered in the affirmative, but not before a second, more serious disaster struck.
I went to pack late Monday evening, and as I pulled my trusty Nikon D800 out of my back pack to prepare it for the flight, I found it cracked in half at the top and completely unable to focus. Turns out it had fallen out of the car after I ran into the house to deal with the inevitable results of being around all those sick people. That might not be a disaster for all four of you, my dear remaining readers, but for me, it was a heart breaking oh crap moment of major proportions. That much-loved Nikon has been by my side for literally tens of thousands of pictures, a fraction of which have appeared on this blog, and I needed to seriously mourn, but had no time for that, as complete panic set in. Here I was about to leave on a great trip with the family, including a life-long bucket list item, and the only functioning photo device I had was an iphone -- which is ok I guess, but not what I love.
Immediately, all packing ceased. Amazon delivery to the UK was explored. Camera store websites were scoured. And I had a serious decision to make: one store in Salt Lake would open in the morning before we had to leave (thank you Pictureline), and had both a Nikon D850, and another camera I have had my eye on for about a year -- the Sony A7Riii. I really wanted the latter, but it is a huge expense to change camera lines (new lenses are PRICEY!), and hard to get used to a complicated new camera in just one slightly long plane ride.
Well, I took a great leap, and bought the Sony. You will have to judge whether it was the right thing to do, but I will say, that I have been thrilled with the picture quality. Mind you, the photographer himself still needs a lot of work, but his new tools are pretty freaking amazing if you ask me. Anyway, crisis somewhat averted, we boarded the plane Tuesday and I spent the next 11 hours or so furiously studying the camera and its features, which made for a seemingly quick plane ride.
Well, enough of the drama, now to the trip itself. I had forgotten how green England is, but was reminded as soon as we started our descent into Heathrow, which, by the way, is the most efficient airport I have ever travelled through. Wish they all could be that way.
The highlight of the trip for me, though, was the chance to stay with Mark Hunsaker, a lifelong, dear friend that I had not seen in many years. He works for Citibank in London, and when I emailed to tell him we were coming and would love to see him, he kindly offered to let us stay in his apartment, as his family, minus him, were all going to be either in Utah or traveling during the time of our visit. He also called his car service to pick us up, a lifesaver for me, who did not sleep a wink during the flight over (see camera debacle above), and would have been an ornery squinty-eyed mess trying to figure out how to get to his place, which was near Regents Park. It was a lovely location and place, comfortably air-conditioned, and spacious, with room to spare.
Our first order of business was to . . . . Nap. I have never seen the boys so tired. they both fell asleep on the same bean bag chair, and stayed that way for a long time. I have to confess that my first act in the mother country probably involved drooling on a pillow as well.
We went and got some lunch at a place called the Chicken Shop and Dirty Burger, which was actually quite good, and served the purpose of something good and relatively quick for lunch.
Our next job was to wait for Kate to show up, who was traveling in on a later flight from Italy, where she had spent the prior week. She arrived, and soon more napping ensued, as we waited for Mark to return from a business trip to Belfast.
When Mark arrived we spent a lot of time just chatting and catching up, which was just a joy for me. Years melted away--he is one of those friends that you might not see for thirty years and yet you just pick right back up like it was yesterday. I can't tell you how many nights I spent at Mark's home as a teenager, playing board games and talking about everything under the sun with one of the smartest people I know. Our evenings with him in London were spent much the same way, eating amazing takeout Indian food from Cinnamon Spice (the Saag Paneer was really to die for) and playing Dominion, or just talking away about the condition of the world. Mark was a true friend to me at a time when I really needed one badly, and I don't hesitate to tell people that he changed my life -- I can't even imagine the type of person I would be without the confidence and optimism he helped instill in me. He is just a great human being, and it was the real highlight of my trip to spend time with him again.
Mark's apartment is in St. John's Wood, a lovely area of old Middle Eastern money. Directly across the street from Mark's place is the London Mosque, a longstanding house of worship and centre of the Muslim community in the area. The other center is High Street, a quaint shopping and residential district, that we wandered up and down many times on the way to the St. John's Wood, and which contained a lovely bakery, named Gails. (Why are so many good bakeries named after my mom? Santa Cruz, Monte Verde Cloud Forest Reserve, just to name two I can think of . . . who knows how many more? Maybe it is a secret business she has kept on the side for all these years -- the only reason I don't believe that is because they do not use enough bran. But I digress.) Here are a few pictures of High Street and environs.
The neighborhood was fun for other reasons. For example, it is home to Abbey Road, which we visited in due course.
My very first album (and I do mean VINYL album, played on a small turntable), which my ever-hip 1960's mom bought for me, was a Beatles album (I Wanna Hold Her Hand -- Meet the Beatles). I listened to that album over, and over, and over as a kid, as I did with all the subsequent Beatles albums mom bought for me. If you know me, you know how much I love music, and especially rock and roll music. It has brought so much joy into my life, and here, really, is where that all started for me. It was a pretty special place to visit.
We just had to try to recreate the photo, but it turns out, that this is a really busy commuter street these days, and we were not the only ones who had that desire. And of course Kathleen's timing was off, so she was a bit late getting into the road, so it ended up a bit of a mess. Oh well, we walked where John, Paul, George and Ringo walked, and that is enough for me.
The neighborhood also houses 221B Baker Street (really just a nice little tourist trap for all things Sherlock Holmes).
In addition, come to find out, it is the location of the Lord's Cricket Ground, and somehow we landed in the middle of the World Cup of Cricket, which we discovered when virtually the entire nation of Bangladesh ran us over as they exited the subway we were trying to enter. (Pakistan did the same to us the following day. You'd think we would learn, but who knew cricket was so popular? I may have to learn to throw a googlie!).
But enough about the neighborhood (for now). We planned to start at the Tower of London on our second full day in London. I have to say it did not disappoint (except for the fish & chips just outside of it -- those were really disappointing).
When you come out of the Tower Tube stop, you first notice a giant, old wall, Roman remains from Londinium, the founding of this fine town.
It reminds you that this place has been around for a long time, and much of history for the past 2000 years or so has passed through its cross-roads. Outside of Jerusalem and Rome, there may not be a more central city in all the world.
We began our Tower visit (which happened to occur on July 4th) by taking a tour with this fine gentleman, a Yeoman, as the tour guides (and guards) of the Tower are called:
He gave a fantastic explication of the history of the place since the 11th century, when it was built, then said, “and today you Americans celebrate turning your back on all this amazing and entertaining royal history for something called democracy.” He then asked, with a twinkle in his eye, “So, how’s that working out for ya?” Heaven help me I do love the British! Particularly their humor, which is essentially an irreverent, self-deprecating "if we can make fun of it, it is ok," viewpoint that we need so much more of these days.
The tower itself is amazing.
The grass used to be a moat.
Bolt holes for shooting arrows.
And a gate straight out of every medieval movie castle you have ever seen.
If you're like me, your first thought is "why do they call it a tower? It's not very high . . . ". Well, it was built starting in 1066, when the tallest building in the entire country was a 1 story mud and waddle hut, so you kind of have to keep that in mind as you consider the name. It was HUGE in its day.
In the early years, starting with William the conqueror and through the early Plantagenet kings, it was THE castle for the Kings and Queens of England, but in later years became more of a prison for those unfortunate enough to earn the King's wrath.
That said, English Kings and Queens still pray here, and the chapel below was used for services by William the Conqueror himself.
The tower is also known for its' beheadings, most famously of Anne Boleyn, whose only crime was Henry VIII's fertility issues.
It does provide a nice view of the Tower Bridge though, and I thought it was really cool to see the construction methods used in 11th to 14th centuries, which were on display in parts of the castle.
I had just finished reading "The Plantagenets" and "The War of the Roses" both by Dan Jones, excellent primers on the line of Kings following from William the Conquerer that really established England as a country, and then lost it all with the advent of Henry VI, a mentally ill, non-violent, pious but impotent king. His weakness led to the War of the Roses, and he spent much of his time a prisoner of the Yorkists, in the Tower. His room has been recreated there, and it was fun for me to see it, having just read the books.
From time to time he was used as a pawn, and set up as king, but in name only. Here is a replica of his throne in the Tower.
As with most Tower residents, life was no sure thing, and rumor has it that Henry VI was killed here, as he prayed, on the orders of Edward IV, one of the Yorkist kings.
The basement of the Tower also has some remaining torture devices, though the exhibit asserts that "there was not a lot of torture" undertaken in the tower. Even some seems like a lot to me, but who am I. The worst of it seems to have been this simple device, the Scavenger's Daughter. See the note below for the gruesome details.
They of course also had the ubiquitous and infamous "Rack."
There is also some really cool royal armor in the galleries there. I have no idea how this guy could even see to hit anyone.
Also present, bodiless wooden heads of the Kings that called the Tower theirs, including Edward III, Henry V--VIII, William the Conquerer, James I, and Charles I. We went in to see the Crown Jewels as well, but they don't allow pictures in there, so this was the best I could do:
The kids had a great time learning about the history of the place (Kate having previously read "The Plantagenets" as well). All told, we give it a big thumbs up as far as things to do in London go.
From there, we decided to walk across Tower Bridge and go to the top of the Shard, to get a bird's eye view of London. Here are some photos of that little venture:
This was the view as we approached that very iconic but controversial building.
From the top, we were rewarded first with a view of the Thames, that river to the world which gave the British their path to being so prominent in history. While preparing to go to England, I came across a map showing all the countries in the United Nations that Britain had not sent armed forces to at one point or another. Care to guess how long that list was? Out of almost 200 nations, the British have not invaded or sent armed forces into approximately TWENTY TWO. I think if World War I and II hadn't gotten in the way, they might have kept going. For all the anti-colonial, anti-Western European sentiment in the world today, I nonetheless admire that for two reasons (and keep in mind that one of the invaded countries was mine!). First, just the chutzpah of it -- that outward looking boldness, to believe that this tiny country could rule the seas and all it came in contact with, is pretty remarkable, and tells you a lot about the confidence and certainty of this unique place. But also, and this is a generalization, the British usually left countries better off than they found them in many ways: a belief in the rule of law, a belief in certain rights, education systems, transportation systems, and eye towards international trade, among others (the same could not necessarily be said of other colonial powers). We still see the effect of this playing out today, in places like Hong Kong. While definitely a mixed bag (I have read the Horrible Histories, after all), there are some amazing things that happened because Britain had the audacity to go out and try to rule the world.
And here is a last emblem of the naval power that made it possible -- the HMS Belfast, a world war II cruiser that Alden has been dying to visit for at least two years now.
We also saw a nice view of the Tower of London from above.
It was a great view of the city, which somehow doesn't seem that big from up there. Perhaps the fact that we had been on top of the empire state building looking out at greater New York just a year prior had an effect on us.
After that, it was back to St. John's Wood, for a little Lebanese food, and some down time for planning the next day, which was to begin at the HMS Belfast, Alden's dream visit. That boy does love his ships.
He was not disappointed.
He raced with enthusiasm around the engine room, read every sign, studied every mechanical anything, and would have spent a full day there or more if we had let him. I think he had a good time. His siblings, however, were almost done before he had even finished touring the deck, so a more thorough experience will have to await another day, when he is on his own, perhaps during a semester abroad at Cambridge, or the London School of Economics. . . . (hint, hint).
Leaving the Belfast, we headed over to see Westminster Abbey and Parliament building, which was disappointing. The crowds in the area of Parliament and Westminster Abbey were absolutely overwhelming, and the line to get into the Abbey were hours long -- we had to abandon our effort to get in, and waited until the next day, after buying tickets on line to the Queen's gallery, which gets you past the lines quickly. They won't let you take pictures in the abbey though, so here are a few from the outside.
To add to disappointment, Parliament was under reconstruction, and Big Ben was totally shrouded.
It was a beautiful neighborhood, though, and we had some lunch (mediocre -- maybe Parliament just needs a good french restaurant in the area to get past this whole Brexit thing!), and then tried to get into the Churchill war rooms. Once again, we were daunted by the line, and had to put it off to the following day. Given all those head winds, we decided to head over to the British Museum, where we had Kathleen's pre-selected list of 10 items we needed to see.
That list included of course the Rosetta Stone,
the Assyrian lion hunt reliefs,
the Elgin Marbles, and the other stella/artifacts from the Parthenon,
this Easter Island Stoa,
the amazing and haunting collection of Egyptian Mummies (where every Scooby Doo episode looped continuously in my mind . . . ),
the Sutton Hoo Mask,
The whole visit sure made us realize how much of the world Britain had ruled at one point or another, and while causing many questions about the hubris of colonialism, still made us realize that without the British, many of these things may not have survived at all (for example, the Turks were storing gunpowder and munitions at the Parthenon just before the Elgin Marbles were taken), and we would not have these amazing artifacts to study and learn from.
After a full afternoon and evening, we headed back to Mark's, for another pleasant evening. The next day finally brought us to the Churchill war rooms, which did not disappoint. If ever there was a case where one man, with all his weaknesses and foibles, nonetheless used his own determination and skills to change course of history, he may be it. It is a fascinating exhibit and museum of his life.
The place where he spent so much time pleading, in his darkest hour, with FDR to enter the war and provide some help.
His bedroom, where he took his afternoon naps. Note the chamber pot at the foot of the bed . . . It was a quickly assembled underground war room, and we saw no evidence of plumbing (though I am sure there was some somewhere). Following that excellent and sobering exhibit, and our trip to Westminster Abbey, we headed out for the West End to see a show . . . . The Play That Goes Wrong. It was an excellent production, that had us rolling in the aisles.
And so ended our first sojourn in London. The following morning, early, we boarded a flight for Paris and our ultimate destination -- Normandy.
