An English Honeymoon: Day 2 (Part III)

Here's Dan leaning on the tree I described while we explored Kensington Gardens:

Here's a photo of the tree that I took one I found it:

And more photos from our afternoon there that unforgettable Monday. Best way to describe it all: lush, so lush and breezy...

- F

An English Honeymoon: Day 2 (Part II)

I'll give you an idea of what our view from the hotel room looked like on those early mornings in Kensington:

Every morning was this bright. The last photo shows the picture from a small balcony up a tiny flight of stairs within our hotel room. It held a little bed which I used as my reading nook during the trip. The view looks exactly like it does in picture books doesn't it? Particularly Peter Pan. I'd like to think Tinker Bell was watching over us while we slept. I have photos of what our view looked like at twilight too... I'll share those soon. 

Continuing on from the last post: I was telling you about Kensington Square Gardens. As we continued to walk through the gardens, we somehow made our way out and into this huge avenue with gated mansions on either side of the road, the middle of the road split down (if I remember correctly) with a large island of plants. I don't know how long this avenue was... a mile? What we discovered as we walked past the mansions was that were we walking past embassies. We saw the Russian Embassy first, and then the Japanese Embassy... and so much more. Photos were not allowed to be taken (though I don't think anyone would have noticed if I did. Still, I held back.) It was really cool to see so many nations represented next to one another. Dan told me that once you step in past the gate of one of those mansions, you were technically in that very country. Mind-boggling and awesome. I think you are granted asylum there.

As we continued walking, we somehow made our way back to the gardens from the other side, and found... well we found Kensington Palace. The original home of the great Queen Victoria (of whom I'm a humongous fan). We found the Sunken Garden of the palace, which was not only a favorite of Queen Victoria's, but also of the late Princess Diana. I've told you about the English sun many times, and I'll say it again, the sun shone within the sunken, secret garden, feeding it, it seemed to me, mystical healing powers that none but only the truly righteous could extract. As we peered in through the surrounding low wall of the garden, I felt that some of that power was transferred to me, through my eyes, skin, my breath. It was gorgeous. The garden seemed not to be one for show, but for something else entirely, truly botanical, medicinal even... take a look:

In a couple of the photos you can see Kensington Palace in the background. In my next post I'll write about our visit there and how breathtaking it was. 

I hope everyone is having a wonderful morning!

- F

An English Honeymoon: Day 2 (Part I)

Sunday, May 13, 2019

We woke up early on Sunday and we made our coffee from the little coffee machine in our hotel room (it was actually good, very hot, and strong) and munched on sweet English biscuits that lay next to the coffee machine. England, at least every place we ended up going to in England, does not use cream, or creamers, such as half and half - only milk - which was surprising and more than sufficient. (One thing that began to dawn on me during our stay is that despite all stereotypes of England, the place is really much, very much less extravagant than the United States. We, admittedly, are gluttons.)

Sweeping open the long curtains upon our awakening, the sunlight felt like it poured into our room, illuminating the whole of it in luminescent light. Our hotel did not have air conditioning (thank God, I hate air conditioning, usually) which Dan was worried about before we left (he loves air conditioning) but we ended up having the perfect weather for the entire duration of our stay. Every night the windows stayed open, letting in the most gentle breeze you could ever imagine.

We showered, got dressed, and stepped out into the busy streets of Kensington. Once out, we bought breakfast from a local restaurant. Breakfast consisted of baked beans, eggs, and sausage, but done up in a British way that we were not quite used to - we never really got used to that particular breakfast so I went on a Victoria Sponge Cake binge every morning (my fave!) and Dan ate probably a million wonderfully made fresh baguettes.

Kensington's streets are full of shops and restaurants catered, well, to everyone; I've never seen such a tightly bound mix of people: locals (the British of all races, aside from "white" and "black", namely Southeast Asian and Asian, who you could note by their voices (their accents, rather), immigrants, and tourists from all nations, who you could note by the language spoken: lots of French, Japanese, German, and Polish). Interestingly not many Hispanics or Spaniards, which Dan thinks is mostly due to geography (I'd add, perhaps culture too.)

We ate, then walked only a few blocks down to Kensington Square Gardens, which is now one of my favorite places in the entire world. It's a public garden, a royal garden, the garden in which J.M. Barrie met a group of three boys and their mother who inspired him to write the play Peter Pan.

Kensington Square Garden held all walks of life within, not just of the human kind, but all the four legged, webbed, and winged kinds too. One of the things I love, love, love about England is that all of the dogs walking the gardens, and this morning in Kensington, among the trees were unleashed. Unleashed, yes, that's the correct word. That is, the dogs were  relinquished into freedom and exploration because of this simple fact: they were gentle, tame, mannered, well-behaved dogs who did not require a leash, and who were all so dedicated to their masters or owners or caretakers that they would follow suit whenever they realized one or the other wandered too far. You have no idea how happy this made me... everyone and every animal strolling freely through this immense expanse of trees, flowers of all species, bushes, gardens, flickering sunlight. The chatter here was never loud, it was always a bright hush enveloping us in a kind of warm language hug that felt like a natural ecosystem all of its own. The birds sang - there weren't any "angry birds" here - they san songs; they were songlike, and seemed cheery and happy - not a note out of tune. I was, indeed, in some kind of wonderland, better, some kind heaven, which I knew was different than my troubled, haunted America in ways I was just beginning to understand.

Dan and I found a strong old tree, with one husky, tough arm laid out as if on purpose, as if for the sake of giving some travelers a bit of rest. We took advantage, humbly and gratefully, and sat. And smiled. It was a perfect morning in England, nothing like the nightmare of back home where happiness is a facade... it was in England where we began to feel the harmony within, a dream that was sync with its reality, with nothing to hide under a veneer, if there ever was a veneer at all.

Note: Dan was worried that I meant our life at home is a nightmare. No! That is not what I meant at all. Being at home with Dan is heaven. If I were Jane, he is my Mr. Rochester... What I mean by "nightmare" is something quite different, something about the direct contact with an inner terrain of this nation that has not yet been fully comprehended, and is still murky and muddy for many, including myself. 

More about Day 2 to come...

- F

An English Honeymoon: Day 1

Sunday, May 12, 2019

I hardly wrote anything while in England, I hardly read anything either. I rarely do while on vacation. So, before my vivid memories of our fairy-tale trip disappear into the ether (or conversely, dark matter, whichever you prefer), I'll write to recap each day as I remember it. Of course I took photographs, which I'll share here as well. 

We arrived in England, in London specifically, very early and we were deliriously exhausted after the eight hour flight from O'Hare to Heathrow. Not much shocked us as we passed the geographical line into English territory, save for the the extremely hung-over young man checking our IDs when we passed through. We lugged all our bags onto a fast, clean train, and we zipped through the side-skirts of London which honestly didn't look too much different from perhaps what you'd see going on the Metra train around Busse Highway. But we were excited. Very excited... despite the fatigue settling in.

We arrived at Paddington Station and immediately smelled the best bakery smells, warm and fresh bread, blueberries baking, some kind of delicious meat filling the space and our lungs. Through the windows the sun shone through, white and bright, held up by numerous, tall arches in the great expanse holding several railways. People dressed sharply - men in suits, women in long flowery dresses with sneakers - sauntered along or else were walking very briskly to their next stop. Near the waiting/seating area, a man yelled loudly into his cellphone, "No, that's not what I'm asking. I'm asking you to do your fucking job!", which for some reason made me laugh. 

We escaped the crowds and found the taxis, and that's when it hit me that we were really across the Atlantic and in Europe's Great Britain. Only a few taxis lined up along a small, deftly engineered curve of road, all shiny and black and shaped in a way we Americans were not used to. They looked like what we call "classic" cars. We hopped in the back of one, and, trying to be awake, cheerful, and chatty (which was in complete opposition to what we were feeling inside) we said hello to the taxi driver. He ignored our greeting and asked where we were going. "Kensington Square Garden," we chimed together. "The Phoenix Hotel." And he took as there without further ado. I, for one, thought he hated his job, or us Americans, but now I think it was neither. I was grateful for the silence on the way over to our hotel. Grateful to take in London's streets, homes, and buildings: winding, richly dressed in green (that is, plant life, old trees and shrubbery and bushes and flowers), I relaxed back in my seat and wondered if taxi drivers in England were all like this one... and we discovered that yes, for the most part, they all are. Which is... actually really nice.

We arrived at the Phoenix Hotel around 8 or 9 am. The Phoenix Hotel is a cozy, lovely hotel built into the typical townhouse-like style that you can find all over England. I'll describe it a bit more in future posts. What the concierge told us nearly made Dan fall over with exhaustion. Our room would not be ready until one o'clock. It made me laugh, hard. Because I myself was delirious with exhaustion. We stowed all of our heavy bags in a storage area they provided for us and decided to walk around the town a bit. We slipped into a old, old church which held striking medieval architecture... a bit gothic too. As we entered we heard the singing of an angelic choir, filling the entire church with a beautiful sound that seemed totally in sync with the sunlight that filtered in through its stained glass. I could have stayed there all morning. But Dan... he was t-i-r-e-d.

As we walked back to the hotel from this local church I noticed homeless people. Just like back home in Chicago I thought. Old women without shoes with cups for money, men in raggedy clothes sleeping. I felt the same sort of discomfort I did when I was younger and saw people such as these, before it was part of my daily life. Before became used to it. It exists no matter where you go. The poor and downtrodden cannot be escaped. I noticed and heard the voices of immigrants and visitors from all sorts of places. I can attest to Kensington's diverse demography. 

We got back to the lobby, found a quiet spot among couches by a beautiful curtained window. Dan sat down and feel asleep immediately and started to snore lightly. I read my magazines and tried to nap... until finally we were allowed to enter what would be our home away from home for a couple of weeks. After we settled in, we closed all the curtains (whose windows were letting in an enormous amount of extremely bright English sun) and went right to sleep. We stayed that way for a good five or six hours. 

When we awoke we decided to go to the movies to see the new Tolkien biopic. What better way to celebrate our arrival in England??? We took a cab over to a pretty normal mall (another cab driver who didn't say hi to talk to us, which, since I was a little more awake now, disappointed me but then it also awesome because I don't like "shooting the shit" - as we say in the U.S. - anyway) - owned by Westfield - the same company that owns Old Orchard and Woodfield - and we explored the empty palace of corporate globalization until we finally found the Vue theater. We purchased our tickets, bought our popcorn (wondering where the hell the extra butter and extra salt were - there wasn't any!), got some coffee and watched the movie. It was beautiful and I cried towards the end. Then we took another taxi back to the hotel and slept soundly through the entire night. 

Here's me in a post-nap/jet-lagged daze before the film, pondering the English version of the hot-dog and wishing for more terrible condiments to pump through my veins... and, feeling really happy.

- F