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.
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| 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. |
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