Streets of London

January 18th-22nd, 2009

Our apartment in St. James Park is on a street called Palmer. There are two pubs on this street, Adam & Eve and the Sanctuary House. My experience of London pubs was limited, thanks to gluten, but the ambiance is exactly as you would imagine.

AtAdam & Eve I sampled my first "Jacket" - baked potato with melted cheese and pinto beans. The Sanctuary House is where we celebrated the Inaugeration and indulged in some Brittish pies - chicken with white wine sauce. The Britts seemed to be excited about the Obamas taking up residence in the White House.

At the end of Palmer Street, there is a very large church...

Westminster Abbey. I didn't go in,
as they charge 18 pounds to enter The idea of having to pay to go inside a church just doesn't sit right with me. Besides, the building has probably not changed since I was 12, seeing as how the place has been there for 800 years.

We walked past Big Ben, Parliament, and the Millenium Ferris Wheel.

In Trafalgar Square, I found the National Gallery. I toured galleries of 15th CenturyMadonnas, soldiers, cupids, and nudes, finally finding my Impressionists. I viewed Monet's beginning works, and watched his style evolve throughout his life. I gazed at Van Gogh originals, and wondered how many notecards, mugs, and tote bags have bourne the image of that Sunflower... how many hundreds of times have I seen that image? Yet in the oil on canvas before me, I could make out the individual strokes... delight.

From there, I went on to the National Gallery where the Annie Lebovitz exhibit was on display. I declined to spend the 11 pounds as I had already seen the exhibit in San Diego for $5. On the third floor, in the Parliament Room, I found one of my heroes, William Wilberforce, half completed by Sir Thomas Lawrence. Lawrence had died before he could finish painting Wilberforce's jacket and hand. As I gaze at the portrait, I recognize in Wilberforce's eyes, an intelligent compassion that is completely familiar to my senses. I am reminded of the heart of Jesus. How did Lawrence get it so right? I made a print of the painting and brought it home.

Heather is the master of the London tube system... we found our way to Covent Garden... a brick street and an outdoor market - art, earrings, handbags, hats, teddy bears wearing Brittish flag T-shirts. We watched a man ride an 8-foot tall unicycle while juggling two knives and an apple. He made 23 pounds in a half an hour - not a bad gig. In Covent Garden we found two Indian restaurants, Chowki (Monday eve) and Punjab (Wednesday). Pumpkin curry, samosas, and cheese naan, all with red wine. The Dining Bar just hit the ceiling. And I must mention the treasure of CG... Monmouth coffee. One taste of that and I am convinced that less is more.

We took our afternoon tea at the Caddigan Hotel at Knight's Bridge Stop. Scot sat this one out.

It was an afternoon "Low" tea. I learned that the High and Low adjectives for tea have nothing to do with one's place in society, or with the time of day at which tea is taken. "High" and "Low" simply describe the height of the table upon which you take your tea. Heather's was a white afternoon, and mine, a Moroccan mint. We had sandwhiches of cucumber, turkey, roast beef and egg salad. And then three teers of scones, chocolate truffles, strawberry fruit tarts, and cream with raspberry cordial. I decided not to eat for the rest of the day. That lasted about 6 hours.

At St. Paul's Square, we parted ways for a few hours. I went in search of Roman ruins, of which I found one, a piece of the wall that was the border of Londonium. I collected my thoughts on paper at a small cafe where I discovered that adding two teaspoons of sugar makes the perfect cappucino.

London holds a great deal of nostalgia for me, and I often feel my sixth sense kick in... yes, I have been here before. And it's true... my earliest memories in life, are of riding in a yellow back- pack on my father's shoulders, looking up on buildings that have looked down on centuries.

And walking the crowded streets of London, I taste swiss cheese, and my mother reaches up to hand me another piece. My jacket is blue and furry around the the hood. People wear black coats, don't smile much, and say the word "bloody" a lot. I look down at Mom, with her dark black hair, in her plaid bell bottoms and tan jacket. I ask her,

"Mommy, why does my cheese have wholes in it?"

"All swiss cheese has wholes, Rachel."

"Oh."

And swiss has never tasted so good... while walking the streets of London.