12. We're Worn Out
Curly Girl loves her glasses
23.06.2015 - 23.06.2015
London, England, United Kingdom
Tuesday, June 23, 2015
Up at six, we prepare for our departure and, Joanne take note, B4, even with hair washing, is early. She despairs over curly locks when drying is shortened or when humidity is high but I like them.
We have consolidated baggage so that, when we arrive at Heathrow, we can store two and schlep only one (plus two backpacks and B4's book bag). B4 has a nifty trick of stuffing her purse into the book bag to help reach the two-bag-carry-on-limit; and, we do.
We reach the Rialto bridge waterbus stop early enough to board an earlier boat. It is small and crammed with airport commuters and their (our) baggage. Soon, we are passing stops because our craft overflows with people—much to the obvious chagrin of those whose schedules are disrupted
because of no room on their planned transport.
At Marco Polo airport—a ride on the water of just over an hour—we check in smoothly and head for the lounge. B4 announces that she will be making one final sweep of shops for eyeglass frames and is off. Her eye for frames amazes me.
Soon enough British Airways flight 595 is ready to board but the Italians make a mess of what I had thought would be British formality during the process. We are in Club World class on this A320 and I reminisce about the day, long ago, when U.S. carriers had middle-seat-seatbacks that split to fold down and turn the middle seat into a table of sorts. Here, that is still de regour.
It is cloudy over Europe as we make the short flight from Italy to England with little to be seen below save one very short glimpse of snow-capped Alps.
Formalities at Heathrow are seamless and, after leaving our extra baggage at "left baggage," we find the Picadilly underground (dark blue) and ride it to Green Park where we change to the Victoria line (light blue) to Oxford Circus. B4 would, I am certain, prefer a car and driver but I thrive on public transportation when traveling even though I eschew it at home. She says nothing about my downscale transit plan and for that I love her even more.
From Oxford Circus we walk east one block on Oxford Street, north 8 more on Great Portland and then just two more on Foley Street to number 29, our Airbnb for the next two nights. We shant discuss how I missed our turn and made us walk an extra six blocks. Our landlord, Marta, has texted to let us know that she cannot meet us for entry because she is at work. Instead, we are to inquire at “The Attendant” (she described it as a great coffee shop) whereupon we will be given the key. The rectangular key gets us through the glass door on the ground floor which leads to the lift. Upon reaching the third floor, we make our way to Flat Five where the round key fits the top lock and we’re in. It looks just like the pictures on the internet. The missing link, however, is that one wall of the “Stunning Flat” is mirrored but on the web it makes it seems as though the living room is gigantic. Smoke and Mirrors; for sure.
We make our way out to the street to be greeted by a commuting mob; never have we seen city streets so full of mayhem. At Oxford Circus, the underground is closed and the hari krisha chanters commandeer a street and the traffic is at a standstill and so are we as we attempt to walk to the West End to see what we can see.
We are tired and decide to forego theater tonight and we grab a taxi back to Foley Street. London taxis are the most civilized on the planet. The drivers know every street and lane, speak the Queen’s English properly and don’t smell. The cabs themselves are spacious and clean. New York, take note.
Back at Foley Street we decide to have diner across the street. B4 has the pork chop and I have the stuffed chicken while we share a bottle of wine and conversation of those newly met even though we are familiar and us. The exertions of the past days have caught up with us and we are calling it a night. More tomorrow when we are again fresh.
