Our small group was pretty excited to be going on
a trip, translated to mean everybody was being especially amicable and talkative,
and just like always, as soon as someone heard me speak, the question was where
was I from in the States? When I answered Utah, the driver himself, sitting in
front of me, chimed in, ‘that’s where Salt Lake City is, right? It’s known for two things, you know’ – the obvious
one and . . . the salt flats. That second one surprised me – I thought it was
going to be something different than that. I added, ‘and there’s one more, of
course – the Osmonds!’ Everybody laughed at that – because, as I’ve said
earlier, it’s true! Everybody in the UK seems to know the Osmonds. I said, ‘of
the three, I was one – and it wasn’t the salt flats!’ The driver, who drives
back and forth to London most days, mentioned he’d been seeing billboards, as
well as the sides of buses, that said ‘The Mormons are Coming,’ and wondered if
we were having a convention or something. I was pleased, and surprised myself
somewhat, to have a ready answer to his query:
the Tony award-winning musical was to about to open in London – this very
weekend, in fact.
Our first stop was Dorchester (said Dorch.ə.ster),
lovely old country town, famous now for its association to the well-loved British
author, Thomas Hardy. There we picked up several persons, one an Afro-Caribbean
man, dressed cleanly in ordinary, work-a-day clothing – I will add that there
was something different about him. He had about the same amount of luggage I
had when I flew to England – two enormous luggage pieces and a good-sized
carry-on. He brought the smaller one into the coach with him and seemed
especially protective of it. The driver started gently at first, and then more
forcefully, insisting that the man would also have to stow it with rest – that
due to its size, if we were in an accident it was sure to become a dangerous
projectile. It almost got to the point of being an uncomfortable scene – the
driver saying we would not be able to continue our journey until the man complied.
Always polite and calm, he eventually agreed, though reluctantly, taking what
seemed like forever to extract his ‘important papers,’ as he called them. He
sat on the opposite side from me, on the front row, kitty-corner from the
driver, and was often on his cell phone for much of the first while.
For some reason for which I am unaware, I felt compassion
towards this man – there was something especially dignified and regal about him
– so that when we alighted in Bournemouth I offered to help him pull one of his
larger cases into the station by the strap. If I hadn’t he would have been
forced to leave part of his luggage unattended while he got the rest inside,
and vice versa. And then in an unspoken agreement we each attended to the
others’ belongings while the other went off briefly – me to the loo, him to get
coffee. We chatted off and on a little during this interval. He was the one who
helped me know exactly to which terminal Becky’s Delta flight would arrive –
important because that was what determined which coach number you would take
from this point.
When we boarded our connecting coach, he asked if I
would mind if he sat next to me – I thought that promised, hopefully, to prove an
interesting conversation. He had revealed in the course of our communication
that he had lived in England for many years now, and was on this occasion headed
back to Nigeria for a week’s visit. Astute as I am (that’s a joke), I said that I bet I could guess something
about the contents of his suitcases. ‘Seeing as how you’re only going for a
week – plus you’re a MAN, who are known typically to pack especially light – I’m
going to guess that the majority of what you’re bringing is NOT for you, but
for others.’ He chuckled and agreed – at which point the driver, immediately in
front of us, having obviously been listening in – rather rudely, I thought,
joined into our private conversation, and said, ‘it’s gold bars – that’s it.
That’s what you people do.’ We ignored that prejudiced comment, and went right
on chatting. At one point I asked him in what type of work he was, to which question
he allotted he worked in a hospital. I
imagined him humbly going about his janitorial or other menial tasks,
performing them to the maximum possible level.
When we got to Heathrow, once again I stayed with his
luggage while he went to get a cart. We walked a ways together down the
terminal corridor, until our paths diverged. As we parted we exchanged
pleasantries – he wished me a lovely visit with my sister; I wished him a
joyful homecoming. One of the last things he said to me as we went our separate
ways, in a quiet aside, was that he was a surgeon there in Dorchester –
shedding light on his reluctance to part with his smaller carry-on piece, as
well as the probable contents of his other suitcases. I felt a bit in awe, plus
somewhat sheepish for my own imaginings – and also experienced a renewal of the
disdain I had felt towards others for their looks and actions towards this
meek, unobtrusive servant of the people.
Similar to the situation of meeting Andrew at
Schiphol in Amsterdam, where neither of us was familiar enough to know exactly
where to say to meet, for us sisters I guessed at the Delta check-in desk,
Becky’s airline, as the best possible location – and, in the end, it was a
perfect choice. (It turned out that Delta had more places to gather besides
near the check-in desks, so we waited 50 feet from one another – separated by
some paneling – for over 30 minutes. Silly!) She was travelling light – you go,
Beck! – so as soon as we connected –
following a few big hugs and exclamations – we were ready to head out.
Following the usual pattern – asking many
questions of many – we located and caught the Hoppa Hotel shuttle bus to the
Comfort Hotel – the British contingency of Comfort Inn, smiling big all the
while. (The cost was £4 each, for a ridiculously short ride. By the time we had
finished going back and forth on it, our total ended up costing the two of us
practically £25.) By the time we got settled in our room, we found it had gone
4 oclock. I kicked around the idea of us just staying in where it was warm,
cozy and predictable (scaredy cat!), and then we decided, ‘what the heck, we’re
here, let’s go for it!’ – meaning GO INTO LONDON, and all by our lonesomes! We
had to wait for the Hoppa to come around again (another 4 quid each) to take us
BACKwards to Heathrow where we could then catch the Underground (aka the Tube);
specifically, the Piccadilly line – called so because it leads to Piccadilly Circus in the middle of the city – the only one that comes all the way out to
Heathrow. (Some others include: Bakerloo, Central, Circle, District,
Hammersmith, Central, Jubilee, Northern, Victoria, and the Waterloo.) It was the one sure, quick connection to get us where we wanted to go. And we
were happy for its reliability - plus it’s fun (I think!), and telling, in a big
city to ride on public transportation.
At the tube station we picked up a map of the
Underground – it can easily be considered somewhat complicated (www.tfl.gov.uk/assets/downloads/standard-tube-map.pdf). I was pleased with my attempts at getting us around (mostly I’m a whimp) AND happy to have
someone along to help make decisions, including making adequate
sense of that CRAZY map! ( There are umpteen things to see and do
about London, and they are scattered a fair distance apart. (You
know we missed loads of things to enjoy, but, oh, well, we did it and that was
good enough for us!) By this point, the day – and daylight – would
soon be waning, so we needed to make the best use of our time. To make a long
story short, we got off at the Piccadilly Circus exit and walked through the
streets till we found Piccadilly Circus itself. (Just imagine, without my
repeating it every other sentence, that it was two days of asking strangers a
million direction questions!)
This large public space is similar to Times Square
in New York, with lots of large neon-lighted structures. A ‘circus’ in Latin means circle and is
a round open space at a street junction – in this case major roadways circumnavigate the space, sort of
like a giant roundabout. We also came upon Trafalgar (all good Englishmen
would drop the ‘r’) Square (another expanse, though not round this time ,with
museums and government buildings surrounding it - a major tourist attraction I had been wanting to share with Becky (www.guardian.co.uk/uk/2009/may/29/trafalgar-square-fountains-reopen), one of the city’s most
vibrant open spaces, full of many renowned features – Nelson’s Column with
its beautiful fountains and four massive iconic lions; The National Gallery,
with the adjoining National Portrait Gallery (one of my all-time favorite
museums composed of portraiture alone, many of which you would recognize,
having seen them in art books all your life (we chose NOT to visit museums at
all on this trip – not Becky’s favorite thing to do, plus they do eat up a
chunk of time), plus St Martin-in-the-Fields, a landmark church and London’s premiere concert venue.)
From here we walked along the Strand, an open
street/walkway area, that eventually turned into the Mall – a long series of
greenbelts, parks, etc. all which culminate into the extensive grounds of Buckingham
Palace. We passed first near the gigantic Admiralty Arch that until last year housed
government offices, now last year sold in a 125-year lease for redevelopment into a
luxury hotel. On the way back we took a peak into the famous Kensington
Gardens – as it was now dark. We could just barely see back through the
glooming to a lake with water fowl. After a long day I was past feeling too
brash, and thankfully so, as our guide informed us the next day that, by law,
gardens and parks are off-limits after dark and by entering we could have
landed ourselves in jail, or at the least risked the chance of getting arrested.
What?!
Say ‘What?!’ again when I tell you where – of all
the fine establishments, in one of the major capitals of the world – Becky and
I chose to dine: Pizza Hut! (You know,
where I ate in Stratford upon Avon!) Well, at least we can claim it was Pizza
Hut’s European cousin . . . And they didn’t even have their pizza buffet going
for dinner – the whole reason I had pushed for it in the first place - but they
DID have a salad bar. We were both really famished by then . . . and plus, we
really LIKE pizza. (What can you say?!)
After our nice, satisfying, and ‘safe’ dinner, we
meandered around some more, in the glow of the lights – contented to be
together, proud to have gotten ourselves around in that magnificent metropolis,
taking full advantage of this ‘once in a lifetime opportunity.’ As we were wandering
about, enjoying the unique sights and sounds of the city at night, we came
across a long stairway leading up towards some large statuary, to which
curiosity drew us. When we reached the top the landscape became flat and we
could see, not too far off in the distance, many bright lights and major
buildings. This foray serendip-itously led us to Leicester (pronounced Lester) Square,
center of London’s cinema industry and gateway to the theatre district – a
perfect spot for people watching, and there were tons of college-age persons
hanging about, having themselves a good time.
Eventually we found our way to the nearest Tube
stop (they’re everywhere), went underground and figured out which of the
lines to take to get us back to the Piccadilly line, landing us ultimately again
at Heathrow, from whence we ‘hopped’ the Hoppa one last time, that took us
safely and securely to the faithful ‘comfort’ of our waiting hotel – two contented
and spent travelers.
When I looked back at the end of the day – that I
got myself to London, found a decent, well-priced hotel, connected with Becky,
and then took us into the heart of the city – and back again! – I felt a definite
sense of pride. For me it was NO small accomplishment and . . . (also, for me) not
easy. It took courage to do those things . . . and I am happy to report, it had
all turned out brilliantly!
Photos_
1- my fellow travellers
2- shot of Weymouth Bay – while we waited
2- shot of Weymouth Bay – while we waited
3- the 035 – all aboard!
4- Piccacilly Circus
4- Piccacilly Circus
5- most famous of the Piccadilly Circus landmarks - statue of Eros
6-7 Trafalga(r) Square
8- what Trafalgar Square was like back when I first visited it - before governmental measures
8- what Trafalgar Square was like back when I first visited it - before governmental measures
9- Admiralty Arch
10- Victoria Memorial in front of Buckingham Palace
11- waning light in the city
11- waning light in the city
12- night life for the country girl
13-14 Leicester Square
