London, Day 8

The Last Repast
Saturday morning we were up by 7:00 and actually down to breakfast before they were open! Time flew by, though, and by 9:30 we were running behind our schedule. We wanted to be down to County Hall, across the river from the Westminster tube station, and ready to take in the Star Wars exhibit there as well as what the aquarium had to offer.

















The Star Wars exhibit was a collection of what I can only assume were actual costumes, miniatures and models that were used in the making of all six films, and it proved to be quite captivating. A, who is a serious Star Wars nerd, was in heaven, and I, not quite the level of Star Wars nerd as A, but enough of a film nerd to be nerd enough, thrilled to the inside look at some of the secrets to how the Star Wars saga was brought to our eyes.


























Once out in the bright sunlight again (the weather has just been fantastic. I think all the stories about dreary London and her constant cap of clouds is just froth by Londoners to keep the tourists out!) we were at a crossroads: A wanted to buy a new watch, and A wanted to see the aquarium. It was becoming apparent there wouldn’t be time for both, so A chose to go shopping for a watch, and we would catch the aquarium later if we could.

We couldn’t. We walked for about a half hour, crossing the Charing Cross Station foot bridge over the river and meandering through the streets in an effort to find Covent Garden. I had us generally headed in the right direction, but not directly. We eventually got there and discovered that certain streets in Covent Garden are exclusively booksellers and restaurants/pubs. Other streets are exclusively theatres and restaurants/pubs. We walked past the marquises (?) for just about every hot show for which we saw posters plastered all over the tube stations and double-decker buses all week. “Avenue Q.” “Chicago,” “Queen” (about the rock group, not the …uh …queen), “Spamalot”… It was getting ridiculous. Finally, after asking a few people where we might find good watches, not the £4.99 ones, we were on the right track. Of course we walked right past the Swatch store that nobody bothered to mention as they sent us on our way to a store they thought might have watches but didn’t, only to eventually discover it and go in. A found a watch he really liked, and the deal was done. And there was no time for the aquarium.

We walked around just a little bit more, and then we hopped on the Picadilly tube line from the Leicester (pronounced “Lester”) Square back to the South Kensington (pronounced “South Kensington”) station so we could get back to our room and get started on our packing for Sunday’s travel, and to get ourselves ready for our dinner date at 6:00.

…which wasn’t actually until 7:00, as we found out via voice-mail on our room phone, left by my boss at 10:45 a.m.

It doesn’t mean we could have seen anything with enough time to enjoy it at the aquarium, but at least we had a little time to relax before packing and changing clothes.

The final, farewell dinner was at a little restaurant called Wodka, a few minutes’ walk from the High Street Kensington Station. As happened more often than I can recall, as we descended the stairs to the District- and Circle Line platform at the South Kensington tube station, there was a District Line train – our train – sitting at the stop, and we had enough time to hop aboard. Or was it the right train? It was crowded, and as I peered through the raised arms – and, hence, the cloud of B.O. – at the train line diagram I realized we had indeed hopped aboard the wrong train. Whereas the District Line does stop at High Street Kensington, a mere two stops from South Kensington, it doesn’t do so in a direct line, but rather dipping south, reversing, doing a loop-the-loop, and coming back. It’s the Circle Line that goes directly to High Street Kensington! I realized it in time to see that we could hop off at Gloucester (pronounced “gloster”) Road and wait for the Circle Line train that would no doubt come momentarily.

We did that, but the electronic sign that tells which train is coming next just wasn’t making sense. Mrs. Farrago figured it out; we were on a platform for the District Line only, and we had to run up a flight of stairs, over the tracks, and onto the next platform over. That done, we waited an unusually long time, as several other District Line trains came through. Finally a Circle Line train pulled in on our side of the platform, and we got on. This train was also very crowded, but at least it didn’t have any air-conditioning! They may have been working on their teeth in the past few years, but Londoners still seem to have trouble finding the deodorant aisle in the grocery store!

We were at the Gloucester Road tube stop with only a ride to the next stop to hop off and walk to the restaurant. About a quarter of a mile down the track and into the tunnel we slowed to a smooth stop, and we sat there. For a long time. The driver’s voice crackled on the P.A. through the train car: “Ladies and gentlemen, I regret to inform you that, due to a signal failure at the High Street Kensington station, this train must return to Gloucester Road. I do apologize for the inconvenience. I must walk through the train to reach the car at the opposite end, so please do make room for me as I come through your car. Thank you.”

In Chicago, the announcement, if at all intelligible over the CTA rail P.A. systems, would have been, “Yo, we gotta go back to the last station. Get out the way when I come through!” So polite, the London Underground Railway System drivers are!

So we hoofed it. It turns out just about everyone from our company who shares our hotel was on that train, so a long procession of people ambled through the streets of Kensington to Wodka.

Wodka is a very tiny, quaint restaurant with a tiny, quaint menu. Our group, however, is not tiny, and quaint we ain’t! Throughout the evening we were being shushed by the wait staff, as other patrons couldn’t hear each other talk. We could barely hear our own tablemates, but shouting helped. Until we were shushed again.


While we waited for our food, a mess of guys in costumes like these
walked by. This guy noticed me taking their picture and did what any
red-blooded ...uh... Englishman would do... be worthy of note!
(I think the blur in the background is The Flash)






The food was awesome! I had the sea bass this time, and Mrs. Farrago had the rump of lamb. A was seated in the basement with most of the other kids…and a couple of adults, where he had the risotto entrée. He said it was very good.

Again, as now seems the norm, Mrs. Farrago and I were prevailed upon to choose the wine for our table, and we delivered, choosing a nice Margaux (and we haven’t yet found a Margaux that was not nice), and a mediocre California Pinot Noir.



Our Margaux of the evening, in case you'd care to enjoy our
meal vicariously by wine.







Those drinking the California red seemed to like it just fine…until they tried the Margaux. When people started clearing out, there was still a half bottle of the California Red left. We drank it. Then came the shots of vodka on huge trays. I don’t know if it’s just part of the meal at the restaurant, or if Big Boss ordered the round, but it came either way. In all I tasted four: two berry flavors, one of which was rather tart and gritty, and the other was sweet and tasty. The other two were not flavors one would expect in a vodka: horseradish, and black pepper! Little Boss had the misfortune of shooting one of the black pepper shots and nearly lost an eyeball trying to keep his head from exploding. And the horseradish was just…wrong.

But the evening wound to an end, and we three walked with a family of three from our group, through the pleasant summer evening air toward the High Street Kensington tube stop. As we walked I came to the realization that the three glasses of wine and what amounted to a total of a mere shot of vodka were having their effect on me, and the farther I walked, the fuzzier I got.

Fortunately for me there were no train problems, nor navigational difficulties, and we made it back to the hotel without any problems. And, also fortunately for me, for all of us, I did remember to set the wake-up call!