London, Day 9

The Party's Over
The morning came up too quickly, one because I hadn’t had enough time to sleep off Saturday night’s binge, and I had a headache; two because it meant leaving London. But the morning wasn’t going to cease its progress, and so I got up.

Within 45 minutes we three were all showered and dressed, and we headed down for breakfast, which seemed a lonely affair, as we were the only people from our group in the restaurant. At least my headache faded.

We finished and headed back up, closed up our suitcases and dragged them downstairs, and we checked out. The South Kensington tube station was sparsely populated at 9:45 on this Sunday morning, so getting to the platform and onto the train were effortless. The ride to the airport took just a little longer than I had hoped, and the walk to the ticket counter from the Terminals 1, 2 and 3 tube stop was much longer than I had anticipated. Checked in without any difficulties, we moved along through security with gate 16 our eventual destination, though the ticket agent said it could turn out to be a different gate, and that we should be sure to check the monitors.

Heathrow Airport has been cleverly set up with an eye for marketing. As you clear through security (they have a separate screening line where the only thing they’re checking is your shoes; you take them off and put them directly on the x-ray belt!), you are set free into a vast duty-free shopping area, with alcohol directly in front of you. And believe me, with the US Dollar as weak as it is against other currencies, duty free in England is no bargain!

We did hit the souvenir racks for one last go, and then we made our way to the gate. There was some minor confusion as we looked at one of the Departures monitors and saw a flight to Chicago at the correct time of 12:40 p.m., departing from gate 18. Final call! We walked very quickly to the gate despite the fact that it was still 11:50. I was quite certain United Airlines wouldn’t be boarding the plane nearly an hour before departure. We arrived at gate 18 only to learn that the Chicago flight was an American Airlines plane. Almost in a panic we rushed to gate 16 where, lo! and behold, our fellow passengers were leisurely waiting for the boarding time to arrive.

Soon we boarded and were on our way home. I usually don’t watch the movies on the plane, but I wasn’t particularly in the mood to write, and the guide’s description of something called “Hot Fuzz” intrigued me. I watched it and laughed my ass off! More on that in a later post…unless I forget.

I did indulge my writing hobby after the film. It is here that I must confess, as one who reads this – THE one who reads this – will probably have figured out by this point, that I wrote most of this journal much later than the events actually occurred. There just wasn’t time in the day to cover all of the London that we covered, and then write about it. The high-speed internet rate at the hotel was so exorbitant it was ridiculous, but the nearby internet cafes all closed at 11:00 p.m., leaving no time to write, choose pictures, upload them and post. So I’ve done most of that in the days following my return. I hope my reader will forgive me that.
The flight was like a traveler’s dream. Okay, I didn’t have a sizzling rendezvous with a voluptuous flight attendant in the back of the plane, but maybe your travel dreams are different than mine…. The flight departed on time, didn’t crash on take-off or landing, arrived early, the passport line moved very quickly, luggage was already on the belt, and Customs didn’t consider us a threat.

A’s parents met us outside Customs, his dejected sister pretending that she missed him. We traded brief stories about all the things that happened, and soon we were inching away, needing to get ourselves home. Finally, we said our good-byes, and we were a couple again.

Of course, a trip as pleasant as ours, from the day we left for London until the day we returned, can’t go completely without frustration, and this one waited until we were at our most tired, and at our most desirous to be home to strike us. Mrs. Farrago and I decided to take public transportation home. Usually that doesn’t call for an ominous overtone in the soundtrack. My only concern was lugging the suitcases onto and off of the Blue Line train, through the turnstiles, up two escalators and onto and off of a bus.

We wheeled the cases through O’Hare airport and, just before we got to the pedestrian tunnel a young black man in City of Chicago work clothes said, “The Blue Line is closed. Two cars derailed at Rosemont. You have to go to the shuttle center and catch a CTA bus.”

I said, “You’re kidding!” but, like sheep, we headed for the Bus and Shuttle Center. We got there and saw a huge crowd of people lined up at the door of a CTA bus, and I wasn’t about to try to get two fat suitcases onto it. So we went into the nearby Hilton O’Hare Hotel and asked the bellman to call a cab for us. He did, and he told us that cab number 3795 would be there in 10 minutes, but “wait inside here. It’s too hot outside.” In about 5 minutes a cab, number 3775 pulled up to the door of the hotel. It was too suspiciously close typographically to our cab’s number, and by the time I got past the urge to believe it was just a coincidence some people climbed into it and were whisked away. I decided to wait outside and, 10 minutes later I was more than convinced that our cab had been “stolen.” Mrs. Farrago suggested that we just take the next bus.

Just as I agreed, another bus pulled into the Shuttle Center lot, and there were very few people waiting for it. It kept rolling forward as a CTA assistant waved him on toward a parking spot. We caught up with it and, as the door opened, the assistant said, “They turned the Blue Line back on. You should take that. It’ll be faster.”

My frustration frothed. “We just came up from there!” I griped.

The assistant said, “Well, you can take the bus. It just goes three stops down the line, and you gotta get back on the Blue Line past where the problem was.”

“Yeah,” I groaned, “but with my luck, the bus will break down!”

The assistant just shrugged his shoulders.

Mrs. Farrago and I lugged our bags back down to the train station, through the turnstiles and onto a waiting train…which waited…and waited…and waited…for a full 35 minutes before the train driver announced on the P.A. that as soon as two incoming trains got into the station, ours would pull out. She kept making that announcement for the following ten minutes while people kept boarding and boarding and boarding to the point where our car was jammed in worse than sardines.

Finally the train began to move, but we crawled most of the way to the first station, where even more people got on. At the following station yet more boarded. It became apparent to me that the crowds were the result, mainly, of fans headed to the Cubs v. New York Mets at Wrigley Field. At virtually every stop between O’Hare and Addison Street (there are seven) no one left the car, and at most stops at least one more person wedged into the throng. I felt myself seething at the whole situation.

At long last we pulled in to the Addison Street station, and suddenly the car was bearable again! The next stop, Belmont Street, was ours. Fortunately the station attendant opened the wheelchair gate for us, so we didn’t have to deal with the suitcases at the turnstiles. At street level it was quickly obvious there would be no bus for a long time. Three other people were hailing cabs from a better vantage point than ours (though every cab was occupied!), but, thanks to the good, quick eye of Mrs. Farrago, we got one that dropped a passenger off at the mouth of the escalators, nearer to us than to the other taxi hopefuls!

In all it was a full three hours after we got off the plane before we finally got home. A quick trip to the bird-sitter’s and back made us one little happy family once more!

The End!


...A Parting Shot












You know something is worth a photo if the Asian tourists are taking pictures of it!

London, Day 5

Wacsimiles
Wednesday we slept in. The late evening Tuesday left us pretty tired, so we just let most of the morning go on without us. When we finished breakfast we headed out on the Circle Line tube to the Blackfriars station and up to ground level, with Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre in our sights.


Some famous rich people (I heard a tour guide say a name, but I don't remember it) set out to build an exact replica of Shakespeare's Globe Theatre, and do it using the same tools and techniques used in the 17th century.







We walked along the river a ways, with intentions of seeing the play “Love’s Labours Lost,” however we had no interest in spending three hours doing it, nor in spending $110 on the tickets (£54)! So we walked back along the river for another few minutes, and crossed at the Millennium foot bridge. It was originally nicknamed by the locals as The Wibbly-Wobbly Bridge, but they fixed it.


































We hopped back on the train and got out at Baker Street, and we came upon some sort of excitement at one corner. We followed the crowd into a building and discovered that we had lucked into a party where celebrities were hanging out all over. And, though not very talkative at all, every one of them graciously stood still for photos with people hanging on them and touching them.


















































It took us a few minutes before we realized that the pasty smiles and refusal to speak were less pancake make-up and unfriendliness, but the fact that they were all made out of wax! Some brothel madam named Tussaud had apparently whipped up all these fakes on her own, and had been fooling people like this for years!

Seriously, though, some of the wax likenesses were incredibly life-like. True, there were some that looked nothing like their supposed namesake, but when they nailed it, they really nailed it!












The whole experience at Madam Tussaud’s, though not guided, is steered through a directional flow through room after room on several different floors. At the end, in a waiting area for the final event, a lame Aardman animated film in an Imax cinema, there is an interesting little attraction where you can make a wax form of your own hand…for a price, of course!
















A wanted to do it, so we let him pay for it with his own money. It came out pretty well. How many souvenir shops offer anything where you can make a cast of a body part that preserves what you were like at a certain age? It was fun.

We left, A’s three hands in our keep, and headed to Sea Shells restaurant, on the recommendation of the Pelham Hotel’s concierge, for authentic, traditional fish and chips. They were pretty good. We had two different kinds of fish (cod and haddock), and A had calamari…which, in my opinion, wasn’t very good.























From there we headed back to our hotel where we downloaded photographs and sent e-mails.

London, Day 4

Royals to Retches
Tuesday was a day much like Monday…not much on the agenda, but it taking the whole day. We were up fairly early in order to catch the tube to Green Park station, and the short walk to Buckingham Palace. The tour was one of those headphone program guided tours, and it was pretty neat. Those people are RICH! There were no photos allowed inside, so you’ll have to use your imagination.

The Royal Palace Guard musicians heading back to get their sheet music.










De queen's crib, yo.











Nothing escapes Mrs. Farrago's eye!...










...except perhaps maybe the amount of food I cram down my gullet!










After the palace tour we milled about outside and took some photos of the palace main gate, and then we headed toward the Houses of Parliament for a tour there. That, too, was interesting, as I now know probably more about the British government than I do about the USA’s!

Westminster Abbey. I forgot to re-read The DaVinci Code!














We meandered past Westminster Abbey where just about the entire roster of Renaissance history's major players are buried. And Wilt Chamberlin. It's what I heard someone say!

It was another tube ride to South Kensington, near our hotel, and an early dinner at Kavanagh’s Irish Pub. It was more commercial than the pub where we dined a couple days ago, but it was nice. A had the gammon, which is a cut of ham with a sort of cheese sauce on it. If they took the cut from somewhere else on the pig…say, from the ribs area, they could call it babyback gammon!

Or was it Lord Chamberlain?

Anyhoo…

Tonight, late, was the Ceremony of the Keys at the Tower of London. We were on a group ticket with my supervisor and his family. As we were to view this event in the middle of our trip, my supervisor insisted on holding onto the ticket, presumably because he didn’t trust that we wouldn’t lose it…and besides, it was in his name. We hopped the train to the Tower Hill stop and walked down to the gate of the Tower of London and waited until the 9:30 p.m. entry time. …and no supervisor. The gates closed and we stood outside, hoping against hope that he and his family would come sprinting down to us in the next minute.

But no.

Then one of the Beefeaters, the caretakers of the Tower of London, came to the gate to see if we and another couple of guys standing there were ticket holders waiting to get in. The others were just hoping to be able to buy tickets, so they were turned away. The Beefeater asked us what we wanted, and I told him that we were on a group ticket, and the holder of the ticket didn’t show. He took pity on us (lucky we had the kid on hand!) and let us in. It’s free admission, but they only allow a certain low number of people in each night.

I wouldn't want to spend the night there....











The ceremony was fairly low key (pun intended!), and a fairly somber military ritual. It was cool to be in the Tower of London at night…and our Beefeater host guide told us a creepy ghost story about the two princes who disappeared in the 1600s, presumably murdered by their step-father so he could preserve his right to the throne.

The Tower Bridge glowed in the night and beckoned us to the river's edge, pleading with us to take some photos of her in her nighttime splendor. We obliged indulgently.

Then we went back to the Pelham and called it a night…after a snack on some mediocre sushi.

London, Day 3

Big Ben, Bungee Bouncing and Belgian Beer
Not much to say about Monday… It was a beautiful day all day long (we’ve come to learn that’s a rare thing in England). It was a bit of a lazy morning, so we took the tube to Westminster Station where we came up right beneath the massive clock tower at the Houses of Parliament. We spent a few minutes on Westminster Bridge taking photos and realized that the clock was about to strike 12 noon, and we would hear Big Ben’s chimes! A tried to capture it with our old digital camera that has a rudimentary video recording function. I think he got to record the bonging chime to note the hour.



We walked along the river Thames , under the London Eye, past Jubilee Gardens and The Queen’s Walk, amid a veritable carnival of human statues, musicians, singers, performance artists and some who were just plain weirdos!


































We had an appointed time to meet to board with our group on the Thames River cruise, which was a pleasant, though brief, look at the history and architecture of London.












Afterward we went for a “flight” on the London Eye, a huge Ferris Wheel with 32 enclosed, transparent capsules. It’s one trip around as a capsule is unloaded, swept for explosives(!), and reloaded, all without stopping the wheel. It makes for about a 30-minute ride with spectacular views of London!



















After the London Eye, we had a little time to kill before dinner, and all the kids in the group, including A, were itching to do the Star Wars attractioon, a bungee-trampoline thing that, well... it looked damn fun! A hopped on and had quite a blast!













Next on the agenda was dinner at Belgo Centraal, a Belgian Trappist Monastery themed restaurant, with the staff running around in monks' robes. The highlight of the evening was when A was castrated!










The food was excellent and the beer exotic, and by the end everyone was full, tired and ready to get to bed. It was another day of not much planned, but those plans taking the whole dang day!

The Pelham Hotel

London, Day 2

Of Flesh and Blood
Sunday started out very nicely. On Saturday we had all taken a brief nap that left us with enough energy to make it through the evening, but we hit the sack hard.

Our room at the Pelham has a wonderful bathroom, practically as large as the bedroom! The water stayed warm throughout my shower (second of three) and, I assume, through the third. At least we never heard A complain.














As Mrs. Farrago was checking her e-mail she shouted “Hey! Naked people!” I looked out the window and across the street and, through a frosted window on the third floor, indeed saw a naked person showering. Yes I took pictures. And yes, we covered A’s eyes. With a pillowcase. And a pillow.

After breakfast we met up with everyone else who’s staying at our hotel from the group, and we boarded the number 74 double-decker bus to the Marble Arch, where we boarded the number 15 bus to the Tower of London.

It was a very interesting place, full of history and lore. We took lots of photos. But probably the most entertainment came from the ravens which have a home (a raven coup?) on the grounds of the Tower. And we took way too many pictures of them than they’re really worth! Afterward we walked out to the river’s edge and shot some pictures of ourselves and each other with the Tower Bridge in the background.


This is what happens when a Tower of London toilet backs up....



















Insert your favorite Edgar Allan Poe quote here. I'm too tired to do it.

























The White Tower

























Apparently this knight enjoyed jousting just a little too much!






















We had a recommendation from Terry, a man who sat next to me on the flight over, to visit Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese pub on Fleet Street. I happened to notice it when we passed it in the bus on our way to the Tower, and Mrs. Farrago suggested we head back there for dinner. After quite an ordeal getting a number 15 bus - which, after 2 attempts at being crushed by a crowd of people trying to get on them – we were delighted by the arrival of one of the old double-decker buses, complete with an attendant who counted heads, announced stops, and saved the hapless from falling out on right turns! He helped us to disembark at the right stop, which was only about 20 steps from our destination.

We found the sign for Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese, went in, and found that it was … closed.

We regrouped outside and headed in the direction of the last bus we had been on, and a few minutes down the road we found another pub, the Old George…or something like that.

A ordered the BLT, Mrs. Farrago the fish ‘n chips, and I the bangers & mash. A was slightly taken aback by the appearance of his sandwich: it was on ciabatta bread, and the bacon here is quite different in taste and appearance than in the States. He’s been great, though. I know of too many kids who, just because a food doesn’t look like what they’re used to, they won’t eat it. And he really pounded away the ale!

Mrs. Farrago’s fish ‘n chips was pretty tasty, and it was a hearty portion. My bangers and mash was okay, but it looked an awful lot like sausages and mashed potatoes.

We walked down to the next bus stop only to encounter no fewer than five number15 buses that were so packed with people that the bus driver, if he stopped at all, didn’t open the front door to allow on any new riders. Damn tourists!

I perused the London bus schedule and saw that a number 23 bus would take us to the same place a number 15 would. The first number 23 that came by was also so packed that the driver wouldn’t take us, but the next one was fine. It turns out that Sunday afternoons in London are traffic hell. We crawled most of the way back to Marble Arch where we walked about a block to another stop, where we caught the number 74 for the return to the Pelham.

We were all a little shocked and dismayed that we had spent pretty much the entire day on the Tower of London, but it was an interesting day. We spent the first 45 minutes or so in our room clicking through the TV channels only to learn that English television has just about as much schlock on it than American TV. Afterward we went around the corner to an Internet Café where we let A send some messages out and communicate with his parents via Yahoo Instant Messenger.

London, Day 1

...And Here We Are!
After settling in to our hotel, The Pelham in south Kensington, we headed out for a little walk through the neighbourhood to Kensington gardens and Hyde Park. Jekyll Park was closed. ;-)


A took pictures mainly of cars.



Mrs. Farrago concentrated on trees and leaves....

I only took pictures of the cool stuff

We were only staving off sleep, for we wanted to save that for later when it would count…like after noon, so we just wandered a bit. Mrs. Farrago saved my and A’s lives when she shouted out to us as we crossed a street gawking at a double-decker bus. The cab driver never flinched as he nearly creamed two tourists. I think they get points for that.

We wandered around until A grew fangs and started foaming at the mouth and swearing in quite an impressive street Latin, and Mrs. Farrago said, “It’s time to feed the boy.”

We wandered further, looking for a convenient, quick, simple place, but we wound up at an Italian restaurant with sidewalk seating. A ordered the breaded calamari, Mrs. Farrago ordered the prawns with avocado, and I ordered the grilled salmon. It was all good, except for Mrs. Farrago’s prawns. They were a little chewy.

Then we retired to the room where we all took a brief nap until 5:00, when we prepared for our dinner date.

The whole group was at Ebury, on uh... Ebury Street, save for the three or four who had to work in Colorado Springs through Saturday, and are no doubt by the time of this writing on their way here.


There was a table set up for the children, and A made a beeline for the cute 17-year-old niece of the company owner(!). As drinks and food were served, we glanced at him from time to time and saw that he was engaged in conversation with the kids who sat near him, and that he was not sulking in a corner afraid to mingle.

Dinner ended as most people were ready to drop, and we returned to the Pelham, and turned in for the night.

Sunday -- The (Leaning?) Tower of London and the Royal Family Jewels... er, I mean The Crown Jewels.

London, Day -1

Countdown To London
We started the day as a normal Thursday; I got up early, showered, got dressed. Mrs. Farrago did her thing, making herself even purtier than she already is. But then our plan went into effect.

I didn’t feed the birds, as I usually do when I’m not on the road. And Mrs. Farrago didn’t feed them, either, as she does when I am on the road, or when I screw up and leave myself no time to feed them. We woke them up late, and they went almost immediately into their travel cages, and when I was ready to leave for work, we loaded the cages in the little car and I drove them to the birdsitter, where they will stay until our return.

And it was not the typical workday, either. I wore shorts and a t-shirt and sneakers as we’re in the middle of the move. I got to work a little late, thanks to the briefing of the birdsitter, and when I got there I went immediately to moving boxes to the rear of the building, to the loading dock. We are practically half moved into the newer place, but, thanks to my travel schedule of late, I was the only employee of the company, until today, who had not seen the inside of the new place.

As I planned to work only half the day, I finished moving the boxes that were ready to be moved, and I separated and took down the media shelves in the graphic artist’s studio. Then I loaded the box and the computer from my “office” – a patch of counter space in an edit suite – into the car and took them to the new place.

WOW! All I will say, in the interests of not boring you (further), is “room to grow!”

I stayed later than I had intended, and by the time I left – around 1:30 p.m. – traffic getting home was absolutely stupid.

By 2:00 p.m. A, Mrs. Farrago’s nephew, still was without a passport, and time was running out.

I came home to an empty house – a truly empty house, completely devoid of living beings (that I care to know about) – for the first time since I moved in with Mrs. Farrago. After her dog, Cosmo, passed in 2004, there was still Angel, plus the two birds, and Papa Swiss, Mrs. Farrago’s dad. We added a bird in April 2006, and in the following October Papa Swiss moved out. And then, of course, in April of this year we had Angel put down. Today, with the birds away at the sitter, and despite the fact that they don’t care too much for me, it was a lonely feeling walking into the quiet living room and seeing their vacant cages.

I put in a load of laundry, ran out on an errand and returned. Around 6:00 p.m. I got word that A had finally gotten his passport, and all is “go” for his accompanying us to London!

Tomorrow is the day of our departure, and the first time ever on a plane for A. And, since he’s on a different flight reservation than the rest of us, he’s currently booked in a seat several rows in front of Mrs. Farrago and me. It could prove to be an interesting flight.

London

Well, I blogged about it in January, and the time has arrived. We're off to London Friday evening.

This trip, another gift from my employer, hasn't come without its own drama, however. There are a few employees who are not invited to London, who have not been in the fold for the required, and as yet undisclosed, amount of time necessary to be included in such company joy. It has made for some awkward, uncomfortable moments around the office over the past seven months: who's going and who isn't? (we weren't informed). Watch what you're saying in case one who isn't going can hear us. And then there's the departing flight shuffle, but that's just looking a gift horse in the mouth.

More drama has come in the form of a move. That's right, our company has outgrown its current digs in one northwest suburb of Chicago, and the decision was made this year to move into a bigger, more customized building with room for continued growth...

...at the same time...

...as the London trip.

For the past three weeks various fellow employees have been shredding unneeded documents, filing needed ones, boxing up tapes and CDs and DVDs, dismantling video production suites...and I've been on the road for most of that time. The company is being moved from under me! The task is not yet complete as we will be heading out the day after this blog is posted, but it will continue in our absence...

...while we're enjoying London...

...by those who are not invited on the trip.

And I'm embarrassed and ashamed at how it all has been conducted. I mean, they were never told they weren't going and why; they were just excluded from the invitations. It seemed very underhanded by a guy who doesn't seem to operate that way in his other relationships and business dealings. It was just handled poorly.

But I'm still going.

I just hope The Big Boss does something nice for the uninvited later down the road, to show his appreciation for their fortitude -- and for their not walking through the building(s) with a sub-machine gun blazing -- in the aftermath of the trip announcement.

And even more drama... Mrs. Farrago and I decided to take her nephew, A, on the trip with us. I'm paying his airfare with my frequent flyer miles...a LOT of them. As soon as The Big Boss OKed us bringing the kid, his parents initiated the passport application procedure. That was in April. There was a glitch, as these things always seem to go, and, due to his age at the time of application, they were instructed not to have him sign it. When the processing center got the application, they kicked it back, with notes indicating the boy's signature is indeed required. Let's not forget that it took the passport office 5 weeks to get that information to A's parents, which set the whole process back into a hopeless time frame, what with the current overburden the passport system is under this year. After weeks of dead-ends and "Call back tomorrows," and rude clerks telling my bro-in-law that his boy will "just have to reschedule" his trip, we are now in that 48-hour period in which they can go directly to the Passport Office in downtown Chicago and have his passport expidited...and that's where they are as I write...a mere 25 hours before departure time.

That aside, I intend to journal/blog throughout the trip as I did in Paris. Of course, I intend to write every day, but knowing how tired I get at the end of an 18-hour day of walking, snapping photos and eating, don't hold your breath!

I'm hoping to visit a good friend who lives in Birmingham, as well as a possible meet-up with none other than the inimitable Blogger star, Ultra Toast Mosha God, who lives in Bristol.

I'll be perusing Blogger daily, at least, so if you feel I'm slacking, be sure to let me know in my commenst section, and maybe I'll get off my arse and write.