Three Queens Out for a Walk

I think I'm wearing my mother out  - today, I looked at how tired she was from all our walking and I knew it had to be an early night. She's safely tucked into bed at 9 pm, but it's a bit difficult when the sun is still out. You have to love summer in Europe. I sometimes think she's made of iron, and I hope at her age, that I'm still able to do half of what she does.

Before I go down a sentimental path - today was all about meeting and catching up with an old friend. Oh, maybe I've already gone down that road for today. Anyway, for those who've followed my story, you know I first met Serge in 1998 in Los Angeles. Ever since then, we've stayed in touch the old fashioned way. Letters. Real, honest to goodness hand written letters with a stamp. In fourteen years, I have physically seen him only three times. But no matter how much time passes, there's nothing we don't know about one another. We meet and it's as if it were yesterday. To those who don't realize how much the internet has taken away, I suggest you  discover the power of a handwritten note. Of course, over the years, while Serge has handwritten his, I have typed and only signed my name. I told him today that if I did not, there'd be no way we would have remained friends.

His train was right on time and this being Sunday, it seems the tube was almost a ghost town.  With plenty of seats and no crowd, getting to King's Cross St. Pancras was a breeze. Of course, this being King's Cross, I will spare you the Harry Potter references.

The station is quite fabulous and it makes our railways seem like distant backwoods cousins. Of course, and do I even have to mention it, we were early, so we had a wonderful breakfast of bread, fresh juice, coffee and tea while we waited. You never have to ask if the juice is fresh squeezed because it always is and it's refreshing citrus is a perfect complement to coffee and tea. As I slathered the chocolate spread on my breakfast, I thought, even if I had this back home, it wouldn't be the same.

After we finished, I leaned up against an old piano sitting outside the international arrivals. Out of a nowhere, a young boy from Canada sat down and started playing. Surrounded by his family, a crowd quickly gathered and even the out of tune keys couldn't dull the music.Whatever it was, this one moment filled the entire terminal with joy. 

And right on time, the train from Brussels arrived. My old friend looked just as good as the last time we met and after walking quickly outside so he could smoke, I unofficially became the tour guide.

Since it has been five years since Serge has come to London, I thought we'd start at the palace. As we  got closer, we noticed the crowds swarming around the gates and on the mall surrounding it. It resembled the crowds lining up for The Disneyland Parade on Main Street, except instead of the Disney cast members, it was the London police on horseback asking for people to keep off the street. Maybe it's the accent, but even when you know they're frustrated they sound refreshing.

Was the Queen back? Was there a royal procession? Alas, it was merely the Changing of the Guard. Now, while the ceremony is pretty amazing, it's nothing spectacular, and all I could think of was how much tax money goes into this production. Most of the guards barely looked old enough to grow facial hair, and after they marched, in amazing synchronicity, down the strand and behind the gates of the palace, we decided that that was enough and being trapped by the thousands surrounding us was not a pleasant outome. But, to our dismay, we were trapped on what I dubbed the island in front of the palace. Finally, a path was open and we pushed our way to the other side. The ceremony was still going on behind us.

"Just YouTube it," Serge said. "Everything is on YouTube, even concerts. I don't even go anymore, I just watch online. Well, except Barbra."

And then we were off discussing the pros of her latest tour as we walked toward the London Eye.

Now, when we got here, my mother was hell bent on not going up on the attraction, but one of her favorites was now in the mix, so since Serge had never been and finally seeing that there was no chance of the pod being rocked back and forth, she agreed. But it was already past noon and all three of us were getting cranky from hunger. With the crowds now swelling around us, I decided to escape the madness and take them to the fifth floor of Harvey Nichols.

Before we got there, however, I was not paying attention on how much we've used our Oyster cards as the gates to the tube did not open for us. It was relatively easy to add funds but it was a bit disconcerting when my mom looked like we were going to be pulled over by the Tube police for not having enough money on the cards. We were soon up and running and back underground, though.

The complete opposite of Harrods, Harvey Nichols' top floor food court is an oasis in the middle of London's madness. I first came here with my wonderful late friend Doug, and sitting in the dining room with my mom and Serge, I couldn't help but feel sentimental as I looked over at the table by the window where we all once sat, enduring the ribbing they all gave me for not returning home in time and being late to lunch. This place has some great memories and today was about making another. We talked about when we first met and how Serge met his husband Phillipe, who unfortunately, had to work and couldn't join us.

"Maybe next time, I'll tell you how I met my husband."

Was that a laugh I heard from my mother, or just my imagination?

Now, we've had an interesting go of dinner here since we've arrived. My mom has been dying for a great piece of steak and every restaurant so far has been a disappointment. This afternoon, however, was a success. After I could tell she was not going to eat her lobster ravioli, I was worried that this might turn out to be a culinary disaster, but the perfectly done meat with its crispy string beans and rich sauce was a hit.

"I'm not trying another steak here," she said after she finished. "I don't want to go downhill."

On my plate, the cod with its crispy skin and tiny gnocchi pillows was the perfect entree. If it weren't for the overly attentive staff, it would have been the perfect dining experience. When I told the hostess we enjoyed ourselves, she quickly asked if I write online reviews.

"Please do, we need the business," she implored as if her job and the fate of The Fifth Floor depended on me.

I looked around at all the full tables and wondered if she was seeing a different room that I. No matter, now that all three of us were full, we could better concentrate on the rest of the day.

Back in the underground, we headed towards the Eye and the line that snaked in front of it was worse than Space Mountain in the middle of the afternoon. We were just about to nix the idea when I saw the fast pass line. And there was literally,  no one in it. Now, after I found out you can just buy a fastpass and cut to the front of the line, I thanked heaven for cheap people who rather wait an eternity
as we boarded our pod in less than five minutes.

I have to admit though, that the spin around the air was really only just pleasant. While all of London was there for, pun intended, the eye to behold, I'm not sure it was worth it. Impressive though, was how the operator offered to stop the attraction to let Rosemarie disembark. (It still moves slowly at the exit). Of course, she refused.

"Wasn't he nice and attractive," she said. Yes, mother, all of London looks like that. Don't remind me.

With the skies clearing during the day, the crowds had increased and we wound up dodging and pushing our our way up The Queen's Walk along the River Thames and finally into a pub for a spot of tea. Next to us, a family consuming their fish and chips had left more chips on the floor than in their plate and all we could do was commiserate with the staff as they tried unsuccessfully to get the squished french fries off the carpet.

That caused Serge and I to talk about "when we were young" and how we were brought up. Oh, Lord, I thought, we're talking about back in the day. And soon, it was time for another cigarette, so we were off outside to let my friend get his fix and then we took the very long path back. Past Westminster Abbey, which was closed on Sunday to tourists as it was open "just for worship," but of course, the gift shop was open for the tourists to worship in there. From the massive church we walked back along the path my mom and I had been on our first day here, all the way back up the mall (which was closed for the Tour de France) and then through the park and up the Diana Princess of Wales memorial path.

It was here that the amount of walking we've done so far caught up to my mom. She said she wasn't tired, but I could tell she was moving slower. She did enjoy the fact, though, that we had walked up the same road that William and Kate's Wedding Procession occurred.

We finally made it back to Green Park where my mom at last had to stop and use the WC. Of course, the one pitstop she makes is one that requires coins to let the women through the turnstile into the stalls. Sure enough, when it took quite a few minutes for her to reappear, I knew she had gotten stuck. Fortunately, she had gone in with another woman who had the same issue and together they made their escape from the barricaded bathrooms.

Relieved and relaxed, we rode the Victoria line back to King's Cross so Serge could catch his train, and once again, the politeness of the Europeans amazed me. For all but one time on our train travels, only one person failed to offer their seat to her. The Americans have a lot to learn.

After a goodbye in the station and a big hug to my mom, Serge was off and I knew that no matter how much time goes by until our next visit, it will be just as easy as it always is with us.

Then, we headed back, a little more slowly, to the Central Line. The crowds were getting larger and it seems The Italians have arrived in the United Kingdom. Out on the street, we could hear them before we saw them and on this train, two very boisterous mothers with their three children surrounded us. One of the kids must have been about ten and with piercing light blue eyes, a mop of thick black hair to his shoulders and a face that would make Michelangelo return from the dead to sculpt, my mom and I both agreed, that be it boys, girls or both, this ragazzo was going to be very popular when he grew up.

After we finally got back to our hotel, Rosemarie's hunger gave her a short second wind. Determined to have some sort of dinner experience, and with a passing downpour in full force, we ducked into a nearby Thai restaurant that we've passed by several times. It was crowded and loud, but the fact that there were people inside convinced us to give it a go. While it was no different than the food I've had in California, it was fun to introduce Rosemarie to edamame and pad thai. 

The sun was still out as we made our way back to the hotel and I told my mom to get into bed, which she did, but then she turned on the television and got swept away by a Mr. Bean movie.

"Now that I've got you in bed early, you won't fall asleep!"

But the film was at its end and in seconds, it was lights out.  I love how quickly she does go to bed, despite her saying she isn't tired after all. 

At one point today, when we all conducting our Queen's walk, she said to Serge.

"I can't believe all the places I've seen that I never thought I'd see."

And with Straford Upon Avon tomorrow and more days ahead, all I could say to myself was,

"You're doing a good job,Jimmy."