Recap of the weekend in London
March 12, 2007 at 5:04
Our 25th anniversary weekend in London was a lot like our marriage— a mix of "for better, for worse, in sickness, and in health."
For better:
We traveled first class by train and stayed in a five-star hotel with doormen in tails and a very sleek and sophisticated modern interior décor. As Mary Engelbreit would say, “It’s nice being Queen.”
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When we booked this weekend back in January, I expected cold, damp March weather and planned to spend lots of time in the city museums. Instead, we got blue skies, mild temps, and acres of daffodils in all the parks. We didn’t open our umbrellas once, we got to wear sunglasses, and we were free to explore the city on foot. No wet shoes! This is no small achievement in London (or Belgium, for that matter).
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It was lovely to be in the city without the children because we didn’t have to stop at every souvenir shop and food concession stand and endure endless questions about when we were going to eat next and what we were going to have.
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Since this was our second time in London, we kept a slower pace and didn’t feel compelled to cover a lot of ground sightseeing. We strolled past famous landmarks, window-shopped, admired the architecture, and took a long walk along the Thames.
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When you deal with language barriers every single day, being in an English-speaking country is so liberating and luxurious. I felt unshackeled. It was good to leave my expat ball and chain in Brussels.
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There were Starbucks everywhere, and E was able to indulge his love of large, takeaway coffees. Carry-out coffee is almost non-existent in Belgium, a place where gas stations sell ONLY gas, there’s no such thing as a convenience store, and fast food restaurants are severely limited. To add insult to injury, coffee is nearly always served in a 6 oz. cup without free refills. This is torture for Americans abroad and makes finding a Starbucks like waking up Christmas morning and discovering Santa Claus has brought you exactly what you hoped for.
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As a tea drinker, I adored being served steaming tea from a proper teapot. No lukewarm water and messy teabags in a tiny cup. Ah! I went to Whittard's and bought some tea to bring home.
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I got to have a steak dinner, something I’ve been craving for months. Finally a baked potato!
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We visited The National Gallery and I lingered over the Impressionist exhibits—Monet, Seurat, Gauguin, Cezanne, Degas, Van Gogh, Sisely. It was an explosion of color and energy. I saw some paintings I’ve been longing to see since I was a kid and first saw them on postcards at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York, plus I saw a favorite Picasso.
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On Saturday night, we saw the show Chicago, and the music, choreography, and performances were fun and full of sassy style. The theatre was small and we had great seats, and the entire theatre district was pulsing with people and bicycle rickshaws (!).
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On Sunday, we attended a church service at St. Paul’s Cathedral, a London landmark that is best known in America as the church where Princess Di and Prince Charles were married. When you’re an American member of the Anglican church, there is something special about worshipping in a “real” Anglican church in Britain. It's like going back to your roots. We used a 17th century liturgy, and I adored hearing the traditional boys choir.
For worse:
The Friday night before we left, we’d planned to go out to dinner and a movie after dropping the kids off for the weekend. Unfortunately, we hit heavy traffic and backups, and it took us an hour and fifteen minutes to get our son dropped off in Waterloo, which is less than 20 miles away from our house. Every restaurant was jammed and parking was non-existent. We finally gave up and drove all the back to our commune and finally found a restaurant and a parking spot. When we got out of the car, E realized he had forgotten to give A the envelope that had A's medical power of attorney, his Belgian ID (required to receive medical care), spending money, and all our contact info in it. We had already been in the car for TWO hours, but now we had to drive ALL the way back to Waterloo to drop the envelope off. By then I was so hungry and exhausted and frustrated by the traffic that I felt sick. Our romantic Friday night dinner for two? Lukewarm food at an overcrowded McDonald’s—the only “restaurant” with parking. By the time we finished, it was too late to see a movie.
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When we arrived in London Saturday morning, we discovered the Underground stop next to our hotel had suffered a power outage and was closed. We had to get off the Tube early and walk at least a mile carrying our shoulder bags and pulling our suitcases across the bumpy sidewalks in the city. At least it wasn't raining.
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We should have done a bit of research on the storyline for Chicago before booking tickets for an anniversary weekend. Adultery! Murder! Manipulation! This was not the time or place for a musical that revolves around the lives of women who have murdered the men in their lives because “They had it comin!” And while E may have enjoyed watching scantily clad women dancing in black lingerie and body stockings for two hours, the perfectly chiseled male dancers were clearly all gay. Life’s not fair.
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E had been on a business trip all week in the Netherlands and spent long periods of time trapped in close quarters with heavy smokers. On Friday, he was attributing his mild cough and post-nasal drip to secondhand smoke. On Saturday, he felt unusually tired and by Saturday night, he was running a fever, had aches, chills, a headache, and a deeper cough. The worst part—we didn’t have any ibuprofen or meds on hand, the hotel was out, and we couldn’t find an open store until Sunday afternoon. E became steadily more congested all day and his coughing worsened. Today he's off to the doctor. I think he may have bronchitis or flu.
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On the way home, our train was delayed for an hour somewhere in France. We were already going to be getting home kind of late, a source of concern because the kids have standardized tests all this week and really need to be well rested. When the train finally pulled into the main international station in the heart of Brussels, dozens and dozens of people disembarked, all looking for taxis. In the U.S., there would have been a long queue of taxis all competing for passengers. In Belgium, capitalism and competitive drive, are, um, lacking. There were a handful of taxis there when we arrived and more didn’t’show up until we’d been waiting at least 30 minutes. And what was the station taxi steward doing to alleviate this problem? Absolutely nothing. I never saw him pick up a cell phone to call for additional taxis, help people with luggage, or assist anyone in any way shape or form. I’ve seen sidewalk beggars with more drive.
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When we finally did get a taxi and it took off through the city, I was convinced E and I would not live to see Monday morning. Our African driver was careening through the tunnels at high speeds and I thought I was going to suffer a fate like Princess Di’s. I actually had to close my eyes and practice slow, rhythmic breathing to relax my white-knuckled grip on the seat and keep from feeling faint.
Inhale. Exhale. Definitely a memorable beginning to year 26 at Chez V.
March 12, 2007
Copyright 2007 Veronica McCabe Deschambault and V-Grrrl in the Middle. All rights reserved.
Reader Comments (22)
I'm so glad you got a proper baked potato. I would have ordered potatoes the way I liked them for every single meal had I been missing them the way you've been! And, did you happen to have any spotted dick whilst you were there?????