The Cannon Family's travel blog

(Apologies for ending a title in a preposition.)

We managed to sleep in a bit and awoke to more brilliant sunshine. Another lovely fry up for breakfast – including tomatoes from the owner’s greenhouse! – and we hit the road.  The general plan was to hike on Dartmoor in the morning and then wander around Brixham, a little seaside town that looked very interesting when we had a quick drive through yesterday. We did some quick searches on line last night and found out that there was a waterfall on the moor so that was where we headed.

I should have known when I found a tourist brochure for Becky Falls in the flat and it showed were the ice cream stand and gift shop were.  But alas, the alarm bells didn’t go off until 40 minutes later when we were about to pull into the car park and saw the sign board saying that entrance would be £7.95 PER PERSON.  There are 954 square kilometers (~368 square miles) of moorland and for this small patch they were going to charge us stupid money to see the water running down the rocks.  Nope, I wasn’t having any of that. It wasn’t the amount, it was the principle of the things.  If it was a charge by the National Trust or the park service that would go toward maintaining the land, that would be one thing but this was not that.  I’m all for capitalism but I don’t have to support all private enterprise.

So we turned around and drove back the way we had come.  Frank turned sharply into an barely identifiable car park at the foot of a huge hill which was part of the national park and didn’t cost anything.  And the boots went on and the walk was underway.  Some people who have hiked with me in the past will know that for me the only direction to go is up, and so that’s what we did.  There were no trail markers or hand rails, no ice cream stands or souvenir shops; just a vast expanse of land, some tractor lanes and horse trails, boggy bits, scree and wildflowers.  And after half an hour’s climb, the view was spectacular.  Two old boys were up a the top with us and their radio controlled gliders and it was amazing to watch. It turns out that where we were hiking was one of Europe’s most important area of heathland that was nearly completely destroyed by fire in 1997.  We could see some places where there were remnants of fire but otherwise I didn’t notice anything.  Frank did notice the distinct lack of birds which is a known issue.  There also has not been a resurgence of the butterfly population yet either.

And then back down we went and on to an interim stop: Buckfast Abbey.  A working Benedictine monastery that was founded in the time of King Canute  (~1000 AD) and was closed during the monastic clearances in the time of Henry VIII and the reformation.  It was reopened and rebuilt in the early 20th century and the results are just beautiful. (BTW, the abbey cost nothing to get into although I would have gladly paid.  I did buy a guidebook and light a candle for my mom though).

We started heading for Brixham to grab some lunch but decided to stop half way at a little town called Totnes.  And that was all she wrote.  It’s yet another adorable little town with winding streets lined with shops and cafes.  We did a quick wander and wound up at The Wild Fig cafe where they had lots of gluten free options.  I had GF goat cheese and spinach quiche and Frank had ostrich and thyme pie.  Yup, ostrich.  And it was also gluten free.  While we were there we noticed that they sold wine from a local winery about 3 miles out of town.  Our chances of getting to the cute seaside town were waning faster by the minute.

We then decided to wander around town a bit to see what was up.  That’s when we noticed the plethora of pink hair, shaved heads, and orange dreads.  The smell of patchouli wafted from several shops and there was nothing but free trade coffee and organic produce to be found.  We had stumbled upon the Berkeley of Devon! I thought we had been really luck to find a cafe with gluten free options but they were everywhere – along with vegan ones, people always lump us together. All along the shopping street, one shop after another – if it wasn’t a fair trade coffee shop, it was an art gallery or a charity shop. It was so much fun! There was even a 15th century parish church (St. Mary’s) that is still in use today even with the stone screen across the altar.  The stained glass was quite a contrast the the more modern work we had seen at the Abbey.

Eventually the parking time was up but we had found a brochure for the local winery and had a new destination.  Sharpham winery and cheese makers – why not have a vineyard and a dairy farm?  We paid for the tour and tasting (£8.95 for a wander through the vineyards and tasting of 3 wines and two cheeses) which somehow also didn’t bother me like the waterfall entry fee.  It turns out that we were the only ones there for the 4pm tasting so we got all the attention we wanted.  The woman doing the tasting used to live in Virginia Beach so we could even discuss Virginia wines.  We got a history of the property and heard about what grapes grow well there (Madeleine Angevine) and which ones they struggle with (pinot noir).  None of wines were bad – and we’ve had BAD wines – and two of them appealed to us enough to buy a bottle. Then we wandered around in the vines and headed for home.

Well not exactly home.  We had decided to give the chef a break from heating up ready meals and eat at the stupidly adorable pub in the village. Maidencombe is not that big – I don’t think there is even a street light but there is a pub. The Thatched Tavern is at the bottom of a very steep hill on a road called Steep Hill (not making that up) and it has a lovely beer garden and restaurant and several things on the menu marked gluten free.  So we went out for a very nice dinner.  Frank was all about the mushrooms tonight having sautéed wild mushrooms with garlic on toast for a starter and mushroom and Stilton risotto for his main course.  I had the beetroot and horseradish soup (interesting) and Brixham crab thermadore for my main. All was very nice – including the deserts (honeycomb cheesecake that Frank said was awesome and my Eton mess. Look it up. 🙂 ) A wander down a bit farther brought us to the beach at high tide (remember, the sea is always down) where there were seals feeding in the cove.  But the wine and the wandering had taken their toll and it was time to head home.

Today’s numbers:

• Wine’s tasted: 5
• Charity shops browsed: 12 (no joke!)
• Cafe’s in Totnes advertising gluten free baked goods: 4
• Calories consumed: I don’t want to know
• Steps: 16, 282 (7.01) but no where near enough after that dinner!

And today we bid farewell to Cornwall.  We got a fairly early start and headed up the A30 toward Bodmin Moor – it was time for the hiking boots to come back out.  (Funny but the British don’t “hike”, they “walk”.  ) We had identified a walk on the southern part of the moor that started in the town of Minions.  Yes, that is the name of the town and has been for more than 400 years.  Nevertheless, they have capitalized on the fame from the little yellow ones.  We parked at a trail head for “the Hurlers” – a stone ring so named because legend had it that boys playing at hurling ( a game like field hockey) on a Sunday were punished by being turned to stone. We had purchased a guidebook with a “map” of a walk in it but decided to scrap that and just do what we do best – wander.  Across the moor, past large cattle, horses, and sheep (and around the droppings of large cattle, horses and sheep.) Our goal:  a big hunk of rocks (tor) at the edge of a quarry.

The Cheesewring is a rock formation at the top of Stowe’s Hill.  It was a fabulous scramble up the front of a large hill to get to the rock formation and the views across the moor were breathtaking. We clambered down the rocks and headed into town to the Cheesewring pub – the highest pub in Cornwall, BTW – for a lovely pub lunch and a wander through the village before hitting the road again.

We were bound for Torquay – or rather a village just north of it and our route took us through Plymouth.  Being from Massachusetts and having learned all about Plymouth Rock, I was curious to see why people had fled from here.  Granted, it was unlikely that I would discover that particular item in the hour we spent walking around but I could see why others might want to flee: it’s a particularly ugly town.  To be fair, it’s not Plymouth’s fault as the city was pretty much devastated during the Blitz. Unfortunately, the large concrete blocks that were put up in the downtown to replace whatever was there are pretty horrendous.  One item did stand out though:  St. Andrew’s church, now a minster, looked very much like an ancient cathedral.  We wandered through the building and learned that it too had been devastated in the war.  The building
was bombed so that all that was left was the outside walls.  Yet the rubble got cleared and the congregation met for several years in “the garden church” where greenery was placed inside the roofless shell and worship continued nonetheless. It took more than a decade to replace the roof and get the building back in order but what  a magnificent job they have done.

Having gotten my stained glass fix for the day, we wandered to the Hoe – a green space on the edge of the harbor – and along the waterfront itself. It had turned into another lovely day:  high 60’s, sunny and breezy (as opposed to blustery). But we needed to find our new home so we were off to Maidencomb.  We sped along some fairly decent A roads until we needed to turn off and face another set of frighteningly narrow and twisty lanes.  We eventually found the flat up an unmarked road which looked like an opening in a hedge but once we got to the house at the top of the lane, we were rewarded with very friendly “landlords”, an adorable house dog, and a view that is nothing short of spectacular.

Another hour or so spent finding our way around the coast and stopping at the shop for supplies and we were ready to have another gourmet (read: heated up ready meals with some fresh veg) meal with a bottle of beaujolais overlooking the spectacular view.

Today’s numbers:

• Miles covered: ~175 miles
• MPG:  48 – best so far
• Beach towns cruised through: 7
• Steps: 14, 370 (6.7 miles)

Today started as days by the seaside should: with screaming bright sunshine.  The gale force winds were a bit of a detraction but after yesterday’s intermittent but persistent rain, we were not going to complain.  I was up earlier than Frank and so the running shoes went on and we were off on the country lanes.  I ran to the village of St. Erth and back.  Don’t ask how far that is cuz I don’t know.

Another round of bacon rolls and we were off to Penzance to do some washing.  No service washes because it was a bank holiday today but we stuffed a washer, grabbed a coffee and wandered about the town before drying things and doing a bit more exploring.  Clean clothes retrieved and fully caffeinated, we were off to Marazion to explore “the Mount” – St. Michael’s Mount – home of the Baron St Levan who still lives there.  To get to the Mount, you need to take a ferry or walk across the causeway when the tide is out.  We planned for the latter (along with ten thousand others) and wandered out to the island to explore the house.  It was really interesting to tour a house where the current lord and lady were still in residence.  One of the interesting things about the island, in fact the whole area, is the number of palm trees you see. Yup, palm trees.

Then back across the causeway to Marazion to find some lunch.  The pub I had read about on the GF lists wasn’t a good option as apparently the “chef had done a runner” according to the barman so we tried another pub, the Kings Arms, in town.  One of the days specials was moules frites which they said was gluten free (separate frier for the chips) so I enjoyed local mussels in a lovely garlicky sauce which totally made up for the fact that my frites were frozen.  Frank had scampi and chips – his were hand cut but my lunch was far better.  A quick stop for some Cornish fudge (tastes just like Scottish tablet) and we we hit the road.

To Land’s End – the most westerly point on the island.  We had dragged our hiking boots more than 4K miles and we were determined to use them.  The headland around Land’s End doesn’t look like anywhere I’ve been in England.  It is sparsely populated and almost completely devoid of trees. We parked at the visitor’s cen
ter and hit the coastal path to Sennen Cove – one of the popular local beaches.  The sky was a surreal blue, the ocean an unbelievable turquoise and the hillsides covered with incredible heather of a variety of colors.  The hike wasn’t that far but it covered a vast expanse of space into relentless winds over strikingly beautiful terrain.  And we got to the beach we had seen from above (see yesterday’s post:  you ALWAYS need to go down to get to the beach) with the Jamaica-blue water and took off the hiking boots to wander into the surf.

And it was UNBELIEVABLY COLD! Yet people were actually swimming down the beach from us.  Granted most of them were wearing wetsuits – when did boogie boards and wet suits become a thing? – but there were many who where just in their swim suits in frighteningly cold water.  We waded as long as we could stand and then it was back along to cliffs to head back to the flat for a quiet dinner and a soak in the tub.

Today’s numbers:

• Winery’s visited:  1. yes, England makes wine.  We bought some.  I’ll report back on that.
• Number of wetsuits spotted: upwards of too many.  It was crazy!
• Steps: 25,280 (10.89 miles) mostly up and down rock faces.
• Ounces of epsom salts used to soak away the soreness:  how big was that bag anyway?

Sometimes I fret over my lack of situational awareness.  I feel that if I somehow paid more attention, I would have realized when I booked this leg of the trip back in March that I was planning to spend the last bank holiday weekend of the summer at the seaside.  The American equivalent is unknowingly booking a trip to the Jersey Shore or the Delmarva peninsula on  Labor Day weekend.  It’s not necessarily a bad thing but it is definitely a crowded thing.

So we got a somewhat later start than we had planned but that didn’t seem to matter because when we awoke, it was raining.  And it kept raining.  So no early morning run through the Cornish countryside for me.  And no day at the beach either.  Oh well – that wasn’t plan A anyway.  We had a lovely cooked breakfast (BACON ROLLS with GF rolls that were actually good!) and then climbed in the car to find a coffee shop because we forgot to buy real coffee and we are too snobby to drink the instant in the flat.  We headed east to start our north coast tour at Tintagel Castle – an ancient stronghold where a castle was built by Richard, the Earl of Cornwall, the brother of Henry III over layers of other buildings and ruins dating back to the dark ages. It was supposedly the place where Uther Pendragon and Igraine conceived King Arthur.  Needless to say, there were Merlin, Arthur and Excalibur keich (or tchotchkes or crap) everywhere. But that didn’t matter because the scenery was amazing.

It stopped raining long enough for us to clamber all over the site of the ruins.  We climbed more stairs visiting this site than getting in and out of our flat in London.  The views of the sea are breathtaking – even in cloudy weather, the ruins are amazing, and there is a waterfall that runs down the rocks to the beach that is beautiful. 

Now down would be the operative word.  The cliffs of Cornwall are legendary and somewhat annoying.  Everything that is helpful (roads, shops, houses) are on very high ground and the beach is below.  Always.  We climbed lots of steps to get to the top of the mound where the castle used to be and then had to climb down and down more to get to the beach.  That would be the theme for the rest of the day.  Even after two hours of clambering up and down at the castle site, there was still a loooong hike back up the road to where the town center was.  (We could have ridden in the castle Land Rover for £2 each but seemed like cheating.)  There was an ice cream stand partway up the walk so we each got real Cornish dairy ice cream (apparently an important descriptor because it was heavily advertised everywhere!) Mine was butterscotch in a cup, Frank’s blackcurrant in a cone (his was much better than mine).  This would have to do to tide us over until lunch.

Lunch was to be something special albeit not actually near lunchtime.  We headed back south down the coast (along terrifyingly narrow B roads.  I’ll share the videos sometime.  Now I know why there is zero tolerance for drinking and driving here.) to Padstow.  It wouldn’t normally be on our radar as it is really just another adorable seaside town but for one thing: gluten free fish and chips.  And not just any fish and chips – but Rick Stein (apparently a celebrity chef here) has a chip shop that does dedicated GF fish – you pick which fish too! – in a separate frier and everything.  I got cod and chips and was beside myself.  Even though we didn’t get lunch until 3pm and we had to do take away and sit at the edge of a construction site on the harbor but that didn’t matter – it was the most fabulous fish supper I have ever had and I might actually include all the ones I had before I was diagnosed.  I enjoyed every salty, greasy mouthful and then needed to walk a bit to get it all to settle.

But walking was not a problem because like everywhere else in Cornwall, we needed to get from the car park to the harbor which meant parking up high and walking down.  Padstow is apparently quite the seaside attraction because this was the first place we really found all the bank holiday crowds – even though it had begun to rain again.  People wandered all over the harbor area and even sat outside the pubs in “beer gardens” with umbrellas up over their drinks at the picnic tables.  Apparently, nothing will ruin the last weekend at the seaside for the English.  I have never seen so many people in jumpers (read: sweaters) and rain jackets with shorts and sandals!  I was cold just looking at some of them. We did have a lovely time popping into various shops selling many of the same beach themed items you would find in Virginia Beach or the Outer Banks.  But you don’t have quite the same atmosphere:  town bands playing by the harbor and old school pubs with their Sunday roasts and walls of flowers.

Continuing down the coast we wandered through Watergate Bay to Newquay, the self-proclaimed surfing capital of Britain.  Don’t laugh – people here take it very seriously!  Every town has a surf shop complete with wet suit rentals and we have passed more Volkswagen buses here than I could possibly count – nearly all with surfboards strapped to the roof.  You see them all parked along the side of the road and then their owners walk down to the beach – always down! – and surf.  The seaside hotels have wet suits hanging out of windows the way beach towels hang off of balconies in Ocean City hotels.  It is really amazing!

But all the steering wheel gripping driving had gotten to Frank so it was time to head back.  All we needed to do was stop at the grocery store for a few supplies, like coffee and some fixings for dinner.  Except that it’s Sunday.  At 6pm.  And everything is closed.  So we found the Tesco Express on the high street in Penzance and grabbed some salad fixings and wine (of course!) and headed back to the flat, glad that we could have something for tea when we eventually got hungry. So we opened the wine and prepared for tomorrow’s adventure on the south coast.

Today’s numbers:

• 12,815 steps which Fitbit thinks of as footfalls but today translated to stair climbing.
• VW campers: nearly as many as the steps. 🙂
• People on surfboards in the ocean in the rain: dozens
• People in wetsuits in towns where there is surfing: dozens. (Maybe  there is a fashion trend of which I am unaware.)
• People who wish they had wellies today: at least one – me – as my jeans are now covered in mud.

Today we bid a fond farewell to London.  After a great night’s sleep, we woke to one of the only alarms we will set this trip so we could finish packing and pick up the rental car.  We bade goodbye to our fabulous flat, loaded the bags into the hired Ford Focus (an upgrade from the Fiesta we paid for apparently) and hit the road.  Our goal for the day was to head to the far southwest corner of the island – Penzance on the southern coast of Cornwall, the southern most county in England.  It would be 300 miles – about 2/3 of the trip on motorways – and take about 5 hours.

In case you were wondering, highway driving in England is just as boring as it is in most parts of the US.  We hit traffic outside Bristol which held us up for a good half hour.  We eventually made it to the end of the M5 outside Essex and stopped for a desperately needed bathroom break and lunch in Devon in a little village called Ide.  We found one of the two pubs in the village, the Huntsman Inn.  It was a typical village pub – the kind we mistakenly looked for in London – with low ceilings, exposed beams and a thatched roof.  More importantly, they had a fabulous menu with lots of things with GF marked on them!  I had a half pint of hand pulled cider (which I actually didn’t like very much) with my pan fried cod, spinach, and new potatoes.  Frank had a half of Doom Bar Cornish Ale (the kind Cormoran Strike drinks if you are a Robert Galbraith fan) with his gammon steak and chips.  The food was lovely and the atmosphere even more so – it was truly a village pub where locals gathered around us and discussed the 80’s night the pub had hosted the night before.  Apparently, the bar tender didn’t really do a good job with Spandau Ballet’s “True” and some of the old boys at the bar wanted him to know that.

And we were back on the road.  More horrific motorworks and delays on the A30 and then we were finally at our destination: Dune Cottage outside Penzance.  It’s really in the middle of nowhere but not too far from the town and at first I was disappointed because I didn’t remember that being the case.  But then we got a good look around and I recalled that the king size bed and double jacuzzi bathtub were probably why we decided that being in the center of town wasn’t crucial.  We dropped off the bags and did a tour of the area – including a stop at the local Sainsbury’s where we bought more groceries than I’m sure we’ll eat in three days (and lots of local beer and cider as well….)

And back to the cottage to cook a nice dinner – chicken with pesto and mozzarella wrapped in bacon, new potatoes and haricots verts, all inappropriately paired with a lovely Barolo.  An after dinner walk across the fields showed us a gorgeous sunset and we decided to call it a day with some tea and homemade “pavlovas” – meringues, rasperries and double cream somewhat artfully arranged in a bowl for about 30 seconds before being completely devoured.  Now for a good night’s sleep before we explore the northern coast of Cornwall in the morning.

Today’s numbers:

• Miles driven: ~340
• Litres of petrol used: 25 (by the 1000 cc, 3 cylinder engine)
• Minutes sitting in stupid traffic for roadworks on the last Bank holiday weekend of the year: 40
• Steps taken: 8,824 (about 3.8 miles which really isn’t bad considering we spent most of the day in the car).

Apparently the excess of food and drink did worse for our sleep than the fabulous company and conversation did for our souls because there was no 10+ hour kips for us.  I was lucky to manage about 5 hours before I gave up and went for a run. (Yes, that is a dumb cure for insomnia but that’s how my brain works.) Frank managed another hour or so of dozing before I woke him up buzzing to get back in from my saunter around Hyde Park.

We spent the usual stupidly long period of time with tea and coffee and yoghurt and muesli before bathing and heading out for our final day in London.  Since we are not strangers to the city and have done most of the major tourist attractions before, some multiple times, we wanted to do something not necessarily on Frommer’s list of top 10 things to do in London. So we headed east to see how many of London’s famed street markets we could do before collapsing.  (Astute travelers who know we are staying near Paddington will realize that this means that Portobello Road market was not on the agenda.  Bednobs and Broomsticks fan that I am, it wasn’t to be today.)

So we took the tube to Liverpool street where several of the markets are nearby.  Of course, it is the most confusing train station in the entire city and it took us 20 minutes to figure out how to get out of the maze of office parks and concrete “open space” and just get to a street where we could figure out where we are. Petticoat Lane and Spitalfields market were our targets but because they were just setting up for the day, we took a detour back into the heart of the City of London for one of my favorite tourist attractions: stained glass windows. I had read a blog post about the Guildhall and St. Lawrence Jewry and the window there and was surprised by what I found. The St. Lawrence Jewry was “re-built” by Sir Christopher Wren after the original building, which had stood for nearly 900 years, was burned down in 1666. This was one of 52 churches, including St. Paul’s, that he helped rebuild after the Great Fire. We were there as a quartet was rehearsing for a lunchtime concert so we got stained glass, chamber music, and a mosaics display by local artists.  Fabulous!

Across the square is the Guildhall where the business of the City of London has taken place for centuries.  The foundations of the building date back to 1411 and the Lord Mayor of the City of London (the one square mile that is the City not just the city) holds meetings and all business for the City is conducted there.  Each Lord Mayor is elected for a one year term and after they step down, their name is etched in one of the stain glass windows.  There are more than 800 names so far with room for more.  The chief of security for the building gave us an impromptu overview of the history of the building.  Well worth a stop if you are in the City.

Then it was time for the markets!  Lunch at a Greek restaurant in Spitalfields was lovely (GF marked all over the menu!) and then we wandered through the stalls.  This was traditionally a fruit and vegetable market but has now become a haven for trendier clothing items.  Frank found the leather satchel he’s been wanting since Jesse stole his favorite carryon bag.  For a mere £105, he got a great leather satchel, “hand made in Kilmarnock” from bison leather.  I’ll make sure to find those Ayrshire bison when I next visit!  Then down the road to Petticoat Lane which is actually on Middlesex Road.  The name of the road changed but not the name of the market.  This is the textile area of the city and every other store is filled with reams and reams of fabric.  The market is at its height on Sundays but I still scored a top quality black embroidered jacket for £2 pound! A quick wander through Leadenhall Market for old time’s sake and we were back on the tube.

Still not marketed out, we headed up north the the mother of all street markets: Camden Locks. I had been there before but apparently hadn’t seen a fraction of the place.  I’m still not sure I have.  This place is sort of like Canal Street meets Carnaby Street – lots of cheap knockoffs among international food stands with goth and punk attire all around.  It’s based around the the locks on the Regents Canal and this afternoon being the Friday before a bank holiday weekend, the place was jumping.  I found some lovely earrings and matching necklace and we grabbed a few drinks and had a breather before heading out for the evening’s entertainment:  the theater!

So back to the west end we went.  We had a lovely meal at Jackson and Rye just off Shaftesbury Avenue and, having a window seat, were treated to a teaming sea of humanity that was nearly the entertainment highlight of the day.  But we had tickets to see a showing of “The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night” which did eventually triumph.  I loved the book and was really excited to see how they staged it as a play.  And I was not disappointed.  (Jesse, I challenge you to read the book and then I will buy you a ticket to see the show on Broadway.  I’m dying to hear your take on the set.)

Then we herded back onto the Underground and back to the flat.  I used to think that the tube at rush hour was the most crowded place on the planet. Now I think it’s the Leicester Square platform for the Piccadilly Line after the theater lets out.

Today’s numbers:

• Outdoor markets visited: 4
• Local brews sampled (Frank): 2
• Miles run (San): enough
• Steps: 21, 577 (9.29 miles)

And tomorrow, we head south west!

Believe it or not, we managed to sleep all the way until nearly 8am today!  For Frank, that was about 12 hours of sleep which is actually way longer than I could have possibly imagined.  We had a lovely, leisurely morning that involved tea, toast, yoga, and avoiding the rain.  Once stretched, fed, and bathed we were off on our first real day of holiday.

We started with a trip down memory lane.  Tube trip from Paddington to Holborn and a walk down the Kingsway brought us to the LSE where I once studied.  That’s why I was in London at the time I met my now wonderful hubby.  We wandered past the Olde Curiosity Shoppe which has been there since Dickens wrote about it and which I remembered fondly from my time 20+ years ago.  And then I turned around to view the campus and recognized…. nothing.  Funny how time changes so many things. I wondered at one point whether I should try to find some of the professors I had all those years ago.  But when I saw the changes that had occured in the intervening years, I realized that I wouldn’t be able to find them if I wanted to.  And so it goes…

So then we’re off to the London Film Museum where they were exhibiting the largest collection of official Bond vehicles anywhere.  It was very fun wandering
around the Aston Martin, Lotus, Jaguar, helicopter, tuk-tuk taxi and other 007 vehicles.  We might even have gotten our photo taken… 🙂

Another grip of nostalgia saw us on the tube to northern London to go visit Stamford Hill where I used to live.  We made it all the way to the Manor House tube station and realized that there wasn’t much reason to go look at a flat I hadn’t thought of for more than a decade so we wandered south through Finsbury Park and hopped on the tube to Hyde Park station to grab some lunch.

Which turned out to be more difficult that we would have thought.  We ended up wandering through Knightsbridge to Sloane Street where we found the only pub (at least that’s what it said over the door) and had a nice meal as we watched stupidly rich people walk and drive by.  It was amazing to see that at one stop light, there were SEVEN Mercedes in a row.  Common as dirt apparently…. 🙂

The afternoon’s entertainment was a tour of the state rooms at Buckingham Palace.  The palace is open to the public for about 5 weeks a year and so off we went to see where the state dinners, formal investitures, and other gala events take place.  (John Nash went a little ga-ga with the gilt if you ask me.)  No photos were allowed inside but we did experiment with a selfie on the lawn where the garden parties take place. We then wandered back through Knightsbridge to Kensington where we found…. a Whole Foods!  I thought the Five Guys in Covent Garden was bad enough but there is apparently no limit to encroachment of Americanism in all price ranges.

And finally back up through Notting Hill and the tube back to Paddington.  It was time to prepare for the main event of the day:  dinner with Dominic!    I have known Dominic since we both suffered through Monetary Economics together at the LSE many moons ago.  I will swear that he got me through the course and I believe he would say the same about me.  We have been in intermittent contact over the years starting when he was at the Bank of England and I was first at the Board. We’ve had the chance to meet in person only a few times (once, twice?) over the years but I knew he still lived in London and was looking forward to seeing him and finally meeting his wife, Emanuela, and he was going to meet Frank for the first time (even though we got engaged while I was at the LSE).

So when we were arranging to meet while we were here, we discovered that the flat we had rented months ago was directly across the street from where he lived. Okay, statisticians, get out your pencils. What are the odds that out of all the rental properties in all of London that we’d wind up directly across the street from the only person I knew living in London?  (If you want to get really small numbers, factor in the odds of me and Emanuela both being Celiac.) We gathered for drinks in their lovely flat and then headed out for a fabulous meal and lovely conversation.  I am thrilled to have been able to spend time with them and can’t wait until I can hold them to their (drunken?) promise to visit us in Kansas City.

And so our first full day (read: stayed awake past 8pm) is now done.

Today’s numbers:

• Models of exotic cars in the Film Museum: 2
• Models of exotic cars in the parking lot of the Wellesley Hotel in Knightsbridge: 3
• Number of steps today: 25,359 (or 10.92 miles)
• Number of hours of sleep needed to recuperate from today: at least 10.

We have made it through the toughest part of the trip: changing from American to UK time.  No matter how prepared you think you are, it’s never easy to leave the US at 9 pm and arrive in the UK six hours later at 9 am.  No matter how well you plan, you can’t really sleep on the plane.  Or at least I can’t.  I’ve tried benedryl, melatonin, and massive doses of alcohol – sometimes all at the same time! – and at most I can grab about 2 hours of shut eye.  This time, I don’t think I managed 2 minutes.  But I’m starting in the middle…

We had lots of firsts already on this trip.  First time we’ve used Uber to get to the airport, for example.  Worked wonderfully.  First time being to KCI 2 hours before a flight.  Completely unnecessary. First time flying international from KC. Nearly unheard of.  We have joked for the entire year that we’ve been here that we weren’t sure why the KC airport had the “international” designation.  Well I can attest that there is at least one flight that goes to another country because I took the flight from MCI-YYZ (insert Rush joke here) as the first leg of our journey was an Air Canada flight to Toronto.  There we changed planes to a jumbo jet from Toronto to London.  Completely booked – in fact, overbooked. Brand new plane which meant unbelievably uncomfortable. But we tried our best, drank much, and put on the neck pillow and eye shade.  Alas, sleep would not come.  I managed to watch half of the new Avengers movie (not even Robert Downey Jr. and Chris Helmsworth made it worth watching the whole thing!) before switching to Moneyball – which I had never seen nor cared about before becoming a Royals fan – and Big Hero 6 which both of my kids had recommended and which I thoroughly enjoyed.  Unfortunately, all the cinematic indulgences were due to the fact that I could not sleep!

So we landed at Heathrow an hour late at 9:30, whisked through customs and immigration, hopped on the Heathrow Express to downtown and arrived at our rented flat at 11 am (or 6 EDT/5CDT).  We’ve now been up for about 24 hours but Rob, the flat owner, was lovely to let us in early and show us how everything works.  We dropped off the bags and set out to not be dumb.

There are differing schools of thought on how to handle time changes and jet lag.  The approach that has served me well over the years is to NOT go to sleep when you get to Europe/UK and tough it through until about 8pm when you will crash hard and sleep soundly until something that looks like a normal wake up time for the locals.  This means that the first day pretty much sucks but you should be set for the rest of the trip. (Note:  I have not had the opportunity to travel more than 8 hours off my normal time zone so I cannot speak to the efficacy of this strategy for longer trips.) We refer to this day as “the 24 hours of stupidity” where one can do one’s best to have fun but under no circumstances should important decisions or large purchases be made because one is not really all there.

The plan for the day was to find some shops to purchase essentials and then find some lunch.  After that, the only agenda item was something like “don’t be stupid”. We walked endlessly looking for a real grocery store, forgetting momentarily that we were in the middle of the tourist heart of a metropolis and were lucky to find well stocked mini-markets.  We also needed to find a good size Boots (drug store) as we had opted to not pack any personal hygiene products and purchase everything here.  This plan I credit with helping keep our packed cases at around 37 pounds each leaving 12.5 pounds leeway for bringing back additional stuff without paying the overweight baggage penalty that kicks in at 50 pounds.

Purchases secured and delivered, we set off for lunch.  And the skies opened up.  It had been raining off and on since we had arrived and we were suitably prepared with rain jackets but the steady deluge proved too much for our thin nylon coverups and by the time we had found a suitable eatery, we were pretty well soaked.  On this occasion, as has happened on others, we nearly made the mistake of looking for the “perfect” first meal on our holiday.  This mythical event usually reeks of nostalgia or some imagined triumphant dining experience.  And during the “24 hours”, this imagined perfection tends to the absurd.  I am chagrined to admit that we have traipsed all over foreign capitals looking for “the lunch to launch the holiday”, only to have sleep deprived temperaments and growling stomachs lead us to the local sandwich shop or fast food establishment because everything else had closed.

However, experience has been a good, albeit strict, teacher and we managed to find an acceptable pub to have a jacket potato and toasted sandwich along with pints of cider and hand pulled ales while we dried off a bit from the wandering. And then we realized we had completely exhausted the planned itinerary for the day.  And it was only 2pm.  And we needed to stay awake for another 6 hours at least.  And it was still raining. {sigh}

So we set ourselves a quest: find the collectable car shop that used to be somewhere in the west end by Trafalgar Square or it was the last time we were here together 7 years ago. And we were off.  To the extent that we could, we relied on (utterly untrustworthy) memories from more than 20 years ago to work our way through the densely populated sidewalks through tourist havens to try to find a shop that Frank loved years ago but hadn’t been to since 2007. How hard could it be in our state?

If not easier, it would have been a far more pleasant journey if not for the rain.  We don’t mind rain generally – especially the drizzle that is usually the norm in Scotland – but this was generally steady with periods of torrential downpours. We were soaked and trying hard not to snipe at each other.  So we made pitstops.  Like at Hamley’s on Regent Street, the most amazing toy store bar none (and yes, I’ve been to FAO Schwartz).  Funny, we had no problem finding it from memory.  And we wandered around several of the 5 floors of toys and sweets and let our clothes slowly dry.

Then we made the final push to the model shop which we *knew* was in St. Martins Lane by the English National Opera company. But which wasn’t there. Memories searched, street scoured.  Yet the shop that we both vividly recalled being “right there” was no more.  So we dodged more rain in a local cafe with a cup of tea (and free wifi) and were able to find the new location around the corner from the old one.  Score one for Google! But of course, journey stories are about the quest and not the outcome and the particular model that Frank was hoping to find was not, in fact, to be found.  But we had fulfilled our quest and stayed awake without causing bodily harm to each other or innocent bystanders and so it was time to hop on the Tube and head back to the flat for an early night.

(And I mean early. It is 7:30 pm local time as I write this and Frank is already asleep. But in his defense, he’s been up for 30 hours already.) But we’ve both soaked in a warm bath, enjoyed England’s second national dish – curry take away – and have broken into the bottle of duty free Grey Goose that we picked up in Toronto so the evening itself has been fulfilling.  So I’ll finish my cup of tea and say goodnight.  There will be lots more to report on tomorrow.  I think it will involve rain.

Today’s numbers:

• Hours slept: ~ 0
• Steps to be climbed from the street to our holiday flat: 95 (and those are actual stairs, not the number of times your foot hits the ground.
• Step count on the fitbit: 21,596 (of which I am dubious because it’s not clear how the time change is handled.  But my dogs are tired.)