Rooms with a View...a Tale of 3 Rivers, part 1

Rooms with a View….A Tale of 3 Rivers

Il pleut.  Giving me incentive to stay inside and write.

We’ve been on the lam for over 2 weeks with another to go.

Tip:  Stay at least 2 weeks if you leave the country, lest you spend

most of your trip in dire jet lag.

Our first river is actually a canal, which should count.  It even

has locks.  Canal Saint Martin, hip and edgy, though Skip answers

“thugs” in response to my comment.  Ce ne pas vrai.  Kids abound.

Everyone seems to be on bicycles or driving remote control

sailboats on the water in the late afternoon sun.

boat lock Canal St. Martin
The #4 hotel in Paris on Trip Advisor, Le Citizen is aptly named for its power

to the people atmosphere and its emphasis on the environment

and the arts.  It passes for reasonably priced in Paris and overwhelms

you with service.  Your very own loaner Ipad is loaded with information

which I wish I’d paid more attention to.  A free mini-bar, an oxymoron,

with perhaps madelines or quelquechose baked in-house, drinks in the

little fridge.  Did I mention a real breakfast and happy hour?

Free calls everywhere, a big help after Skip was pickpocketed

on the Metro.  We let our guard down momentarily, forgetting that such

a helpful boy might have a motive when we were hauling luggage.

We thanked him merrily, but Skip’s inch-thick wallet was an easy score.

He’s collected the contents for years, so let’s hope it’s only credit cards,

cash, and driver’s license. 

Tip:  never carry anything in a back pocket unless it’s a mousetrap.

 

The Eurostar to London was a pleasure all by itself.  I was so happy, I

forgot to freak out during the 20 minutes under the English Channel.

A little over 2 hours from Paris to London.

I’d thought that London was the most expensive city for tourists, at least in

Europe.  Its hotels are up there in price, but it’s a mere #15, behind NYC and

Paris in an online survey.  I reserved a whole bunch of rooms,

upgrading us as I went.  I hope very much that I cancelled all but one,

our room with an expansive view of the Thames, journey’s river #2.

We loved staring at all the river activity, barges and bridges.  We also walked

up and down the river, our center for the trip.

The London Eye, on the Thames

Travel tip:  get a tiny little Fitbit if you want the easiest pedometer imaginable.

I gloat over my beaucoup de steps, once over 20,000 in a day.   It may help

override a few of the calories I am consuming.   Croissants, pan chocolat, Bertillon ice

cream, eclairs, little custards, flan, and meringues.  An ile flotante for dessert today.

 

London highlight:  a long-awaited reunion with my friend Yvonne and her husband

Chris.  I’d last seen her in the 60s and re-found her via a daughter on Facebook.

Yvonne was born in Singapore or Malay/sia and was sent to boarding school in

England at age 7, raised more or less by the nuns.  We met in summer at Las Arenas

on Spain’s north coast.  She was a beam of light for me.  I was a “Miss” (English teacher)

and then a substitute nanny when the real one quit in a huff.  It was a seriously

dysfunctional household, the Marquesa mother barely putting up with or seeing her children.

The rich can be at risk.  My cinematic lowlight was sitting in a park while the kids

played, knitting to pass time.  The other nannies gathered in a buzzing circle, talking about

me, until one approached and described my sin:  knitting on Sunday.

I grabbed the kids and got out of dodge before the stoning could begin.

Back to the reunion, Yvonne and Chris took us to La Casa Brindisa, an authentic

Spanish restaurant in Kensington.  We had every tapa imaginable from octopus

and calamares to tortilla de patata and cheeses.  When Skip’s sherry ended up

on my lap (I smelled lovely all day) another appeared by magic.

Our next stop was the unique Victoria and Albert Museum, an enormous and marvelous

place.  We had the most unusual tour imaginable.  You first had to sign your life away,

swearing you suffered no vertigo nor claustrophobia.  I lied. 

7 of us climbed into a wall, ascending a tiny winding staircase that went up and up and up

to a small room with a giant prism which collected data and showed it in color lines and

patterns.  I was busy in the corner surreptitiously using my inhaler, but off we went again

to the very rooftop and a dramatic view of London.  I felt so successful.

The following day we visited the National Portrait Gallery for an exhibit depicting the Queen

during her long reign.   Jolly good as we Brits like to say.  She loves to encourage the arts

 and seems to have no ego when it comes to her portrayals.  If you’ve not seen Julien Freud’s

 image, yikes.  I would have beheaded him on the spot.

We also visited Tate Modern, mostly a disappointment.  Paying for the Munsch show can

best be termed  big mistake.  It was a real downer, even without The Scream, MIA from the show,

apparently safe in Norway

I spent too long in the gift shop.  I emerged to the main hall of this drab former power building to

find Skip flushed pink and deep in conversation with a young woman who was practically sitting

on his lap.  Hmmm.  I stood awhile, taking photos as evidence.  Finally joining them, the

woman ignored me (as did Skip), continuing her intense monologue. It turned out this was

performance art and she was Skip’s second suitor.  I can’t leave him alone for a minute.