A Bonus Central London Layover--and How We Used It!

Strolling Through Central London--From Piccadilly to South Kensington.

            Going on a safari to Africa was on Llew’s Bucket List and after years of talking about it and planning, we were off and away in the company of some of our closest friends. It was an adventure that we anticipated with feverish excitement.

Wednesday, July 1, 2015: New York-London

            Thanks to out attempts to juggle air routes with the idea of gaining the most reasonably-priced fares, we flew out on Virgin Atlantic Airlines out of Kennedy airport at 9. 30 pm after going the usual convoluted route by taxi to the Metro-North train station and NYC Airporter Bus to Kennedy. We gave ourselves ample time and arrived, san stress, on schedule. A smooth check-in ensured that we were in our seats on time. But for the fact that the traffic assistant informed us incorrectly that our flight was indefinitely delayed (which was a false alarm), all went well. We ate a fairly decent dinner at 8.00 pm at Wild Buffalo Wings—a sampler that included said wings plus onion rings, mozzarella sticks and loaded nachos—a true greasy spoon standard! Not surprisingly, we barely hit our seats to discover that the flight was 50%  light. As soon as the Fasten Seatbelts signs were switched off, we raced to the back of the aircraft to bag the four-seater middle aisle seats and with Llew claiming one such set and me the other, we slept horizontally all night long.

 Thursday, July 2, 2015: London:

            It was not surprising, therefore, that we arrived at London’s Heathrow airport at 9. 30 am fresh as daisies after a picture perfect entry into the city. For our aircraft flew directly over Central London which allowed me to snap pictures of some of its most note-worthy structures from the Millennium Dome at Greenwich to The London Eye, from the Gherkin to the Houses of Parliament! I could not have been happier! Indeed flying over London is an experience I never tire of and each time I manage to see the city in a new light—again literally for I have arrived at various times of day and night.

We cleared Immigration and Baggage Claim by 10.45, made our way to the Piccadilly Line Tube station, spent a while getting our Oyster Cards topped up and then we were off. In an hour, we were at Green Park and, on cue, crossed Piccadilly to get to Fortnum and Mason, the gourmet specialty food store where we had made plans to meet our friend Bash at 11. 30. It was 12 noon exactly by the time we arrived inside the plush store that was in the midst of its 50% summer sale—Bash turned up a good 20 minutes later by which time I had sussed the joint to find that despite the sale, prices were still not too attractive. Perhaps by the time we return to London, they will be slashed some more and we shall be the proud possessors of bargains.

            A wonderful reunion with Bash followed a decision to leave the store and walk into full glorious sunshine on a day when the temperature was simply perfect. London had been reeling under  a massive heat wave which, thankfully, had abated by the time we arrived. We could not have asked for more perfect walking weather—and so we decided to take a walking tour of the area from say Piccadilly to Kensington. Llew was returning to London for an extended stay after a long while. He was happy and excited to be in the midst of back cabs and red double deckers and his energy seemed boundless—having slept the entire night away on a red eye flight was a huge bonus.

A Walking Tour of Central London:

            This past January, on a short trip to London, I had managed to pick up a reprinted edition of a classic London architectural guide by Ian Nairn called Nairn’s London. Nairn’s is considered the last word on London’s structures and with his observant eye and wicked sense of humor, he brings whole new nuances to one’s perceptions of T’Smoke’s well-loved buildings. So, it was with eagerness that I asked my companions, Llew and Bash, if they were up for an architectural walking tour of this small pocket of London that goes from Piccadilly Circus to South Kensington’s Little France—and hooray, they were also eager beavers!

Skirting the Royal Academy of Art:

We started off across the street at the Royal Academy of Art where a large installation filled the main courtyard. Entitled Inflated Star and Wooden Star, it is a massive piece of aluminum and teakwood by one of the most important contemporary American sculptors, Frank Stella. We encircled it, took a few pictures by the sculpture of Lord Burlington in whose grand private London home the Royal Academy of founded and is based.

Special Exhibition on Magna Carta:    

            We were then invited to a special exhibition held by the Royal Society of Antiquarians on the 800^th birthday of Magna Carta—one of the most important and significant documents in the world and the father of all legal writs. Inside, is a very solemn room that is filled with Plantaganet and Tudor portraits as well as furniture occupied by the office bearers of the Royal Academy at their meetings. We watched a short 7 minute film, then adjourned to the adjoining room to actually inspect the three copies of Magna Carta that were derived from the original. They were all very interesting to see and we were thrilled to be part of the exciting document that has continued to make its mark since 1215 when the barons forced King John to sign the agreement that limited his powers and made him accountable at Runnymede. We spent about half an hour there and then stepped next door.

The Burlington Arcade and the Piccadilly Arcade:

It always amazes me that sometimes people spend their entire lives in a fascinating city and know so little about its history or architecture—because we tend to take for granted those very aspects of our own environment that tourists flock from all over the world to see. This was the case with Bash who has been a Londoner all his life but had never entered or seen London’s famous arcades. There are three and they are all clustered in Piccadilly—the third is the Royal Arcade. These ‘arcades’ are covered corridors lined with upscale shops offering enticing and expensive merchandise in an atmosphere of quiet class. They were constructed in the 18^th centuries when London’s ladies, flush with cash earned by their hard-working fathers or husbands, came out unabashedly to spend it. Shopping then was a social activity and the ladies wore their finest clothing to parade in these arcades as they inspected the goods, regardless of the vagaries of the weather—for they came to see and be seen. Today, the two arcades that are bang across Piccadilly from one another can be admired for their interesting architectural features, their beautiful tall bow fronted glass windows and the stained glass domed ceilings that let in abundant light no matter the weather.

A Quick Prowl Through Green Park:

            Our next port of call was Green Park just across the street—on a day that was so glorious and with lunch time tummies beckoning, it was not surprising that scores of Londoners had left their offices to lounge on the famed green striped easy chairs on the grass as they munched their cheddar and Branston pickle sandwiches! We walked a little in the park before crossing the street again to get into Half Moon Street:

Shepherd’s Market—a Little London Village Gem:

            Half Moon Street leads to the Third Church of Christ Scientist, a beautiful Neo-Classical structure at the junction of picturesquely named Half Moon Street and Curzon Street. It is here that the stroller will find an arch—you always feel the need to bend your head to enter the alley created by the arch. Over on the other side of it, you are in a part of London that is seeing better days after having served, during the 18^th century, as the haunt of the ladies of the night. Today, it is hub of pubs, restaurants and specialty food stores so attractive that they are filled with office-goers tucking into pie and mash or pizza. We were hungry just watching them enjoy their food and began to think seriously about getting a bite ourselves as it was past 1.00 pm by the time.

 On to Hyde Park Corner and Apsley House:

            But, we decided to press on and make Knightsbridge the stop for a well-deserved lunch break. And so we returned to Piccadilly and the stop where it meets the Hard Rock Café—where Wellington’s Arch and the home that he was gifted by a grateful nation, simply known as No. 1 London aka Apsley House today stands. We did appreciate the fine architectural lines of these structures, aided and abetted by Ian Nairn, and then continued on briskly towards Harrods.

Lunch at EAT at Knightsbridge:

            Passing by the gates of Hyde Park, we arrived at “Harvey Nicks”, as the department store of Harvey Nichols is known colloquially and then there we were staring the grand Edwardian structure of Harrods in the face. The idea was to survey the merchandise on sale—but with too many tummies rumbling, lunch became the main priority. We crossed the street and settled down to hearty comfort food—chicken and mushroom pie with mash and gravy for the guys and a delicious sweet potato and chilli soup for me—flavorful and very inexpensive.

Hitting Harrods:

Well boosted by our meal, we entered Harrods, always a joy no matter the time of year. Alas, there were no bargains to be had despite the summer sale—at least not the kind I wanted. After spending about a half hour there and using the restrooms, we made our way out and resolved to return on the second leg of our stay in London, two weeks from now.

Tea at Little Paris at "South Ken":

            All that was left then, since we still had two whole hours to kill before we needed to board a Tube to get back to Heathrow, was to stroll idly towards Albertopolis—as the region that accommodates some of London’s most-famous museums is known—thanks to Prince Albert, Queen Victoria’s consort, who devised and created it. With the Alexander McQueen exhibition entitled ‘Savage Beauty’ going on in full swing at the Victoria and Albert Museum, Llew (who had missed it in New York, unlike moi), decided to see it upon our return in two weeks’ time.

            We then headed towards the Tube station which is known as Little Paris at South Kensington or South Ken as this area is known—because this is where London’s tres chic expatriate French population has congregated. We passed by a number of coffee shops and tea rooms all churning out a mouthwatering array of French patisserie and since we urgently needed to rest our feet after our long wander, we settled down at Le Pain Quotidien and ordered a pot of tea for the chaps, hot chocolate for me, together with almond croissants and a chocolate tart that was simply scrumptious. All the time, we had the chance to catch up with Bash and to take in all the news about the recent goings-on in his life. We will be spending the day with him again very soon and as we sipped our tea and munched our goodies, we were able to observe the beautiful people pass by on the street their hands filled with iced tea or cups of gelato—for London’s summer is brief and its delights are grabbed with both hands—literally!

 Return to Heathrow:

            Bash got into the Tube with us by 6.00 pm and exactly an hour later, about 20 minutes after he hopped off at his stop, we arrived at Heathrow’s Terminal 3--where I retrieved the strolley back pack that I had stored in the Left Luggage Locker in the morning (10 pounds for 1 item for the first 5 hours) and then we were off to our gate to look for our onward flight to Johannesburg.

            Our day in London had been ‘brilliant’ to use a common British-ism! We felt that we had made the most of it—we had enjoyed its architecture and its history, partaken of its gastronomic offerings, caught up with a dear friend, and, in the process, prepared ourselves for the next lap of our holiday.

            Once again, we lucked out for when we boarded our flight from Heathrow to Johannesburg in South Africa, we found it also half full. This allowed us to stretch once again on 4-seaters and spend the night away horizontal and able to fully enjoy a good night’s sleep. When dinner was done, we dimmed lights (I had finished watching Gone Girl on the in-flight screen) and then we were out like a light.

 

       Tomorrow, I shall be reporting from Africa-- do stand by for my next bulletin! Until then, cheerio!

 

 

London for Walkers: Central and Ethnic (Piccadilly and Brixton)

Wednesday, July 17, 2013:

London

Exploring Central and Ethnic London:

Live and Learn. If that’s what Life is all about, I am glad I learned about “Ten at Ten”. For I was at the Noel Coward Theater at 9.3 0 am (having woken at 6.00 am, done some editing work on my computer, washed, dressed, attended Mass at 8.00 am at St. Paul’s, breakfasted and taken the Tube to Leicestter Square). There were about 15 early birds in the queue ahead of me to pick up Ten Pound “Day” Tickets—and the wait turned out to be longer than expected as the Box Office only opened at 10. 30 am; but the final reward was sweet for I snagged a ticket to see Daniel (Harry Potter) Radcliffe in The Cripple of Innishmaan for 10 pounds. I mean where could I possibly see world-class drama for $15 in The Big Apple? Not even Off  Off  Off  Broadway! Thrilled with my buy, I took the Tube again to Piccadilly Circle to begin a Walking Tour of Piccadilly and St. James. And by the way, by the time I reached the end of the day, I had walked 14,600 steps or 6.8 miles (a record even for me).

In the Court of St. James at Piccadilly:

            The reason why each of these DK Eye Witness Walks is taking me two and even three installments to complete is because there are too many distractions everywhere to cause me to get side-tracked. I began at Piccadilly Circus (as recommended) at the Sculpture of Eros that dominates the crazy traffic circle that, at the best of times, is always choked with tourists and, in the night, is a gaudy, vivid, ever-changing neon show of lights. In the daytime, it is less lurid but just as crazy. Crossing towards Air Street whose giant arches have been recommended as architectural features to note in City Secrets London, I chanced upon the Nespresso flagship store on Regent Street—so I could not resist going in to find out about their seriously upscale coffee. What I did find were freshly-brewed samples doled out at a Tasting Table in tiny Alice In Wonderland glass cups complete with biscuits! I requested a Mocha Macchiato—and how good it tasted although hot--I could have done better with an iced coffee on a morning that was already sizzling. But just across the street, Whittards was doling out White Chocolate Milk Shake samples, so very welcome on a gruesomely hot morning.

            Across the street, I entered Piccadilly and turned into Jermyn Street to peruse the colorful old windows of male clothiers—there were shoe makers and shirt makers and every sort of shop a man might consider entering to outfit himself adequately for a corporate career in London.
      I could not resist entering Waterstone's at Piccadilly, a book store that City Secrets London recommends every one should visit. It is a wonderfully huge space--it was once the location of Simpson's, the famed restaurant that has moved close to the Savoy Hotel and is now called Simpsons-In-The-Strand. I browsed through the London travel book section and was alwasy astounded by the new ones that come out each year. Downstairs in the basement cafe, I was able to retrieve email through the free wifi and upstairs, after I  took the lift (with its Smarties-like buttons to the fifth floor), I entered the famed bar--with its rooftop views over London. Alas, too much construction in recent years has all but obligterated the views of the spires of the Houses of Parliament and Big Ben; but it is still a fairly decent space in which to pass an hour or two with a cocktail and a fine companion. 
           Then I was entering the lovely church yard of St. James’—the exquisite church that Christopher Wren picked out as his own best work in London. Its spire stands like a sentinel in the midst of Mammon’s world—for Piccadilly boasts some of the smartest store fronts with merchandize in which only the heavily-walleted can indulge. I ought to have gone straight inside; but, as I explained, London presents distractions at every turn and since I am here for a month (and not just a day as I was while on our Baltic Cruise), I can afford to linger. So, I set the grand stores behind and poked about in the impromptu market that springs up frequently in front of the church entrance featuring everything from London pub signs and football insignia to vintage cufflinks, ear-rinks and porcelain bric a brac. Thankfully nothing caught my fancy, so I moved on.   

            Inside St. James’ Church I stepped, into the cool interiors punctuated by the work of one of my favorite 18^th century artisans, the lyrically named Grindling Gibbons—I have become adroit at recognizing his work at all the prestigious venues: Hampton Court, for instance, where a three-year old boy once enthusiastically described his work as “Rich Carvings, Daddy, Rich Carvings”. At St. James’ Church, Gibbons’ work is evident in two very different media: in wood (his forte) behind the altar where a thick skein of fruits, flowers, bows and garlands are an exuberant example of his vision (and above the grand organ where twin angels sit brooding over the congregation) and in stone: the Baptismal font at which no less a luminary than William Blake was baptized, is in stone featuring a circular frieze of Adam and Eve.

          Unfortunately, I missed the free concert that would be beginning in half an hour (piano and vocals--I would have loved it), and people had already begun to take their places in front of the grand piano placed at the altar; but I had a lunch date with my colleague and friend and I did not want  to keep her waiting.

            With half an hour on my hands, I popped inside Fortnum and Mason, purveyor of fine British food and drink. It is a place with a long and antiquated history having been founded in the 1700s by one of the footmen of Queen Anne—what an enterprising fellow! It is the best place in the world to buy typically English food such as lemon curd and Major Grey’s piquant mango chutney, crispy shortbread fingers, teas from around the planet and confections such as Turkish Delight. Over the years, I have bought a fair share of unusual trinkets that are regular conversation pieces chez Almeida: cheese markers, individual mug tea strainers that look like top hats, tea infusers in the shape of houses, tea cozies featuring the twin clock logos of the shop. I covet, right now, a little silver plated tea scoop with which to transfer loose tea leaves into the infuser and perhaps I shall pick up one before I leave. At any rate, I was there on a mission: to find some gifts for the many hosts who have so willingly and generously lent me their lodgings for my London stay. Since I was arriving in London from a long cruise, I could not carry gifts for them from the US—so F&M will fit the bill. I browsed around, long and hard, and came up with a bunch of nice buys. The nice assistant at the counter told me that they do not have a Waiting Service Area like John Lewis but he would make an exception and stash my stuff for a couple of hours. I was very grateful.         

            Then off I went to Green Park station to take the Victoria line to Brixton to meet my colleague Ifeona.

Browsing Around Brixton:

            I had long known that Brixton was a West Indian stronghold; so what better an escort to show me around the place that a West Indian herself. For my colleague Ifeona who teaches with me at NYU-New York, was born in Jamaica and arrived in London at the age of three. She grew up around Finchley but knows Brixton well from having accompanied her folks on many marketing visits to the area while growing up. Having also done some research on the area and having led her students on a walking tour herself, a few years ago, she was the perfect companion with which to take such a tour. And since I am a sucker for walking tours with a knowledgeable guide, I knew I would enjoy it thoroughly.

Ifeona was waiting for me outside the station when I arrived on the stroke on 1. 30 pm as decided. We started our walk and decided to have lunch upon its conclusion—she, of course, knew the perfect place. We started on the High Street, Brixton Road, where all the major clothing department stores might be found—M&S, Zara, Monsoon, etc. Taking in the splendor of the Victorian buildings that occupy the most strategic spots on the High Street (the Town Hall with its ubiquitous Clock Tower--an important amenity in a time when most people could not afford their own time piece), the “Free Public Library”, the Church--we arrived at the Metropolitan Police Station, scene of so much violence, over the years, between the inhabitants of the area and the police—for Brixton had always been multi-racial, so although race-relations were not much of an issue, encounters with the police always were. Memorials to those killed by the police over the years sit outside the police station around a tree where plastic flowers, candles, poems, etc. have been left to the departed—mostly young black men gunned down in confrontations with the law.

Into a side street we went, past the typical Victorian terraced housing that sprang up like mushrooms to accommodate the then white servants of London’s wealthy neighborhoods—they were double-storied and, after World War II, attracted the black West Indian immigrants who poured in from the Caribbean Islands. Although initially they rented these premises, in course of time, these immigrants bought up these homes—only to sell them by the 1980s when white Britons discovered the proximity of the area to the city center—Brixton is only 20 minutes on the Tube to Piccadilly! In doing so, they moved further into the suburbs and disinherited their children. Today, young blacks could never dream of buying property in Brixton where even the most modest single family homes would cost nothing less than 750,000 pounds.

   On the next road (Effra Road), we passed by a notorious family housing estate—Council owned—that looked almost prison-like to me with its high walls and small windows. Ifeona explained that Councils are trying hard to raze such properties to the ground—which often means displacement of the residents who are driven far away into the suburbs. Cake shops carried custom-made cakes featuring Snow White and her Castle and Cinderella’s glass slipper—an indication perhaps of white fairly-tale dreams?

Further on we went to take in the sight of a gigantic mural on a building wall, Crated in 1981 as a protest against nuclear armament, it is called Nuclear Dreams—it presents London before the construction of the London Eye, so the skyline is different. We pressed on to the corner to what used to be the famed Atlantic Pub—re-named today to the One Star Pub. Atlantic had a better ring to it and more significance for it was the watering hole of the working class who had made their diasporic way to the UK across the Atlantic Ocean. It sits opposite butchers that sell goat meat and grocery stores stocked with spices and herbs that form an essential part of Caribbean cuisine. There were also a few clothing boutiques with the accent on Africa-inspired clothing complete with sequins and strong colors.

We then entered a far more upscale part of the township—sporting million pound plus homes that were better maintained with nicer front gardens and facades. These were always white lodgings, Ifeona explained, and they continue to be. At the end of this short street, we made a right to loop around the high street and return to the Church—once an important congregating point for the community. Then the Rastafarians came along—and I spotted a couple of men in dreadlocks who remain rooted to the area—and the Christian influence diminished.

Our final stop was Brixton Market that once bristled with the West Indian housewife doing her daily shopping for fish and fruit and spices. Today, it is multi-ethnic and we chose to lunch in a creperie—since the owner and the ethos were Martinique—for St. Martin, a former French colony, is also a significant part of the Caribbean. My crepe, filled with Gorgonzola cheese, red peppers and “king prawns” was tasty and Ifeona’s sweet crepe served traditionally with lemon and powdered sugar was just as good. The heat was awful because the humidity had started up too. It was not very comfortable sitting in public spaces that did not even boast a fan! I remember the first purchase I had made from Argos when I had lived in London was a small table fan that I had placed on my bedside table. God knows how I would have survived these days without “aircon” here in Holborn and I wonder what I will do when I move to St. John’s Wood next week if it continues to be this tropical here in London.

Lunch done, Ifeona and I got back on the Tube and returned to the city. I went back to F&M to pick up my heavy bags, Ifeona went off to run her own errands. I entered the beautiful Burlington Arcade en route to peruse the pricey merchandise (cashmere cardigans and stoles, antique and vintage jewelery, Faberge eggs) before I crossed the street and picked up my goodies. Then, fairly weighted down by my purchases, I jumped into the bus just across the road, changed into another at Tottenham Court Road and reached home by 6.00 pm—just enough time to take a quick nap and a shower before I was out of the house again at 7.00 pm.

Seeing Daniel (Harry Potter) Radcliffe  at the West End:

            One of the great things that Michael Grandage Productions has been doing in recent years is bring really great British stars of stage and screen on the theater floor each year in a season of plays that are top-class. Over the years, I have seen Jude Law, Dame Judi Dench, Derek Jacobi, Kevin McNally, etc. on stage in his productions. Today, I was going to see one of the hottest stars of our times—Daniel Radcliffe who has made a successful transition to stage after his phenomenal success in the Harry Potter films, to see The Cripple of Inishmann. I hadn’t heard much about it or found the time to read the reviews—but it was enough for me to know that Radcliffe was in it to try to get a seat.

            And what a great theatrical experience it was! Set in Ireland in the mid-1950s, the play by Martin McDonaugh and directed by Grandage produced some fine acting, not least from Radcliffe himself who played the lead character. Supported by actors of whom I had never heard but who clearly have acting chops, he did a marvelous job keeping the audience riveted to his sad story of physical deformity and sexual challenge. The Aran Islands, so wonderfully popularized by J.M. Synge, were the setting again for the intrigues that the colorful people who populate these parts get themselves into when a film-crew come calling from Hollywood looking for local extras for the movie. “Cripple Billy” does not allow his physical afflictions to limit his filmic aspirations—and therein lies a tale. His ‘Aunties’ and other incidental characters bring much humor and pathos to the plot and for the two hours that I was in the theater, I was just thrilled, despite the heat that got nearly unbearable at times.

            The play finished exactly at 10. 00 am and I was home at 10. 20 (on the Tube). Since I have run out of quiche, I decided to cook scrambled eggs and Cumberland sausages for dinner—and having made a lot of them, I will have the same thing for dinner for the next couple of days!—the travails of living alone, I guess.       

            By midnight, I had glanced at my email and was ready for bed after what had been another sizzling but very fulfilling day. Tomorrow, I shall try to snag “Ten At Ten Tickets” for Strange Interlude at the National Theater starring Anne-Marie Duff, one of my favorite British actresses (and wife of the super sexy James McAvoy!)

Until tomorrow, cheerio!