Later, not good-bye, London

I haven't blogged in several days because I've been too busy living this adventure, which is a good thing, right?  Right!

But, today we're taking a mid-week morning break and relaxing in front of a fire, while watching bad (sorry, U.K. pals) TV.   With choices like "West Wing" "Supernanny U,S." or "Road Patrol," we're both on our iPads.

We ended last week in London by enjoying a subtle Indian breakfast at Dishoom Carnaby, actually located behind Carnaby in a really lovely, quiet area with a pretty little park, Golden Square.  That was a nice place to sit and have the chai tea our waiter insisted we try--for free--since we'd said "no thanks" to it and ordered lattes instead with our eggs on naan breakfast.  Nice people here! And still a "no" to the chai, by the way.

Carnaby Street is still a fun traffic-free road.  It's very short, with quirky clothing stores sharing the limited space with tacky souvenir shops. No sign of Mary Quant,Twiggy or a pair of white go-go boots to be found.

Saturday morning we took a few tube transfers to Borough Market.  We LOVE this open air market, the oldest and largest in London, with a best guess opening date of 1014.  if it's edible and you seek it, you will find it here.  100 kinds if cheese?  Check. Sea creatures you've likely never heard of? Check.  Zebra steaks?  "Cook 'em as ya would lamb, luv. Keep it a bit rare."  Check.  But, also, fudge to die for, fresh squezed mango orange juice and carved-to-order turkey sandwiches on clrusty bread.

We bought some fudge (duh) and a basket of beautiful strawberries, which flew with us to Cornwall, and we headed back to the hotel to pack.

TIP:  knowing that I have rented apartments in Europe for over 20 years, I've been asked why I use hotels in London.  Several years ago, after searching for something in our meager budget, we settled on a lower flat on The Kings Road. Now, we don't require elegance, but we do want it clean, decently equipped and in a good location.  Well, this one had one out of three: a good location.  Although I still search before visiting, I've come up short.  However, there are so many great hotel booking sites that a nice one can usually be found at a reasonable price (Londontown.com, Laterooms.com, for example). If you stay in apartments in London, I'd be happy to have your recommendations!

For those who routinely stay in hotels when traveling abroad, let me share why we prefer apartments:  first, they are usually less expensive then a hotel (unless you stay at the Ritz or Four Seasons).  Second, an apartment allows you to be part of the neighborhood, if only for a short time.  Third, you have space to move around, read a book, watch TV, etc., in the living room while your partner sleeps in the bedroom.  And, you have a kitchen to cook the odd breakfast or sit and enjoy take-away for dinner.  Also, not to be overlooked is the benefit of a washer; especially important if, like us, you carry-on only.

NEXT LEG
We flew Flybe out of Gatwick to Newquay very early Sunday morning.  Now, I'd read lots of bad reviews about this British Airways subsidiary, mostly about lousy departure times and cancelled flights.  I decided to roll the dice because 1) it cost only around £24 ($30-ish) one-way, 2) Time wasn't important at that price, and; 3) I would get BA points.  Our experience?  It took off and landed on time!  We'll see if our luck holds on our flight to Paris next week, which lays over in Manchester.

I'm not including our first few days in Cornwell in this post, because it deserves its own post. I will say that we are totally in love with this part of England.   And Doc Martin sightings aren't the only reason, by far.  😉

The Breakfast Club

The hub and I are not exactly early risers.  We're not even semi-early risers, if there is such a thing.  But on a city vacation, I like to get up with the pigeons and get going. Gene, not so much.  However, my family knows that if there's one thing Gene willrise and shine for, it's breakfast. In London, that means heart-attack-on-a-plate Full English: Sausage, bacon, eggs, mushrooms, cooked tomatoes, baked beans and toast. That was fine in the past, but what to do now that his diabetes has become more severe and carbs are the devil ingredient?  The answer: reservations.

This trip I decided to scout out restaurants with healthy breakfast alternatives and reserve in advance.  Tip:  making reservations for the first meal of the day is also an excellent way to force yourself up and out. Another bonus is trying new, often hip, places for a fraction of the cost of dinner.  True of lunch, too, of course. 

So yesterday, a rare day of perfect weather in London, we took an uber to Kensington Gardens and enjoyed poached eggs and beautiful, thin ham on rustic bread with pumpkin seed pesto at The Magazine in the Sackler Gallery at the Serpentine. Trust me, this was amazing.  And, at around £9 each, it easily beat the hotel’s £22 .

Tip: uber is the way to go here if you're in a time crunch and/or the bus or tube route to your destination is not very direct.  A ride from Kensington to the Sackler, only about two miles, but a 15 minute ride through traffic, was £5.61 plus tip. A great deal. 

We decided to ditch plans for the Tate Modern and stay in the park, wandering Kensington Gardens, then through Hyde Park before wandering back into the traffic circle around Buckingham Palace to visit the Royal Mews.  

The Royal Mews are the stables.  But these ain't your rancher father’s stables.  These are over-the-top, fit for a queen horse lodgings (as, of course, they are).  Also stabled here are the royal coaches and cars. There's a whole lotta gold in them thar stables!  Gilt overload! And, not being a British taxpayer, I loved it all!  

Fun fact:  the term “mews” comes from the sport of Falconry. The “mews” was the cage (or stable) the Falcons were kept in.  Okay, I said fun fact, not fascinating. 

Today's breakfast will be at Dishoom Carnaby (thanks, AnnMarie).  Yes, this us the same Carnaby Street where Mary Quant started the Mod movement in the 1960’s. This will put us center city, just off Regent Street, so our day will be completely different from yesterday. 

Hmmm, I wonder if they sell white go-go boots and patent leather mini-skirts in a retro shop on Carnaby…  Dare me???

Superstition.  Tradition.  Tomato.  Tomahto.

When the wheels left the ground, I was holding Gene’s hand, clutching my gold Miraculous Medal with the other hand and silently repeating the Hail, Mary.  This went on until the plane leveled out, the earth disappeared below and we were deep into the clouds.  I do this every time I fly.  What started out 23 years ago as a first-time flyer’s plea for safety instantly became my “whew. Thank  you, God” message to heaven for a safe flight. A message that I am afraid to stop sending, even long having become comfortable (or, maybe just fatalistic) about flying.

This little bit of drama seems harmless enough, right?  Well, first of all, I'm now a lapsed Catholic, so the medal/Mary ritual seems pretty nervy of me these days.  Shouldn't my God-centered plea be more generic?  But, what if I change my airborne routine? What if I stop? I mean, I have the fate of approximately 250 people in my hands!

Once we've touched down, there is the “arrival” ritual. This one depends on where we've landed.  This trip, it's London.  After checking into our hotel and dropping our bags (and getting the usual reminder that rooms aren't ready until two o’clock,) we drag our tired and somewhat ripe selves to Harrod’s department store.

This started as a mindless activity to kill time until we could get into our room and nap. Museums, stately homes and gardens are a waste if you're sleep deprived.  Shopping, however, can be done on automatic pilot.  So, we purchase a few gifts, choose our annual Christmas ornament, and take a peek at the  Dianna and Dodi shrine in the Egyptian elevator, (which we've watched become more faded, dusty and, if it's even possible, inelegant over the years).

Are these ritual must-do activities superstition or—more kindly put—tradition?  And, does it matter?  Well, it does if forgetting your medal or flying without your husband’s hand to hold fills you with—not yet panic—but definitely, angst.

I blame this on my father.  The Irish Catholic grandson of a  Northern Ireland-born Catholic lad, dad was raised in deeply-Irish superstitions that were not to be trifled with.  I can easily conjure up the image of him saying “Shoes. Off. The table. NOW!”   I know.  It makes sense, right?  Shoes on the table?  Yuck!  But, I'm talking about fresh from the store shoes, still in their box and bag.  Heading through the dining room with that package?  Keep walking.

Truthfully, I don't really question any more whether these little travel rituals are a hark back to familial superstition or just my own happy traditions.  The result is the same:  I'm able to begin my vacation relaxed and at peace.

Until the guy across from me takes off his shoes. Or the lady one row up opens her home-made tuna and garlic mayo sandwich.  Or the “you-call-that-tortellini” dinner arrives.   But, you know, you can't ask a Medal for everything.

Do you have any travel superstitions traditions?